“How can we make Christmas cool?” the big boss of the Santa Cruz Boardwalk Syndicate asks, his fist coming down hard on the steel desk where he’s signed the big names and made history.  “What can we do with the kids these days?  They’re impossible to please.”

Silence, a few coughs.  A hand rises from the back of his sweating office, the air thick with cigar smoke and portent. 
“Sir, I have some of this…music, that they like?  The kind that goes ‘doot-doot-doot.’  And it is Christmas music, see?” 

“Aw, why the hell not?  Just make sure there’s a light show element, can’t do anything without visuals these days.  You got ‘Greensleeves,’ I hope.  That says Christmas like nothing else.  Besides maybe pyrotechnics, but can’t have that any longer, ohhhh nooo.”