Category Archives: christmas

Lame Adventure 262: Picture Perfect

Apparently,  my sister, Dovima, has reached her statute of limitations with me constantly photographing, Thurber, the family dog.

"Christmas, is over, am I stuck wearing this red bow until New Year's?"

She has asked me to shoot a Christmas day family portrait of her with Sweet Pea, her daughter/my niece, and Herb (with a silent h), her husband/my bro-in-law.

Mr. & Mrs Smith with The Cookie Maker (yes, that be you, Sweet Pea)

In return, my sister, has taken it upon herself to shoot an action shot of me sitting in-between our pappy and brother, Axel.

Axel worrying about the sodium content of the Christmas dinner for everyone in America.

Lame Adventure 261: Christmas Overload

The Lame Adventures family dog, Thurber, is suffering.  Everything he got squeaks.  In fact, he did not seem like his usual perky self when I suggested:

Me:  Next year I’m gonna get you a squeaking Excedrin, Little Guy!  What do you think of that?

"God in Heaven, please make it stop!"

At Target, my sister found the equivalent of a Harry & David sampler with a squeaking sausage, pear, Swiss cheese, cheesy ball and bag of crunchy cashew nuts.  I gifted him with the purple squeaking duck.

"Hm. This doesn't smell like a pear."

"Hey! This Swiss is squeaking!"

"I'm trying hard to not appear to be suffering mental cruelty."

My niece, Sweet Pea, turned on the TV to the Yule Log.

American classic or why Europe thinks we're idiots.

"This is mesmerizing!"

"You change that channel, I'll bite your paw off!"

Lame Adventure 260: Child Labor

While my sister, Dovima, and I pound Trader Joe’s Brandy Beans by the fistful, her daughter, my niece and heir to my string collection, Sweet Pea, is busy baking all the Christmas cookies.

Excellent!

Gotta say Dovima has raised that kid right!  Sweet Pea is baking snowballs, press cookies and Oreo Truffles.

Snowballs, also called Mexican Wedding cookies or Sandies (a name preferred by our late grandmother, Vesuvius) are my favorite.  Sweet Pea is baking those first.

Cooling sheet of naked snowballs.

Bowl of powdered sugar snowball dressing.

Dressing the balls.

Unwelcome intruder.

Snowballs!

After baking the snowballs Sweet Pea moves onto another holiday hit, press cookies in the shape of Christmas trees.

Pressing away!

Pre-launch press cookies.

With the leftover dough Sweet Pea makes three freak-shaped cookies – one each for her mother, father and aunt, which we eat while watching The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo at the multiplex.

Freak cookies. Yum!

Company cookies.

A few words about the film; we liked it very much, but everyone spoke English with a Swedish-y accent.  This reminded me of films made back in the day when the bad guys whether they be German spies or Japanese military men always spoke English to each other with accents, probably because Hollywood has issues with subtitles.  Our real problem with the accents is that our three sets of middle age ears each missed portions of the dialogue.  Dovima is still banging her head against the kitchen counter since she entirely missed the twist at the end The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo resolving the mystery with Christopher Plummer’s granddaughter.  My sister’s new mantra is:

Dovima:  Idiot!

My brother-in-law, Herb (with a silent h), and I have tried to assure her that she’s not an idiot, just pretty deaf.  Herb even went so far as to claim:

Herb:  Honey, there were times during the movie when I wanted to stand in front of the screen with a hearing horn!

His attempt at delivering a comforting lament fell on deaf ears.

Overall, this film is a very entertaining thriller and probably even better if heard in its entirety.

Back to cookies, after baking the press cookies, Sweet Pea made some Pillsbury slice and bake for a friend of hers.

Not bad.

Product placement shot like Coca Cola and Marlboro cigarettes in The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo.

Dovima and I, the official tasters, tried a few of those.  Surprisingly, they were pretty good.

Dovima:  What do you think’s the center stuff that makes them taste so good?

Me: Probably a lot of hydrogenated fat.

Then, Sweet Pea made her own favorites, Oreo Truffles.  Just smash a package of Oreos to smithereens, mix in a brick of cream cheese and refrigerate for two hours or freeze for 45 minutes.

Pulverizing Oreos.

Mixing cream cheese with Oreos.

Truffles ready for chilling.

Thurber keeping his distance.

Outside cat taunting Thurber, "Hey Big Dumb Wuss!"

Highly not recommended for the lactose intolerant set.

Lame Adventure 259: By Request, How I Wrap Gifts

In a one-word answer: poorly.

