Annoying Christmas Newsletter, Vol. III

"The elves are dressed in leather

And the angels are in chains.
The sugar plums are rancid
And the stockings are in flames."
Christmas With the Devil - Spinal Tap

Christmas came early to the Bourgeois/Toler neighborhood this year, whether we were ready for it or not. Yep, the day after Halloween, the 100 foot, tallest Christmas tree east of the Mississippi, arrived via flatbed truck at The Grove shopping center, a mere block and a half from our home. Denuded as it was of most of its’ branches, the behemoth was hoisted into place by a crane and then painstakingly reassembled over the next couple of weeks by a crack team of Lesbian elves. Since by the time it’s all of a piece the tree is thoroughly and irrevocably dead, not to mention as brown, well, as a dead tree, they spray paint it green. (The “elves” insist it’s just fire retardant, but I saw the cans; fire retardant, maybe, green paint, definitely.) Finally the finishing touches, big bowling ball sized plastic globes in red and gold and silver, are added just in time for the star-studded, spectacular tree lighting ceremony the Sunday BEFORE Thanksgiving. This year’s extravaganza featured Patti LaBelle, the Cheetah Girls, a bevy of other b-listers, and, always a big crowd pleaser, a gaggle of critically ill kids from the local “Make-a-Wish Foundation.” (Just call me sentimental, but am I the only one who thinks using sick children to lure shoppers into a hedonistic orgy of commercial self-indulgence is wrong, wrong, wrong?)



Of course there’s the usual Santa’s Village workshop photo stop,(Tuesdays and Thursdays are pet nights), and “real” snow every evening at 7 and 8 PM.



Back by popular demand this year, (after their unfortunate replacement last season by the all girl “Brass Belles” marching band), the Santa Sluts, dancing the North Pole hoochie coochie twice nightly in front of the Cineplex. Guess a troupe of mini-skirted female Santas prancing around like so many reindeer in heat does reflect the true meaning of Christmas best after all.


The entire extravaganza is brought to you by one Rick Caruso, mega mall mogul and my personal year end, front running nominee for The Beast (that would be the Big One, old 666 himself – see my blog entry "Where Every Day Is Halloween). I feel quite sure Spinal Tap had him in mind when they penned that quintessential feel good carol, Christmas With the Devil, an enduring holiday favorite at my house, and I’m sure at yours. (Actually the Judith Owen version is quite fetching.) Anyway, I’m over there almost every day. One afternoon I got caught up in a march of striking Santas (actually striking WGA writers out looking for a little love), and another evening I broke out in hives (no joke). But let’s not make more of that than necessary.

Try as Mr. Caruso may, however, the real star of Christmas in our hood is the Hancock Park home of erstwhile record producer, sometime rap promoter and all round bon vivant Norwood Young, who each year transforms his house and yard into a winter wonderland of twinkling lights, Soul Santas, festively adorned naked male statues, and a brace of metallic orange, high-end automobiles. And, by the way, the 17 human scale, anatomically correct, replicas of Michelangelo’s David are year round fixtures, without the Santa hats, of course. The whole sordid thing just goes to show you what can happen when “they” move into the community.



But enough of the Christmas spirit. I know the question big on your minds is “what’s been happening with Annie and Tommy this year?” Well, truth is, not a damn thing. 2007 was pretty much of a snore, and as it happens that’s not necessarily a bad thing. (You know the old adage. No news is good news.)

Tommy is still at CBS Program Practices where he continues to create that all important buffer zone between the Parent's Television Council and you, and to make it safe for you to watch television with your parents, children, grandchildren, and heck, with the dog and the cat too. So the next time you think you hear the “F” word on CSI Miami or believe you glimpsed a sliver of a forbidden female body part when Jennifer Love Hewitt bends over on Ghost Whisperer some Friday night, think hard about it before you file that complaint with the FCC. That’s an eight figure fine, folks. Heads might roll, jobs might have to be cut, and Karl Rove, who I hear is looking for work, might just get the position. Then you’d really be in trouble. (Can anyone say “all Disney all the time?”)

As for myself, after spending most of the year gainfully unemployed, (which I actually began to like), save for some tedious and pathetically unremonstrative freelance jobs, I finally fell into some full time work just in time to seriously compromise our holiday travel plans.

The show is called Shockwave, (History Channel, Fridays 9 PM PST, sometime around then wherever you live. You should probably watch it so it’ll get picked up and I’ll have a job, ‘cause if people don’t watch, it won’t, and I won’t, and you won’t want to have that on your conscience.), and it’s the kind of work I swore I’d never do again. (No, it’s not strip club cinema verite.) We acquire clips of freak accidents, natural disasters, train wrecks, massive explosions, (Hell, yeah!), parachutes that don’t open, boats that crash, silos that fall on men riding John Deere tractors, and really fool stunts that were bound to go wrong from the get go. Then my job is the find the people involved, call them on the phone and talk them into going on television and telling us how, “I thought I was gonna die,” for a relatively small amount of cash. And it’s really nice if we can get them to cry on camera, although we don’t pay extra for that.

