We didn’t. And we’re trying not to let it bother us. However, all of our friends received what they wished for, as well as our neighbors, relatives, and even that guy down the street who likes to wear his boxer shorts over his Levis and dance in the intersection while lip-syncing Ashlee Simpson tunes. Yeah, even he got what he wanted for Christmas.

But not us. And to think we spent all year posting dates for Kenny Chesney, researching tour data for Lenny Kravitz and tracking calendars for Hot Hot Heat and Ian McLagan & The Bump Band. What did it get us? Nothing we wanted. Just the usual stuff – socks, ties and kneepads. But we didn’t get what we really wanted.

It’s not like we weren’t clear about it. We specifically stated the size, model number, where it could be purchased, how much it cost, what licensing agencies were involved and how long the waiting period was before one could take possession. We covered all the bases. However, come Christmas morning, we were left with things we already have, or stuff we’re no longer interested in. And to think we had even cleared a space in the garage for it.

Guess that’s part of being an adult. That one of the signs of maturity is to accept the reality of any given situation and not complain about what might have been. But sometimes, while we’re plugging in schedules for acts like Tesla and Tishamingo, we wonder if it’s all worth it. After all, we work hard all year, and if we can’t get the one thing we want for Christmas, why bother? On the other hand, there’s always next Christmas.

And we’re already making plans for next Christmas. We’re going to work harder, post more dates and stay more up-to-date with concert tours like Steve Forbert and Steel Pulse than ever before. We’re going to smile as we answer the support line, and we’re going to say “thank you” when someone shouts at us whenever we miss a date for Jimmy Buffett or New Found Glory. We’re going to be the most perfect, the most excellent tour site on the Net, and come next year, we’re sure to get what we want for Christmas. Heck, it’s almost a done deal. It’s in the bag. A slam dunk.

Provided, of course, that Santa ever wants us to untie him and let him out of the basement. Oh, look. It’s lunch time. Guess we better go down and feed him.