A couple of weeks ago, I posed the question about Christmas tree color. There were many opinions, but blue was the winner. So last Sunday, we went to Stats in Pasadena and purchased a blue Christmas tree. This is brave. Not the blue tree, that’s just bad taste. Going to Stats is scary. At Christmas Stats is inhabited by happy Christmas enthusiasts. These are the people with the reindeer sweaters who have seizures of joy in the wreath aisle. I like Christmas as much as the next guy, but I really don’t understand the frenetic obsessive behavior over fake holly. It makes sense if you’re incredibly devout and put yourself into an ecstatic trance at Christmas, or at least, flog yourself. But they’re just ornaments that get put back in a box.
I admit this isn’t the “gosh, golly, I can’t wait to decorate the tree and sing carols,” attitude that I should have. And for that, I’m sorry. Constance Ford says on the previous post, “He comes from a good family, but is a drunkard.” For me, she would add, “and has remarkably plebian holiday taste.”