Saint Nicholas

Hello World, Well, the time has almost come that we can wish all of our Jewish friends and neighbors a very Happy Hanukkah, as the Festival of Lights will be upon us this coming Tuesday, and don't spare the latkes, my good man! This joyful occasion lasts for "eight crazy nights," as Adam Sandler reminds us, bringing us right to the very brink of Christmas, with scarcely any time to spare, or catch our collective breath. Say, how's about some candy cane sauce on that kugel? Also on the seasonal front, one can't help but notice all of the holiday decorations cropping up on area businesses, houses, lawns and parks - because after all, as the song goes, "It's beginning to look a lot like Christmas, everywhere you go." Now, it's all too true that Christmas means different things to different people, The Holiday Police notwithstanding, from the deeply religious to the crassest commercial (ka-ching!) and everything in between. In a season of frivolity and excess, it can't be denied that over-indulgence is all too common, and often in the most unlikely situations. Earlier in the week, Bill and I were coming home from White Plains and spotted a display of Christmas inflatables congregating in a convivial manner on someone's front lawn, with reindeer, snowmen, angels and trees all lending a festive air to the neighborhood. But perhaps getting a little too much into the holiday spirits, as it were, poor inflatable Santa was definitely the worse for wear, and was weaving about woozily in an extremely tipsy manner that would in no way enhance his reputation as a respectable role model. In fact, if he wasn't attached to a blower and light, he probably would have been headlong in the bushes already. Even worse was another splashy display of large plastic lighted decorations representing the Holy Family, and in spite of there being no particular weather conditions to blame, Saint Joseph was completely tipped over and laying flat on his back in the most unsaintly fashion that you can imagine. Not to cast aspersions, but he certainly exhibited all the signs of someone having way too much spiked egg nog (egg grog?) and the poor Blessed Virgin could be forgiven for wondering if she hadn't made a giant mistake in pairing up with him in the first place. And his Almighty Father-In-Law, even more so, I shouldn't wonder. By now, just about everybody who's anybody, that hasn't been living under a rock for the last year, is no doubt familiar with Internet sensation Grumpy Cat - and please do feel free to go right ahead and search for The Official Grumpy Cat online, for all of their very entertaining merchandise and Grump Of The Day. And yes, even Grumpy Cat has a holiday movie of his or her very own furry self, called "Grumpy Cat's Worst Christmas Ever," which is only to be expected from a self-professed grouch. Bill and I were in a holiday frame of mind, so we took a chance on it and found it had much to recommend it, if only in a sort of goofy way. Obviously a movie with a talking cat as its title character is not going to be taking itself too seriously, and this certainly fits the bill, with all manner of unlikely scenarios, exaggerated special effects, and not to mention, a variety of plot elements that go far beyond the implausible to the blatantly impossible. But it's all in good fun, with a game cast of perky newcomers and seasoned veterans, including Aubrey Plaza as the suitably cranky voice of the Grumpster, whose wish for an unhappy ending is luckily thwarted. I already have a lot of experience with diabolical felines, so I would advise Santa Claus (Claws?) not to turn his back on this one when he comes down that particular chimney. Everyone knows when it comes to over-consumption run amok, it must be said that the Jolly Old Elf himself is the 900-lb gorilla in the field, launching a shopping juggernaut that starts when the Dog Days of August are still barking, and runs non-stop just about until Valentine's Day - steamrolling everything in its path from pumpkins to pilgrims, witches to students, intrepid explorers or labor advocates regardless. So it came as quite a shock to find someone else angling to beat St. Nick at his own game, by trying to squeeze him off the stage before his time is up, making him the surprise victim of "holiday creep," rather than his usual perpetrator instead. This unexpected turn of events was brought about by the Radio City Rockettes of all people, with their Spring Spectacular program, that I actually saw TV commercials for at the beginning of December, believe that or not. Around here, this what we call having the Santa boot on the other foot, although admittedly the idea of the Rockettes dancing in Santa boots does tend to conjure up a profusion of mental images that are about as unwelcome as a stocking full of coal, I dare say. Personally, I always say it's awfully late in the year to get on the wrong side of the man in the red suit, but perhaps the Rockettes figured it was about time for Father Christmas to get a taste of his own medicine for a change. Say, Santa, you want some candy cane sauce to go with that medicine? Elle