In "I Hate MacDonald's," a school field trip turns into a truly educational experience -- for the chaperones. In "Sunset in Olney," an elderly couple looks fondly on their life together while deploring the violence that seems to be slowly encroaching on their community. "God Bless America" introduces us to an opinionated, bigoted man who is about to be shocked out of his conservative complacency by his favorite salesclerk. "Talk, Tree, Talk" is a touching dialogue between an old woman and her best friend, an old oak tree. In "The Nihilist," we are afforded a rare, satirical, behind-the-scenes glimpse at the world of modern art. His "New Legends of the Rhine" are hilarious send-ups of traditional German folklore. Wherever you open the book, you will find things to make you laugh and to make you shake your head-quite often at the same time.

Dirk Holger was born in Wuppertal, German in 1939. He describes himself as a self-employed exhibition coordinator, designer of tapestries (Aubusson & Tournai) and handmade rugs (New York firms), textile arts organizer (founder of the German Textile Arts Group with traveling exhibitions in Europe), author of novels, theatrical sketches (performances in the U.S.), poetry (included in anthologies), translator, lecturer on medieval tapestry (especially on the "Lady with Unicorn," her identity being revealed) at universities and the Smithsonian Institution, creating large-scale drawings, art advisor, art dealer, and the most demanding job of all, parenting and bringing up children.

He lives in Olney, MD.

EXCERPT FROM DIRK HOLGER'S I HATE JUNK FOOD

CHRISTMAS, NEW YORK STYLE

Eggnog alone didn't do the trick, so we had some whiskey to warm us up as well. It was cold indeed in the city's twilight as it got darker. Happily drunk, we staggered through this "Holy Night" somewhere in downtown New York City in the 1970s. The exact year is forgotten, but not the curious events of that night. Longing for the warmth and Christmas decorations of her apartment and for the charm of Lillian, we felt heavenly despite the cold and easily shrugged off some unduly loud noises of the streets, which were already so much more calm than usual... As if a wondrous spell of silent joy had fallen over the normally bustling city, even the air was filled with a quiet feeling of something "holy," we three, the big "D's," Dennis, Dick, and Dirk, young old friends, slowly slipped into the blessed spirit of Christmas Eve. Snowflakes began to dance around us. We looked at each other and at the tall buildings wrapped in the stillness of this special night and we realized that we ought to be ashamed of our behavior, of being drunk. Getting closer to Lillian's house, we started to hum. "Silent night, holy night.. all is calm... all is...," we cried. Our mood became so elated, so festive, as we were, with the little help of some... booze... in our blood, oh so joyful, clutching the elaborately wrapped gifts in our free hands, that we were overcome with a spirit of magic and celebration. Our humming ended, all was quiet...

When, suddenly and totally unwanted, a voice out of a dark corner asked, "Speed? Ups or downs? Drugs, anyone? Green light? Wanna get high?" At first we were disgusted and hurried on, but we soon regained our festive mood again, as we were approaching the place where the "Women's Tower" stood, infamous then, gone today. We began to sing the song of songs this night, one more time, now louder, so that those poor imprisoned souls up there could hear us. To our delight, first a few, then more and more female voices came from the countless windows of the tower and sang with us. Other passers-by in the street stood still with us, joined in the enchanting hymn and glanced like us with shiny eyes up to the unseen prisoners. Thoughts of grace and blessing and wonder filled our heads, As we sang one Christmas carol after another, we came to the beautiful line that says "And may all your Christmases be... white..." But the voices out of the tower, now vulgar and shrieking, continued with obscenities "may be... sh...fu...pi...scum..." and a whole lot more dirty four-letter words! Enraged, the other onlookers-turned-singers rushed off, shaking their fists at the hidden women and even cursed at them. Curses on Christmas Eve? We were in Manhattan, where everything is possible, anytime...And we three? Out of shock, we burst into laughter! The ugly voices from up there stopped and then joined in the laughter...

A ruined Christmas Eve? If I were to tell you all the detailed chronology of what followed in this both wonderful and very strange night, I guarantee you would slap this book around my ears and therefore I had better keep this mixed memory of a memorable night in New York to myself and fall silent...

Anyway, shortly after midnight, a heavy blizzard-like snowstorm blanketed the entire city up to the third floor of most buildings in downtown and the falling white veil hushed all but our inner voices, and those were glorious.

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