It’s a good thing that the number one fans of Sugarplum Elves, unlike the charming troupe themselves, are not made of sugar (and spice and everything nice), because were that the case, we’d all have been reduced to a sticky pool of sweetness well before we’d even left Westlake.
As it was, however, the full transition to syrupy concoction didn’t occur until we arrived at the Baranoff where the holiday festivities were in full swing—not to mention rock, hip-hop, disco, and many other genres to dance and sing to.
A bevy of holiday cheer abounded throughout, clearing the place of the dreariness that often characterizes it; there were smiles as wide as candy cane palaces and laughter lay the bass line to holiday favorites sung by everyone’s favorite holiday singers.
In Clement Clark Moore’s classic poem, which I just learned is actually titled “A Visit from St. Nicholas,” it is merely visions of sugar-plums which dance in one’s head; the fortunate many in attendance at this sweet dream of an event got to have real-live three—(no, make that four)—dimensional warm-blooded Sugarplums dancing in the flesh right before and with them all night long.
Prior to that, in real honest-to-goodness old-fashioned hobo bike gang style, we hung out under an overpass avoiding the deluge and courting public intoxication; William James himself would have been proud of how we sought out those momentary glimpses of the absolute.
“Sobriety diminishes, discriminates, and says no; drunkenness expands, unites, and says yes,” wrote James in The Varieties of Religious Experience, and as far as I know, he never had the pleasure of making that affirmation while riding a bike to such a wonderfully life-affirming experience as a singing and dancing elf party.
It’s easy to get cynical about Christmas what with all the crass commercialism and forced frivolity; a solid dose of Sugarplum Elves, though, is all it takes to affirm the true holiday spirit of expansion, unity, and joy.
Yes!
As it was, however, the full transition to syrupy concoction didn’t occur until we arrived at the Baranoff where the holiday festivities were in full swing—not to mention rock, hip-hop, disco, and many other genres to dance and sing to.
A bevy of holiday cheer abounded throughout, clearing the place of the dreariness that often characterizes it; there were smiles as wide as candy cane palaces and laughter lay the bass line to holiday favorites sung by everyone’s favorite holiday singers.
In Clement Clark Moore’s classic poem, which I just learned is actually titled “A Visit from St. Nicholas,” it is merely visions of sugar-plums which dance in one’s head; the fortunate many in attendance at this sweet dream of an event got to have real-live three—(no, make that four)—dimensional warm-blooded Sugarplums dancing in the flesh right before and with them all night long.
Prior to that, in real honest-to-goodness old-fashioned hobo bike gang style, we hung out under an overpass avoiding the deluge and courting public intoxication; William James himself would have been proud of how we sought out those momentary glimpses of the absolute.
“Sobriety diminishes, discriminates, and says no; drunkenness expands, unites, and says yes,” wrote James in The Varieties of Religious Experience, and as far as I know, he never had the pleasure of making that affirmation while riding a bike to such a wonderfully life-affirming experience as a singing and dancing elf party.
It’s easy to get cynical about Christmas what with all the crass commercialism and forced frivolity; a solid dose of Sugarplum Elves, though, is all it takes to affirm the true holiday spirit of expansion, unity, and joy.
Yes!
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