So, even if you’ve spent a lifetime getting to the point where you can go full-on grouchy old man get offa my lawn mode at the proposed change in tradition, it’s fine to acquiesce to the hoped-for vision of those who are louder and have more intoxicants to share, just so long as you can claim plausible deniability when the inevitable occurs.
Thus, it makes sense to unstrap your own holiday offering and pile it upon the pyre as quickly as possible in order to be able to assume bystander status when the sirens materialize as the grouchy old man within predicted they surely would.
It’s nice to know, anyway, that Seattle’s one-percenters, dining on Sea Bream with Savoy Cabbage and Koji Butter sauce along with Shaved Waygu with Oyster emulsion and ogo powder, have a sufficient sense of civic responsibility to gaze down from their commanding view across Lake Union and alert the authorities that the beacon signal fire atop Weathertop has been lit.
Fortunately, the Nazgul in this case turn out to be the friendliest of our fair city’s finest and enjoy the view as much as anyone while applying the wonderfully-named “wet water” to Christmas embers.
Second-best worst-idea ever in my humble estimation, and considering the candidates for top five include wayfaring closed freeways, riding bicycles through carwashes, and dining and dashing from questionable tabs at questionable watering holes, that’s pretty impressive.
What’s really impressive, though, is that such things keep happening, year after year, and in spite of the usual bumps and bruises, for the most part, the rubber side keeps staying down.
And before you know it, there you are at another conflagration that would have been taboo not so long ago, but nowadays is commonplace in its occurrence, if not its delight.
Fireman: “See you next year.”
Grouchy old man: “Sooner than that!”
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