It's the holiday season and I feel the need to set proper expectations for the wonderful people who read this blog. If you happen to drive past my home during this time of year, don't expect much. In fact, if it's possible to have negative expectations, have them. I will not be held responsible for any disappointment caused by the obvious lack of Christmas spirit typically expressed by the average homeowner.
So there, you've been warned.
During the holidays I do not adorn my gutters with thousands of flashing colored lights that threaten the northeastern U.S. power grid. Nor will I place an inflatable Santa or Frosty or Snow Globe on my front lawn. No candy cane fence to guide visitors to my front walk. No wooden deer wearing red holiday scarfs. No nothing that would be confused with the festive norm most homes exhibit at this time of year.
But please don't mistake me for some sort of holiday lighting display Scrooge. I celebrate like everyone else, one glass of eggnog at a time. I'd love a grand presentation for all to see -- in fact, I'd like nothing more. The real reason I don't participate in such things is that I basically suck at putting it all together -- in other words, I'm festively challenged. It's embarrassing to admit, but I'm not man enough to hang with many of my neighbors. In the world of sports, they say: Go hard or go home. Well, I choose to go home. Actually, I choose to go inside my home when Santa's on his way. The reality is that there's only one thing worse than not putting up holiday lights and that is doing a half-assed job of putting up holiday lights. That's what scares me the most.
It doesn't take a genius to realize that outdoor holiday decorating is as testosterone-charged as any winter activity. Year after year it's an electical pissing contest to see who can put up the best show for all the neighbors to see. I applaud those who can pull it off, though I think they may have unseen help. Like the shoemaker who received assistance from a band of shoemaking elves, it's not hard to believe that some of the most elaborate displays in the neighborhood are the handiwork of otherwordly beings. If you buy the theory that aliens helped build the pyramids in Egypt, is it that big of a stretch to think they may have had their hand in the erection of your neighbor's front yard winter wonderland?
Obviously, there's some jealousy involved. Like I said, I wish I could transform my property into a miniature Oglebay every year, but that's just not practical. I noticed the other day a county courts van slowly moving down the highway with a handful of men who did someting bad and now had to pick up trash as restitution -- community service, I think they call it. Why does community service always have to be picking sandwich wrappers and cigarette butts off the city streets? Why couldn't they do something to really serve the community? Like cutting my lawn, shoveling my drive or, I don't know, maybe assisting with the installment of my most amazing holiday lighting display so my neighbors could be jealous of me for once?
And isn't that what the season is really all about? Good will towards men be damned. I want all men to have ill will towards me because my house looks so freakin' awesome and they can't stand my greatness.
But guess what? That ain't happening. Not this year, not next.
So for anyone not reading this but wanting to know why I'm not decorating this year, I'll just tell them, "I've decided to go green, so suck it Clark Griswold."