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Music critic for the New Yorker, Sasha Frere-Jones, takes a time out between deadlines and holiday family matters to let us know how he sprints the last ten yards of 2004 and what dance moves he would teach Clay Aiken and the advice he would offer to Pedro Martinez.

Things I did before, during, and after Christmas: Asked my loved ones, repeatedly, if juniper incense says "Grown Man" more effectively than does lavender. Correctly identified a deer carcass. Successfully entertained a baby (not my own) by imitating an owl. Wondered if one of those new mean Senators can introduce a bill outlawing Christmas. Listened to Charlotte Hatherley about 800 times. Filed a piece while my sons hammered each other with snowballs. Wondered how The Nazgul got driver's licenses and became Westport yoga moms.

I plan to do the following on or before New Year's: Give money to the Red Cross. Wonder if this is simply narcissism. Form a band with several five-year-olds. Prepare for an actual recording session (not with five year-olds, sadly). Admire my new watch. Get my DVD on. Research the Richter scale. Make a Top 200 list. Rethink, and submit a Top 3 list. Light more candles and incense to cover the smell of dead mice. Find drummer for recording session (which starts Monday). File another piece.

Playing Santa
 1. To Clay Aiken: The gift of dance. We will cover the most important 1980s steps: The Webo, The James, The Bogle, The Smurf.
2. To Pedro Martinez: A free tour of New York City, and a long talk about trading one curse for another.
3. To my children: A sense of our obscene and blessed luck to be alive.
4. To Paris Hilton: A suit of chainmail and some cans of Campbell's soup. Just because.
5. To Andre 3000: A big fat hug.