Happy Holidays Y'all!

    Lately I’ve been feeling like an outsider in my own country. Since I'm white, female and Jewish that may seem ridiculous.

   I’m second generation on one side; third on the other. When people ask me what I am, I tend to stand there for a second with a blank expression and say, “Um, American?” before I realize they want to know where my grandparents and great-grandparents emigrated from.

   That would have been Russia. Because they were Jews, and not generally loved there they fled to a safer place: America. It wasn’t easy (my Papa Ike arrived speaking barely any English with little money and fewer contacts) they survived and most became valuable, if not valued members of society. (They were still Jewish after all.)

   By the time I came along, the Livetens had settled in a liberal university town in New England.  I went to a school bursting with diversity. My best friends in grade school were a rainbow of races and religions.

   I guess I grew up naïve. Not only did I think everyone had great museums, art galleries and theater in their towns, but I had little exposure to racism and religious bigotry.  It was great.

   Until the first time I someone called me a kike.  At first I didn’t even know what it meant.  I’d been called a lot of names - fatso, shorty, four-eyes. You know, the usuals, but I’d never been attacked for my beliefs. Especially since I didn’t really know what I believed, being more a cultural Jew than a practicing one.

   Because it didn’t happen to me often, I could shove it to the back of my mind and move on. But it still occupies real estate there.

   Which is just one of the multitude of reasons I’m so appalled by the current GOP landscape. 

   Granted, neither Ben “Loosewiththefacts” Carson or Donald “Imnotaracist” Trump have used the slang words for the people they hate. They’ve done worse: they encouraged their followers to do so.. And more.

   Pro-immigrant activists and Hispanics have been attacked at Trump rallies. The Donald’s response is that his fans are “enthusiastic.”  He says it with a grin. He makes me shudder with fear.

   I don’t think I’m being overdramatic, and I don’t really care if I am, but that’s what people thought about those nasty Hitler followers. They were just passionate believers. Wearing ugly brown outfits.

   Currently there are a handful of GOP candidates and millions of registered voters who fervently believe that only straight male Christians should be President. It is one reason why Obama-haters passionately insist that he is Muslim.  It would be damaging politically to admit that they hate him because he’s black (or as Rupert Murdock insinuates, a “bad” black man as opposed to Carson’s “good black man”), but it’s okay to hate him for his religion.

   Silly me. I thought the good ole USA was founded on religious freedom. It’s in the Constitution. You know, that document that the right wing likes to quote, but has apparently never read.

   This week, just in time for the latest GOP ‘debate’ the crazies have trotted out their annual “war against Christmas” campaign. It appears every year about the same time that retailers drag out their holiday decorations. And like the decorations, it comes out earlier and earlier.

   I’ve been hearing clerks and friends wish me a Merry Christmas since I was old enough to understand. I always assumed that it was a friendly greeting, a seasonal version of  “have a nice day.” 

   When some people switched to “happy holidays” I didn’t give it much thought. It’s more inclusive and more, dare I say it, Christian of them, to acknowledge other people’s celebrations. It was nice.

   Apparently I was wrong. It was the sign of the coming apocalypse.

   The latest kerfuffle is about Starbucks cups. Apparently the red and green colors aren’t Christmas-y enough. The old ones had snowflakes and skates on them, which I didn’t realize were traditional Christian symbols. I’ve been in a lot of churches over the years and spotted nary a skate or a snowflake. Maybe they hide them in the back.

  I realize that the cup issue is really just a cover for something far more nasty and insidious.

   Maybe I’m still naïve. I honestly believe that my Jewish grand-nieces and nephews, and my Muslim and Buddist friend’s kids and grandchildren have a right to be leaders in this country. Just as my LGBT friends do.

   What this cup hysteria has done is make me realize that while pockets of the country have grown more and more open and accepting there’s a huge swath of people who are angry at their own failures and problems. Those people are just looking for a place to plunk the blame.

   Those haters zone directly onto folks they see as others: people with different religions and customs and sexuality.  Those haters complain that they are just being true patriots, and are defending their country from people who would destroy it.

   But isn’t the greatest thing about America that it welcomes others? Isn’t that what the whole wonderful ‘melting pot’ is supposed to be about?

  I thought it was. I hope it is. I believe it is.

   As for my celebrations this season? I’m looking for a giant inflatable rubber duck that lights up at night.

  Happy holidays y’all!

A Jew Takes On Holiday Lights

I adore Christmas lights. When I was a kid we used to pile in the car and drive around town looking for homeowners who made an effort. It helped that we were in New England, and by Christmas the whole place was usually covered in new snow – which unlike old, dirty, slushy snow is pretty and festive.  You know, New England-y.

There was one family who really did it up. Perched on the roof was a Santa in a sleigh pulled by reindeer. The lawn was sprinkled with decorated trees and Ye Olde Carolers.  There was even holiday music piped out to the street. The week of Christmas a man dressed as Santa and gave away cookies on the doorstep.  ‘Course this was a long time ago. Now he’d be suspected of being a pedophile.

When I first moved to California I believed that that my best light-watching days were behind me. We barely have a winter, limited pine trees and certainly no snow. Boy, was I wrong.