Now since we don’t have a Hurricane Katrina or even a trailer park tornado every day, some of these stories are seriously old, so old in fact that my first resource is often the Social Security Death Index. If they don’t show up there, I can usually find them by nosing around the web. It’s not stalking, but it’s close.

Oh, and I started a blog, but if you’re reading this you already know that.

Speaking of stalking, stepson Matt has been MIA this year. He doesn’t write. He doesn’t call, so I drive by their house every once in awhile to see if he and his mother still live there (they do). It’s been hard on Tommy, but I’m pretty sure this secures my spot in the wicked stepmother hall of fame and I’m down with that.

Hank and Maude still love me though, (at least they say they do, but they could be lying). Tommy nixed the idea of taking them over to The Grove for a pet night photo with Santa, and I couldn’t get them to pose wearing the little reindeer antlers he brought them last year. But I did manage to get a photo of them expressing their true feelings about the season (and just about everything else). Maude continues to work on her weight training and Hank is putting the finishing touches on his plot to take over the world. If they had thumbs we’d so be screwed.

We did manage a couple of outings this year. Went to New Orleans for Jazz Fest (go, spend money, help the city recover), and took a few jaunts up to wine country. And of course, we took the usual trek to Gordon, GA for Thanksgiving at my Cousin Mint’s, a true exercise in unbridled gluttony, and then a weekend visit with the “Toler” boys en famille. And may I say, Gordon really knows how to do Christmas! Check out the smokin' Rudolph on Main Street and toy soldiers down by the railroad tracks. You gotta love it.



Got back just in time to start planning our annual Christmas open house. Tommy entertained with fellow musicians Jon Detherage, Jim McGrath, Gwen Owens, and Julie Bergman, with everybody joining in on a few verses of “Santa’s Drunk Again,” and other favorite carols.

It was a tres festive gathering, marred only by some sticky fingered grinch (you know who you are and so does Santa) who lifted a few bills from the purse of another guest. Really bad Christmas karma. If I were you I’d be looking for a Salvation Army kettle to stuff that 40 bucks into pronto, or a lump of coal in your stocking could be the least of it.


Foodwise, I truly outdid myself this year. Check out my dessert table. I made it all myself, and need it tell you it took DAYS. (No, your eyes don't deceive. Some of the gingerbread men are indeed missing limbs. I call them my Gitmo protest cookies.)


Since I can’t share the goodies with you over the internet, I’m going to do the next best thing and give you Miss Vickie’s recipe for the Red Velvet cake. (Which I made into a “present.”) Miss Vickie is from Gordon. Those ladies really know how to cook, and it is, quite simply, the best red velvet cake I’ve ever tasted. (And it's probably not fattening either.)

We’re having a multi-cultural holiday for ourselves this year. I’m making tamales and jambalaya for Christmas dinner, which I think we’ll pair with a little Zinfandel, maybe a bottle of Napa Pinot Noir (or two), and then it’s off to Yosemite for New Year’s weekend. Pray for snow.
However and wherever you spend yours, may your day, and the coming year, be merry and bright. Merry Christmas, Happy Holidays, Shalom. I love you all and wish you peace!

MISS VICKIE'S RED VELVET CAKE

2 1/2 cups cups cake flour
1 1/2 cups sugar
1 1/2 cups vegetable oil
1 cup buttermilk
2 eggs
1 teaspoon vanilla
1 teaspoon cocoa
1 teaspoon baking soda
1 teaspoon salt
1 teaspoon cider vinegar
1 1-ounce bottle red food coloring

Preheat over to 350 degrees. Mix all ingredient in a large bowl. Pour into four prepared, (I use Baker's Secret), 8-inch cake pans and bake at 350 degrees for 25 minutes. Cool in pans for 15 minutes then on cake racks until completely cool.

Frosting

6 cups powdered confectioner's sugar
1 8-ounce package cream cheese, room temperature
1/2 cup (1 stick) unsalted butter
1 teaspoon vanilla
1 cup chopped pecans

Spread between layers of cake. Make a second batch of the frosting to ice top and sides.

To make the "present" cake, bake in square 8-inch pans. Omit nuts from frosting for top and sides. Make "ribbon" from foot-long fruit roll-ups, slightly moistened and coated with sparkling sugar. Unroll roll-up, leaving the paper backing on. Lightly spray with water and sprinkle with sugar. Let sit for a few minutes until sugar sets. Peel off backing, lay long strips across cake and fashion bow from shorter pieces folded over and pressed into icing on top of cake. If you want to put gingerbread men on the side, purchased ones will do nicely. However, if you'd like my recipe for gingerbread men, (they are particularly delicious), just drop me an email.