My blogger buddy, Kathy, who is the Martha Stewart of Tennessee, has been egging me on to reveal my gift-wrapping style.  She anticipates a good chuckle at the expense of my incompetence in this department.  I hope I deliver.

On Tuesday, my unwrapped gifts and I exited my comfort zone, the soot coated Apple, to head out to the San Francisco Bay Area to spend Christmas with my family.  As I do every year, I am spreading my special brand of sour to my sister, Dovima, niece, Sweet Pea, and brother-in-law, Herb (pronounced with a silent h).

Since my finances have been in freefall for the third year in a row and showing zero sign of reversing, thanks to having a get rich slow job at Cheapskates R Us, it has been years since I have given anyone of either my nearest (my East Coast posse) or farthest (my family and best friend from college, BatPat) a gift they rate.  Fortunately, I am the intrepid-type, so I do try to at least give everyone that matters a gift that reflects some degree of thought.  Yet, I arrived suffering a mini-crisis for I completely forgot about getting anything for Thurber, the family dog!

"How could you forget me?"

This is the first year I’ve ever forgotten the hound. I felt terribly turdish.  On Wednesday, I raced out to Target with Sweet Pea and Dovima to get him something he can chew on.  I was leaning toward a squeaky chicken but Sweet Pea thought this purple mallard went better with Thurber’s fur color.

Quack.

I was drawn to the duck’s soulful expression, the same sultry look I’ve been known to give my special someone, Yakking Gadfly.  The clerk at Target, a guy about my own age – over 40, under death – eyed me and eyed Thurber’s duck.

Me (screaming inside my head):  What?!

I withheld my inner irate New Yorker and silently shelled out five clams for the duck.

Target Clerk (snarky):  Happy Holidays to you and your duck.

Then, he quacked.  I bring out the best in everyone …

Onto my wrap-style, but not with Thurber’s duck, but with my brother, Axel’s, original gift I literally spent hours researching.

Danny Shanahan New Yorker Magazine tee shirt.

This New Yorker tee shirt happens to now be a collector’s item!

Lame Adventures Readership (en masse; all three of you):  Why?

Apparently, The New Yorker is no longer producing mugs or tee shirts with any cartoon of a reader’s choice.  I’m outraged!   Had I known this, I also would have pounced on getting a few Michael Maslin cartoons on tee shirts.  Check out his wonderful web site here.  Now that these tee shirts are such rarities, I am sure I will score even more points with my brother, not that I think this will ever top the toaster-radio that scored such a hit with Axel ten years ago.

How to wrap a New Yorker tee shirt without a box:

Swipe a roll of your sister's gridded wrapping paper.

Cut gridded wrap with your pen lying on top so you do not misplace your pen again.

Place tee shirt on gridded wrap.

Fold tee shirt.

Fold wrap left.

Fold wrap right.

Accidentally photograph dart board on wall.

Accidentally photograph stars on wall above dart board.

While holding camera strap in teeth trim wrap.

Yes, that is drool on wrap from holding camera strap in teeth.

Wrapping finally cut to correct size.

Spend ten minutes looking for tape.

Tape sitting atop tags where it had been all along.

Taped wrapping.

Tagged wrapping.

Select blue ribbon in recognition of many Jewish friends that loathe this time of year.

Spend fifteen minutes struggling to unpeel backing from bow.

Peeled bow.

Voila!

Take a two hour nap.

Qaulification to enter Recycling Hall of Shame.

Lame Adventure 258: Let’s Discuss Holiday Cards

Due to my growing like kudzu contempt for the US Postal Service for their consistently crummy delivery of my favorite magazine, The New Yorker, I had decided that 2011 was the year I was going to join the legions of former holiday card givers and end my tradition of sending holiday cards out of spite.  I briefly considered e-blasting Jib Jab e-cards but I decided against that since most of us are already inundated with too much crap on the web.  Luckily for the US Postal Service, my dear friend, Milton, talked me into sending holiday cards this year.  He is right; recipients like to receive hand written paper cards, but considering that he was sending sixty, I’d be inclined to sign my name with a rubber stamp.

Around Thanksgiving I embarked on my annual search for the appropriate card in questionable taste.  Milton feels very strongly about sending traditional holiday cards.  Pictured below is his elegant greeting of the season that he found in his favorite card store, Papyrus.

A holiday card dripping with elegance, taste and a ton of glitter. The crease comes courtesy of my letter carrier, Alice Sneer.

