When I was a kid, I remember reading a youth-themed chapter book, probably by Beverly Cleary, in which the young protagonist dejectedly shoved his hands into his pockets while he trudged home from school under a mild, flat-clouded sky and protested to himself, “Who ever heard of a gray Christmas?!”

These days, my office window overlooks a descending hillside of barren trees. That, combined with Cincinnati’s swirling, angry storm clouds and constantly cascading rainfall, is reminding me of a black metal album cover even more than it reminds me of that kid’s “gray Christmas. “

But in the end, a black metal Christmas is way the fuck cooler. Point: Cincinnati.