By SEAN DALY, St. Petersburg Times

This will be one of the few tops in 2011 pop wraps you read that won't have Adele's "21" on it. Maybe it's a "guy" thing; maybe it's because I'm just a no-good scoundrel, the kind of dude she bombastically laments.

There was a time not too long ago when the holiday season would bring a Santa's-bag worth of bulky, beautiful box sets to my work desk. Oh, it was glorious: Heck, the old-school music heads at Rhino Records would even package their gratuitous multidisc comps in neon brains ("The Sci-Fi Collection"), bustiers ("The Gothic Box") and blinking phone booths ("The Brit Box").

CLEARWATER, Fla. - As I sat there staring at the coronary colossus, entertaining victorious thoughts of consuming the largest hamburger I'd ever seen -- it was a burger the size of a snare drum, I tell you! -- I made the mistake of asking if anyone had ever conquered this beefy beast before.

Do not overlook the significant pop-cultural fact that Britney Spears is not Lindsay Lohan. Next to bedraggled La Lohan, who is 24 going on Ann-Margret in "Tommy," a sad spiraling party foul who's given up trying, 29-year-old Britney appears altogether human -- never mind that a few short years ago she was as bald as Kojak and attacking sedans with an umbrella.

Gwyneth Paltrow is getting beat up pretty dang good for her new movie "Country Strong," about an alcoholic Nashville warbler struggling to stay on the charts. Although the flick flatlined, her vocals proved surprisingly decent, an effervescent midrange coo she also loosed in 2000's "Duets" and on TV's "Glee," where she played Holly Holiday, a role she'll reprise this spring.

My favorite children's album of all time, "Sing-A-Longs and Lullabies for the Film Curious George," was made by Jack Johnson, the barefoot Hawaiian surfer-songwriter. The 2006 soundtrack gently swings with eco-imagery, jungle-gym rhythms and a peacenik sweetness. But what I really dig about "George" is that it puts my hellion children to sleep in no time at all.

When I was a sophomore at Syracuse University, I went on a grunty guys' trip to Niagara Falls. (The Canadian side, if you know what I mean.) The jalopy we took didn't have a CD player, but the radio worked well enough. To curb fighting for the dial, we set up a system where each dude could pick a song. When it was your turn and you heard something you liked, you'd shout out.

She was supposed to be a lawyer. This lanky, toothy New York girl, a poli-sci grad out of Duke with a rich mind but shaky self-esteem, was "going to take the more accepted path." She would give in to her innate shyness, her paralyzing self-doubt.

You can rip the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame for a lot of things: thin archives, a staid treatment of a wild art form, the fact that it's in Cleveland. But you can't trash the foundation's taste in popular music: Peruse its honor roll, and while you might find a few omissions, you won't find any folks who don't belong.

Early next year, however, that might change.

"Snowin' in the Wind?"

"Sleigh Lady Sleigh?"

"The Times They Are A-Jinglin'?"

On Oct. 13, none other than Bob Dylan, the mercurial rock poet, will release a holiday album, "Christmas in the Heart."

Yeah, I know, bizarro. The first Christmas-album announcement of the year is always wild. But considering the artist, it's doubly strange this year.