Milton sent sixty of these beauties and in each he hand wrote a personal note.  In mine he composed this heartwarming sonnet: “Have a truly cynical Xmas!”

When I opened it half a pound of glitter fell out and I anticipate I’ll be seeing shiny stuff sparkling in my humble abode well into 2012.  That’s cool with me.  I much prefer it to the large economy size jar of 183,217 popcorn kernels that I spilled in my sanctum sanctorum’s kitchen 28 years ago.  I’m still finding those kernels through today which is amazing since I even had my kitchen floor replaced.

Traditional holiday card tied with swatch of real ribbon from my best friend from college, BatPat.

There used to be a hole-in-the-wall greeting card/gay male novelties shop on Christopher Street I frequented for all of my greeting cards called Alternate Cards.  The guys that ran the place were very quiet men of South Asian decent.  Forgive me for being so narrow-minded, but they did not strike me as the type of chaps that reveled in selling penis-shaped pasta or cards captioned, “My left leg is Christmas.  My right leg is New Year’s.  Come up and see between the holidays.”  Yet, this shop was the best source for off-the-beaten-path holiday cards in New York.  Unfortunately, they suddenly shuttered about three years ago.  I don’t know if it was for the usual reason terrific businesses cease to exist — their rent was raised obscenely high, or if they were actually a front for al-Qaeda.  I do know that I miss them terribly.

Card from my boss, Elsbeth, with note on the back, "This Card was Printed Letterpress by Hand on a 100-Year-Old Chandler & Price Platen Press." Excluded note, "This card was not purchased at WalMart."

Then I realized I could send holiday cards based on cartoons that were published in The New Yorker.  I decided I would do this forever, but forever ended this year when production of tee shirts, mugs, and greeting cards featuring New Yorker cartoons ceased.  That was another devastating loss.

Adorable card from my sister, Dovima, that instantly triggered my cat allergies.

Last summer, the fine folks at Café Press gave me a sweet deal on their Stranger’s Day cards by New Yorker cartoonist Roz Chast.  I decided that they would be my new go-to source for holiday cards, but there was one barrier to this brainstorm.  Most of their cards were “eh” at best, and the few I liked said, “Merry Christmas” inside. I have several Jewish and atheist friends so that was a no go.

Hand-selected just for me card from my friend Martini Max.

Many of the funniest holiday greeting cards I’ve sent through the years were published by Noble Works, but I was at a complete loss as to where to find their cards.  I Google searched them and within a nanosecond discovered that they’re based in New Jersey, they have a vast library of a variety of greeting cards available online, I could buy my holiday cards directly from them tax-free, and if I needed any further incentive to hit my enter key, they were including free shipping, too.  As much as I would like to say that Noble Works online is my new go-to source for holiday cards, I have learned the hard way that this type of completely satisfied customer thinking invites a curse.  Therefore, I will offer my endorsement of Noble Works – and hope that this company outlives me.

My 2011 questionable taste holiday card:

What is not widely known is that this wabbit is a direct descendant of Bugs Bunny.

Lame Adventure 256: Holiday Tales in Manhattan

Normally I dedicate my weekends to my top three career pursuits — power sleeping, beverage guzzling, and overall aimlessness, but this past weekend the forecast called for clear skies and perfect late autumn temperatures in the forties and fifties – excellent weather for shooting pictures here in the Big Apple.  The perfect pictures to take?  The window dressing decorations courtesy of the major department stores that put on a show every holiday season — Macy’s, Lord & Taylor, Saks Fifth Avenue, Bergdorf Goodman, Barney’s, Bloomingdale’s and whoever else has an interesting display to share with the fawning masses.

Forty-five minutes after the alarm kicked me in the head at seven thirty on Sunday morning, I was riding the downtown express train to Herald Square.  Even though Macy’s does not open until nine, crowds were already gathering outside the entrance to Santaland and the Puppet Theatre.

Beating the rush.

I suspect that New York Times’ top theater critic Ben Brantley will resist reviewing that show.  Macy’s theme this year, as it has been for a while, is Believe.

In case anyone misses it, Macy's has Believe plastered on the side of their flagship store.

Macy's Believe meter. Macy's believes. Seriously.

All this believing initially activated my gag reflex, but I quickly ascertained that this believing goes back to the Virginia O’Hanlon story – the tale about the quizzical girl writing the reporter to ask if there is a Santa Claus.  I am certain that any woman named Virginia must so wish that girl had been named Lucinda or Adelaide or Hiawatha instead.  I imagine that it must get head-banging-into- the-wall-excruciating having to constantly hear “Yes Virginia …” throughout one’s life … if I were cursed with the name Virginia.

