Drunken Santas

A couple of weekends back we flew up to NYC to get in the Christmas spirit, as we try to do most years. It just seems that the BIg Apple really knows how to celebrate, and this year was no exception, as we readily found out. We were staying at the Grand Hyatt, which is physically adjoined to Grand Central Station. The Hyatt lives up to its Grand prefix as it has over 1300 rooms and the whole nine yards, including a marble pool in the upper lobby that cascades down to the 1st floor street entry. Room service offered bottles of Makers Mark delivered to your room for $150(tip not included). I also noticed that two eggs of any style could be yours for $22. Those must have been special eggs.We didn't avail ourselves of room service. Upon checking in we went over to Grand Central Station to buy Metro Passes and were immediately assailed by hordes of young men and women in their early to mid twenties dressed like Santa Claus. The main common denominator was that they generally were all drunk and celebrating Christmas by screaming, yelling, and singing Christmas songs. Some of the girls appeared to be Santa's helpers, were equally drunk, and dressed provacatively in short, short skirts and candy cane striped stockings. I have found that this tradition started in 1998 and is called"Santa Con" for Santa Convention, or Drunken Santas, which is probably more appropriate. A lot of the participants are young professionals just taking the holiday as a license for having a good time. They were all over the city in their dirty red Claus costumes drunkenly hugging the women and shouting Merry Christmas. The NYC police were out in record numbers because of some vague threat to the subways , and generally tried to ignore the antics.We went to see Spamalot and Gay Clay really did a good job in his role as Sir Robin, and not as Lancelot as I previously thought. I paid $10 for a bagel at a nice restaurant across from our hotel, and was more than compensated by the long legs of our hostess as she seated the party. Never mind the fact that she was at least 38-40 years younger than me.Where has the time gone?Sandy and I celebrated our 35th anniversary and ate at the New York Luncheonette on East 50th Street which we have done for years. We went down to SoHo and looked around awhile at the Iron faced buildings and then went to Macy's . There was no Miracle on 34th street this year and I guess the Santas were sleeping off their drunken excessive behavior of the day before.Dave had an inebriated street person vomit a couple of times on his shoes while riding the crowded subway, and that seemed to deter him from any more trips on the subway. I think he rode in cabs the rest of the weekend. Better on Dave than me.The following week after NYC I was coming home from Virginia and stopped at where else to get a coke in Barbourville, and was waited upon by this discheveled waitress wearing this green Christmas shirt that proclaimed"If you're naughty I won't tell Santa".As she handed me my change I pointed to her shirt and said ,"I'm your man". She looked over my shoulder and said"Next." So much for charisma.Later on I was going through Corbin and there was a Santa waving from in front of a fast food chicken joint , his red suit only out done by gleaming new bluish, purple Nikes.Later on I saw another Santa in Danville sneaking a smoke standing in some brown weeds by the side of some ragged looking business.The final chapter came when I was bored and reading the local paper's annual edition that prints"Letters To Santa" in a little magazine. Every child wanted Iphones, Idogs(what ever that is), some kind of Wiis, and hand games. Nobody seems to have informed the youth of our country that there is a recession steaming full speed ahead to a depression. Santa is going to have to stop in China to get all the kids their electronic junk. One little girl in about the third grade also wanted a pet snake. A pet snake?? What an oxymoron!Can you imagine that snake getting loose in Santa's sleigh somewhere over the North Atlantic?? Maybe that is why we have drunken Santas. I must admit that one of my favorite moments of the weekend was when that dumbass Iraqi reporter threw his shoes at George W. during the press conference.That look on Bush's face cracked me up . What kind of man throws shoes at another man?? I really think George W. thought it was funny. Bush ducked those shoes pretty handily. That's probably out of practice from going hunting with Dick Chaney. You're still the man George. You're going home to Texas. Where is Saddam and his two thug sons? Chemical Ali?? Terac Azziz? Mission Accomplished.I'm having trouble spelling those Iraqi names as somehow the concept eludes me.Saddam ended up in a Spider Hole with only a couple pairs of white BVDs in his possession.After NYC I don't think I have BVDs. Milk and cookies to all. Merry Christmas to all and God Bless the USA !!

And The Award Goes To..........

This first week of December 2008 has been very cold ,and I'm already tired of winter. And winter does not even start until December 22. I don't think I used to mind the cold, but as I've aged I seem to long more and more for palm trees and blue waters. It doesn't hurt if the sands are covered with scantily clad women smelling of coco butter and baby powder, yet I digress from my subject. Everyone needs a change of scenery periodically, and the warmer the better for me. I would like to be eating dinner right now at an outdoor terraced restaurant in the Cayman Islands where we spent a too short-lived vacation. Someone would show movies on the side of a large building sized tank when the sun went down . It doesn't matter that there was no sound . The next morning we would be squeezed amongst a covey of tourists on a rocking dive boat headed to crystal clear wall dives . Everyone would gear up and take a giant stride off the rear platform and hit the blue water, regulators clinched in our mouths, the only thing between drowning in the clearest water on earth and our fragile lives. You can always taste the salt from the ocean as you are cruising around under the surface,only occasionally seeing a toothy barracuda or an elusive shark or two to remind me that this isn't Danville Avenue. We went to Stingray City and had our bodies encased with monsterous stingrays trying to steal slimy squid from our clinched fists. They are nature's vacuum cleaners as they suck prey from under the sand for lunch. Sunburned , overweight divers are no contest to these undersea raptors.They take our squid and tire of the game . No squid, no play, and they flap off into the distant shimmering vastness of the ocean. At 50 feet below Timmy and I only have 35-40 minutes of bottom time before we suck the air out of our aluminum 80s and head back up the dive line to the welcome boat above, occasionally getting nipped by nasty yellow finned snappers.Back on board the sun is beaming down and we're reminded that at home people are wearing coats and cursing the cold like I'm doing now.Some place right now there are young inebriated babes smelling like cocoa butter and alcohol, an irresistible combination for me. Last week was my final council meeting and my fellow councilors, sensitive souls that they are, presented me with a going away trophy of "Smart Ass of The Year" tastefully engraved with a brass horse's ass above. It is nice to have such sensitive and caring colleagues. I was a winner that night and they were all better gentlemen for my departure. I've been listening to Sean Kingston on the MP3 player and it has some reggae roots that almost takes me back to Cafe Johnny Canoes in Nassau. The steel drum bands transport you to a warmer and kinder place, almost like Eden, but I'm always reminded that, like Adam And Eve we always have to climb on board the blue and silver plane and head back North to cold, cold, and more cold. It has been too long since I've had some 3rd world dignitary stamp my passport and welcome me to their country in a bored, tired voice. Maybe living in Paradise isn't all its put on to be.Next weekend we drop into Manhatten, hopefully better luck than last time. I can't wait to hit the subway with its resident rank,locker room smell with the Tower of Babylon teeming masses.We're going to see Spamalot , and I think Mr. Excitement Clay Aiken plays the part of Sir Lancelot. I guess I'm just not a Claymate. I may see if Delta has benefits for people who have been decreed "Smart Ass of the Year". Maybe an upgrade to First Class.I just can't wait to harrass our cab driver from LaGuardia to the hotel.Maybe he'll even speak enough English to get us to our destination.