And nowhere was this more apparent than Christmas at the Grove.
The Grove, for all of you who don't live in LA, is a Italian-themed super-pavillion where on any given stroll you can see a movie, get some dippin dots, or watch the fountains dance to Andrea Bochelli's wrenching "Goodbye". It's an Oasis of fax cultural consumerism in the middle of Los Angeles, a place not known for it's authenticity, and while I appreciated their stab at building a "Winter Wonderland", beach weather does not a cockle warm.
I went to the Grove hoping to suck up some Christmas cheer but the second my friends and I walked in it was clear we wouldn't be finding it here. Unable to get to the front of the stage we were forced to watch the festivities on a plasma set up between the tree and the back of the proscenium. "Band from TV", a cover-act comprised of television personalities blared out holiday classics as a very bored John Lovitz emceed despite the massive tranquilizers he appeared to be on. As the actor who plays House finished a kickin' keyboard solo something really didn't seem to be connecting with me. It was too goddamn warm.
Remembering the bundled-up chill that would accompany swooning for the holidays I couldn't help but think that these California kids were being severely fucked with. Where I grew up we had evergreen trees and snow, and neither of those were on a backlot - Santa rides a sleigh, not a surfboard. I suppose I've always equated holiday cheer to the elements and try as I might I couldn't get the goosebumps up - even when they dropped soap-chips on us and lit the tree I wasn't moved in any way.
And then they airlifted Santa in.
Yep.
With much fanfare, Santa belayed down, precariously descending on a flimsy zipwire like a yultide SWAT. And then, right as he was about to land, he got stuck - dangling for a good 20 seconds above the stage as production assistants swiped at his levitating boots for a christmas foothold. Lovitz seemed like he didn't even know it was happenning. It was around this point I really began to long for New England.
And then the fireworks went off. The perfect anachronism to an already odd holiday mashup, once the Snow Patrol had landed Santa safely on the stage the attention shifted east as a loud and impressive fireworks display lit up above the massive tree. To point out that it seemed like the 4th of JuChristmas would be unnecessary, this wasn't jolting me out of a Hallmarkian Christmas dream, it was kicking my ass. This place wasn't trying to illuminate the humbler corners of my heart, it was trying to pry open my third eye and lay it's eggs under the lobe. This was full-on-holiday-overload and if I wasn't man enough to enjoy the explosions in and around Santa's no-fly-zone then it was my fault for not being able to tap into everyone else's fuckin' awesome happiness.
And this realization set me free. Santa probably had to go down on someone to be able to go down on the zipwire tonight- this was Christmas for the sold-of-soul, and I was one of them. Welcome to LA you little bitch.
Strolling out of the pavillion once the cerimony had ended my friends and I were laughing about the whole experience as a vendor began handing out free samples of coffee grounds. Accepting that this Christmas was neither the time nor the place for Christmas cheer, we began to stuff our pockets with as many samples as we could manage. Set to the backdrop of BMW's and Mercede's being pulled out of the vallet by underpaid Mexicans, we walked away filled to the brim with free coffee. My friends gave some of them to people we passed on the street but I didn't. These were mine. All mine.And I'd be back next year for more.
