Welcome to my soapbox. Here you can typically expect to find my various and sundry diatribes, vituperations and general jawing on whatever it is that's on my mind at the time that I decide to post - you know, typical, self-indulgent blogging for the sake of externalizing what was previously a perfectly content internal monologue and putting it on the page for all the world to see. Again, welcome. Thanks, The Management

Monday, December 20, 2004

A Cold War of Epic Proportions

It's that time of year again, when a small-town newspaper offers a full-page spread and forum to taunt your neighbor's inability to best you in the annual "Parade of Lights" most-obnoxious house-lighting competition. There's even a $100 cash reward. How about that!? A visit to my grandparents' this past weekend reminded me of the local tradition. Dean, their neighbor across the street, has been engaged in a three-year illuminated arms race with another self-proclaimed master electrician from an adjacent town. Dean and Jim's relationship is tenuous at best, making China and Taiwan look like old Pinochle buddies.

The "Parade of Lights" dates back to the Holiday season of 2001 when the local paper must've been wooing advertising dollars from General Electric. The Editor in Chief decided to cough up $100 and a full-page spread with pictures to the home-owner who utilized the most lights decorating his/her house. Perhaps there were other entrants, but for all intents and purposes, only two - Dean and Jim - were willing to go to five and six-digit light-counts to win the prize.

A mere 30,000 lights won Jim his first "Parade of Lights" back in 2001. For his effort of 25,000, Dean received honorable mention in the paper and a vigorous published mocking from Jim. At one point Jim jokingly referred to Dean as "GE and PG&E's second-best customer." Jim offered an analogy later in the piece, calling Dean "Reno" to Jim's "Vegas." And so began the feud that has made 20th century U.S./Soviet tensions look like a playground shouting match.

With lines clearly drawn in the sand and tempers running hot, 2002's competition promised high expectations and the distinct possibility of fisticuffs, or perhaps worse. In November strategy sessions, Dean decided he would need an additional 25,000 lights, a Nativity scene and a large shameless, gaudy sign that read "Parade of Lights" to compete, as Jim would surely increase his totals. Both competitors knew home-size would not be a limiting factor; each owned three-story houses with several thousand square feet to play with. Quantity, not quality, would win it.

Judgment Day took Dean by total and utter surprise. Jim had given no quarter in his execution. 114,998 (two bulbs had burnt out in the days leading up to the judging) multicolored indoor/outdoor lights dotted seemingly every square inch of the home. From the point of the roof, a life-size internally lit Santa Claus mannequin slid back and forth on a zip line. Activated by a motion sensor, the Santa zipped down to the sidewalk entrance and jovially hollered, "Ho, Ho, Ho! Welcome!" to visitors and extended a basket with candy canes. Under the living room window a baby Jesus waved from a manger with flashing lights. Dean's loss made Super Bowl XXIV look like a nail-biter.

Dean came back with a vengeance in 2003 after refinancing his mortgage, executing a direct wholesale contract with GE and finding a Chinese manufacturer to build his recently patented Flaming Yuletide Log. The design was made of some state-of-the-art material and looked very similar to a Redwood stump, approximately 20 feet in length with a diameter bordering on four feet. Based on a motion sensor, it would burst into a five-minute pyrotechnic display if something moved within ten yards of it. With no care for consequences, Dean pinned his hopes for victory on his creation. In addition to his usual figurines, stars and the Flaming Yuletide Log, the GE relationship netted 175,000 multicolored and white lights. More than enough, he figured, to trample Jim.

Once again, his estimates fell short - this time only slightly. A brief bout with pneumonia kept Jim from realizing his full 2003 strategy, but his 176,500 lights were the winner...again. In addition to the lights, Jim had added his own new invention: The OnTrack Christmas. The contraption consisted of a rail system encircling the entire roof of the house. On the rail was the complete well-lit herd of reindeer: Dasher, Dancer, Prancer, Vixen, Comet, Cupid, Donner, Blitzen, Rudolph, of course, and a new one that Jim had named after himself. In back was a sleigh with primered flames and updated versions of Mr. and Mrs. Claus: he in biker attire with a red leather hat in the traditional Santa style, and she in a bustier and garter belt. In the end, 1500 lights separated the two. It was another Yuletide drubbing.

I sat in the front room of my grandparents' house marveling at this awesome display of electrical gluttony, this effulgent testament to two men with far too much time on their hands. As I recalled the history of this not-so-civil war, however, something seemed different this year. "It looks like Dean's gone a little light on the decorations this year," I said, noting that the shingles were bare and the front lawn was devoid of the animated Nativity scene and Flaming Yuletide Log. "Oh, you didn't hear," my grandmother said. "The paper's not sponsoring the event this year, so Dean decided it wasn't worth the health risk to go the full nine yards." This sounded like solid logic, as I pondered for the first time exactly how dangerous it would be for a 70 year-old man to affix the lights on a three-story house - particularly the apex of the house. "What about that flaming log thing?" I asked. "He only got to use it once last year before the cops got involved. He did, however, manage to torch his Nativity scene, so that got scrapped too," Grandma apprised me.

I couldn't help but feel gipped. I hadn't realized until now how much I enjoyed the caustic nature of this bitter rivalry. After only three years it had found a place in my own Christmas tradition. Oh well. It is what it is. I guess I'll go offline and do my Christmas shopping in the stores this year to appreciate public displays of all the ugly behaviors and emotions we try to suppress during the holidays. I do love irony.

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