Christmas Trees

Thanks for nothing, St. Boniface.
He's the dude responsible for this whole insane tradition of dragging a seven-foot slab of shrubbery into your house every Christmas. Seems he was tooling through the woods 1,000 years ago last Thursday when he came across a group of pagans worshipping an oak tree. In a fit of rage — saintly rage, but rage nonethelesss — he cut down thhe oak tree and that put an end to that. It would have been a suitably happy ending (well, except for the pagans) except that a fir tree germinated where the oak tree had been. And of course if saints have a fault, it's assigning meaning to things. So the rest is history, history which has complicated my life.

Fortunately, we're scaling it down. Our first year, we waited for the first snow, then headed out to the property in West Virginia and scoured the forest until we found a suitable model. The next year we went to an actual Christmas Tree farm, where we still had to cut our own, but at least they had a high-tech machine to shake out all the dead needles. The third year we left the saw at home and drove around the county until we found a very nice but very expensive tree that, prepare to be impressed, was still at least 60 percent green. This year we punted. Right down the block to a spot that sold them to benefit their Christian school. Didn't even get out of the truck. Just pointed. Next year my goal is not to even come to a full stop.

But you still have to set it up and all — Andrea takes care of the "and all" for which I am greatful. But man, I can't help but wish St. Boniface had cut down the oak and in its place had popped up, say, a spider plant. Would that have been so wrong? And So Much Easier. It would have worked — gather around the spider plant on Christmas morning and open gifts. It even fits the song:
Oh spi-der plant
Oh spi-der plant...
I suppose I should just be grateful that the Boniface Episode didn't happen the other way around. You know, the pagans were worshipping a fir and then up sprouted an oak. Wouldn't want to have to haul that into the house. Every year you'ld need a new string of lights and a skidder. And who wants to spend three months after Christmas sweeping up acorns. So for the time being I'll keep my mouth shut. But I'm not terribly happy about it.

Martha Stewart

Can't wait for the new martha stewart reality show. No way that misses. Once she gets out of the caliboose, the picture-box execs who brought us 'survivor' and 'the apprentice' says she'll 'do what she does best: offer advice on style, cooking, entertainment and lifestyle' in what is being billed as an elimination-style competition.
I got nothing against martha. I watch her cooking shows sometimes. She seems nice enough, although you get the sense that coming out of the break she's been screaming at the technicians 'i'll kill you! i'll kill all of you! oh hello and welcome back, now the key to a good spiced cider is the cinnamon sticks...'
A cooking show's one thing — but a reality show like survivor? how does that work? a bunch of fiftysomething women get liquored up and have beehive augmentations? martha raises herself up to her full height at the boardroom table, looks sternly at one of them each week and says 'you're retired' or something?
like 'survivor—the hamptons' is going to have the same drama as grilling cockroaches over a tribal fire in madagascar. in martha's world, the worst thing winning contestant is going to have to force down her pie hole is a slice of processed american cheese.
ah well, let her have it, she's earned a break. can't have her working out of a halfway house busing tables at stuckeys.
or can we?