Macy's "Yes Virginia" window display.

Macy’s also managed to tie in Jessica Simpson and Martha Stewart with their other windows illustrating the secret behind how ornaments are made.

Macy's animated Jessica Simpson ornament display.

In Martha’s window, I did not notice any mention of Teflon being a key ingredient as I considered her felonious past.

Macy's elaborate ornament ingredients display.

Overall, Macy’s delivered.  I give their windows a solid B for jaded adults and an A+ for the people that count most, the small fry.

I hightailed over to Fifth Avenue where Lord & Taylor’s flagship store is located between West 38th and West 39th Streets.  I arrived before the stampede, but this character clad for the season was clearly captivated.

"I love this so much I wish I had thumbs!"

Lord & Taylor is another department store with displays that aim to delight the kids and possibly inadvertently, the critters.  Everything looked like a dollhouse on steroids to me, but if I were decades younger or walked on all fours, it would probably rock my world.

The Cadillac of dollhouses.

Dolls skiing.

Gingerbread house.

Winter wonderland with Santa scene.

I’ve also always been a sucker for micro-sized Etch-a-Sketches and was pleased to zoom in on this one.

Scaled down perfection.

Another deft Lord & Taylor touch is that they have framed holiday drawings by children plastered all over their displays. Even though you see one kid drawing, you’ve essentially seen them all, if I were a youngster, I’d be thrilled to have my artwork on display on Fifth Avenue.

Six-year-old Kristen's masterpiece.

Artwork by kids.

For that alone I rate Lord & Taylor an overall A+.

I pounded the pavement up Fifth to Saks Fifth Avenue’s display that gives a cursory nod to the kiddies with an animated mannequin riding a bicycle through each window featuring couture fashion.

Together at last - animated mannequin riding bicycle and an Oscar de la Renta gown.

I thought their display’s mechanical theme was rather perverse.  Saks clearly has an eye on more sophisticated girls and boys.  It’s also where my hardcore fashionista buddy, Coco, shops.  She recently revealed to me that she was invited to the opening day of this display.

Me (pouncing):  You were invited to the opening day of a window display like it’s an exhibit at the Met?  What the hell is that about? It’s a department store!

Coco (defensive): I didn’t go!

Unlike Coco, I did go, but unfortunately the glare bouncing off the picture windows limited the number of pictures I can share.

Ackerman design with wheel in well-thing.

Stella McCartney design on mannequin on scale. Huh?

Olivier Theyskens design on another mechanical mannequin that turned wheel that did who-knows-what.

Overall, they scored a B with me, good, but not mind-blowing.  The fashion on display deserved better.

Lots of Old Glory flying outside Rockefeller Center.

I crossed the street and visited Rockefeller Center.

Angel Gabriel blowing his horn in Rockefeller Center.

Do the tens of thousands that visit Rockefeller Center know this?

As usual, they pull out all the stops on the tree and it sparkles even in daylight.

This tree is much more impressive in person.

As I inched my way up to the skating rink, the ice from below made me feel like I was standing in a freezer.  That got old quickly, especially as I consider that is how the air will feel on a daily basis for months on end soon enough.

Rockefeller Center drummer boy not hitting anyone in the head.

Rockefeller Center flags blowing in breeze over skating rink.

I resumed walking up Fifth Avenue; stopping to annoy a chocolatier at Godiva who I am certain would have loved to smack me with a spatula.

Dipping strawberries in chocolate.

Yum!

Once I lift my camera and start taking photographs, this prompts others to take notice and start snapping shots.   I have determined that picture taking is definitely an STD – a socially transmitted disease.

Next, I passed Henri Bendel, an eclectic department store I used to shop at regularly when I was fit and made an effort with my appearance.

Apparently the holidays means Rockettes Season at Bendel's.

Bendel's Rockette tribute continued.

As I glanced at my reflection and shuddered, it dawned on me that I probably have not set a toe in there in twenty years.

Towerless Trump Tower shooting stars at ground level.

Other pictures I shot in the area included Trump Tower shooting stars, and Fendi’s odd belt buckle celebration of the season.

Fendi's buckled building.

Maybe this is a subliminal message to shoppers to loosen up?

Then, there are the monuments to expensive jewelry that Marilyn Monroe memorably sang about in Diamonds are a Girl’s Best Friend from Gentlemen Prefer Blonds:

Tiffany’s!

Cartier!

Black Starr!

Frost Gorm!

Talk to me Harry Winston.

Tell me all about it!

Tiffany's

Tiffany's merry-go-round-themed window.

Cartier - show her you love her, give her the entire store wrapped in red ribbon!

Harry Winston's advice, "Get that ice or else no dice!"

Finally I reached 58th Street and Fifth Avenue, Bergdorf Goodman and this year’s version of (to get Moulin Rouge! here) their Spectacular, Spectacular.

Bergdorf Goodman - the Louvre of holiday window dressing displays.

If there is only one set of holiday display windows to see in New York City, I suggest flipping a coin between Barney’s and Bergdorf’s but this year, Bergdorf’s is in a league of their own — miles ahead of the rest of the pack and that includes Barney’s.  Bergdorf’s theme is Carnival of the Animals.  Couture fashion combined with antiques and exquisite set design worthy of a Tony award.  Bergdorf’s windows are opulent, elegant, imaginative and simply breathtaking – across the board A+; must-see I Love New York-style extravaganza.  These pictures are anemic offerings.

Breaking the Ice.

Detail of Breaking the Ice animals. Note the leather muzzles.

Testing the Waters - Alexander McQueen display.

Detail of McQueen design, a genius with feathers.

Paper zebra.

Literally, this zebra's head is constructed out of paper.

Super paper-trained dog made from paper.

Snowbirds posing.

As I headed east to Barney’s on Madison Avenue at 61st Street, I was still feeling high from Bergdorf’s production, but I could hear the Lady Gaga music and I was again feeling excited.  I knew Barney’s had recently opened Gaga’s Workshop, but I didn’t realize that it would consume every display window.

The Gaga Machine.

Gaga's Crystal Cave.

Gaga's Boudoir.

I did not find it particularly holiday-themed and thought it could have worked just as well in March or July.  It was imaginative and I do find her entertaining, but I was not knocked out.  It would have been very disturbing to me when I was a small fry.  I am sure I would have been haunted until age thirty by the naked hair-covered version of her lying on a hairy chaise.

If this would not have terrified me as a child, the hair surely would have activated my allergies.

Still, overall, I’d rate it A-.

Following Barney’s I walked further east to Bloomingdale’s.  Their display is kid-proof, but when compared to this year’s family-friendly titans, Macy’s and Lord & Taylor, rather dull.

Good Deeds.

Penguins <yawn>

Santa and Reindeer boxed in.

Santa and Reindeer unboxed.

One novel aspect of Bloomingdale’s is an interactive component where you hit a button and a camera takes a photograph of you that appears on their Facebook page.  Personally, I think I’d rather appear on the FBI’s Ten Most Wanted List, but that’s just me.  Bloomie’s rating B.

Although by now I was developing blisters on my left foot that were about the size of Donner and Blitzen, I continued with my hike in the hope I might see other sites worth sharing here.  It came as no surprise that Bergdorf Goodman’s men store offered more novel displays.

Santa Squirrel bearing gifts!

Reality Squirrel munching acorn near festive red bottle cap.

Athletic display of wolf making nice with penguins.

Talented display of cardinal in Alexander McQueen jacket.

As I walked west on Central Park South, I encountered the Columbus Circle Holiday Market.

Get. Stuff. Here.

How about puppets that look like Muppets?

Call it what it is, Material Things.

Surely, Santa was somewhere in this candy cane colored shopping megalopolis, if you had the mental fortitude I lacked to make your way through the maze of stands and the dense crowds.

Santa - nowhere to be found in here!

If there was a sign giving directions to Santa, I missed it.

The hour was approaching eleven thirty and I did not feel like walking over to Broadway to catch a bus or subway to my Upper West Side abode, but I was also too cheap to spring for a taxi. Therefore, I just continued to hoof my way up Central Park West with visions of liquefied juniper berries dancing in my head.  A few blocks north of the Columbus Circle Holiday Market, I noticed these feet.

Hmm ...

Then, I looked up at the owner of those feet, a very familiar cheery looking guy sitting on a park bench.  I thought I might be hallucinating.  To see if he was real, I approached him.

Me:  May I photograph you for my blog?

Very Familiar Looking Cheery Guy:  Sure.

Me:  Um … What’s your name?

Very Familiar Looking Cheery Guy:  Let’s not go there.

Me:  Can I call you Nick?

Nick:  Sure.

I took his picture.

"Nick"

Yes Lucinda, Adelaide, Hiawatha, and even you, Virginia, there is a … “Nick”.