Not only does the DWP sponsor a holiday light extravaganza, but there are at least two neighborhoods in Los Angeles County dubbed “Candy Cane Lane.” Any of the houses in these neighborhoods easily put my childhood memories to shame. They can probably be seen from the Space Station.  Naturally I love them.

When I lived in North Hollywood, one of my neighbors was a little loony. And not just because he had a pack of Pugs and Chihuahuas. Bad taste is part of what make holiday decorations great, and he was going for the title.

Year round his tiny yard featured a 10-foot, working Ferris wheel with stuffed animals in each car.  During the holidays they all received Santa hats. But that was just the start.  There was also the first blow up Grinch I’d ever seen, as well as Frosty the Snowman, Snoopy with Woodstock, Rudolf the Red-Nosed Reindeer and for good measure, a couple of old school, white wire deer, trimmed with lights. It looked like a Christmas store had thrown up. It was absolutely awesome!

I’m sure part of my attraction to holiday decorations is that I’m Jewish, and while my family is not deeply religious, we never even had a Hanukkah bush.  My dad was very tolerant, but he drew the line at trees and lights.

I didn’t exactly suffer. My aunt is Catholic, and, every year she let my brother and I decorate her tree.  She is, however, an extremely tasteful woman and her tree is likewise. Mostly old beautiful ornaments, white lights and actual popcorn strands.  And tinsel. She let us go wild with the tinsel. 

Until about four years ago it didn’t occur to me that I was an adult and could have a Hanukkah tree in my house if I wanted. Maybe I had to wait until my dad died. All I know is that my last year in North Hollywood, I bought a tiny living tree and a strand of lights and set it up in my front window. It made me very, very, happy. Who knew I was that easily pleased?

When I moved to my little ranchette in Chatsworth I continued the tradition. Every year I’d get a little rosemary tree and decorate it. The rosemary made the whole house smell great, so I convinced myself it was really there to help cover the smell of wet dog. Nothing can cover the smell of wet dog.

Last year was my first foray into outdoor lights. Even though I adore those fat, old fashioned, multi-colored bulbs, I reined myself in and bought strands of blue and white ones. I popped them out of the box, carefully wrapped them around the round pen in the front yard (Doesn’t EVERY house have a round pen in the front yard?) and plugged them in. It looked awesome.

All my life I’d heard horror stories about stringing holiday lights. The way people bitched and moaned and carried on, you’d think they were being forced to build IKEA furniture. I thought  the whole thing was pretty easy.  Obviously the kvetchers were complete morons.

This year I decided to go wild and add a second strand of outdoor lights. But first I had to unpack the lights I'd carefully put away last year.  It took an hour to untangle them, but it was a pleasant day, so it wasn’t a big deal. 

Then I opened the new lights and wrapped them around the fence. It didn’t have that Martha Stewart look, so I undid them and rewrapped it.  Again and again. Finally it looked tolerable. I plugged it in… and it all shorted out.  I might have said a few bad words. Or many.

But I’m not a quitter. So I trekked back to Lowes, bought a bunch more lights and actually read the instructions. Apparently you can only connect a certain number of strands together or they will blow. Ooops.

By the time I got back to my house it was getting dark and I was over the whole thing. I rapidly hung the damn lights however they came out of the box.  Still when I plugged them in, it was beautiful.

While I was in Lowes, I saw that they had a 10-foot blow-up rubber ducky wearing a Santa hat. That would look AMAZING inside the round pen, wouldn’t it?

Duck, Duck, What a Duck!

I spent Sunday with a duck. Not just any duck, mind you. But a Duck. An enormous yellow rubber Duckie that was moored to a dock in the Los Angeles Harbor.  You might have seen him on the news.  He was quite the sensation because, well, he’s a six-story  high rubber Duckie.

The Duck is the brainchild of the Dutch artist Forentijn Hofman and just about most fun art project I’ve ever seen.  Hofman’s inspiration for the Duckie was a now-famous shipwreck in 1992.

At that time a boatload of children’s bath toys – there were green frogs and blue turtles aboard as well as 28,000 yellow ducks—from the First Years Toy Company in China capsized on its way to the US. While that alone might count as a major tragedy for those of us who cherish rubber ducks, it didn’t really make a dent in the world’s consciousness. Until the ducks started washing up on beaches around the world.

First an armada of ducks hit the shores of Alaska. Then they bobbed their way to Japan and Hawaii. By 2001 ducks were turning up in Maine and Massachusetts before some actually made their way to Scotland, Ireland and Britain. Those yellow bath ducks were everywhere.

 Apparently if you want some sturdy toys forget Playskool, turn instead to the First Years Toy Company – they build things to last. Along the way the ducks developed quite the fan club. Hundreds of people scour beaches around the world collecting them. Books have been written about them.

But by 2000, Duckie fans weren’t the only ones taking an interest.  Scientists were also paying attention. Apparently the ducks travel itineraries  told the men and women of science a great deal about the changing patterns of ocean currents around the world. Though that fascinated scientists, the rest of us were just charmed by the little guys.

Forentiijn Hofman was a natural to latch onto the ducks. His work tends to be large and whimsical. He has created a gigantic pink cat that appears to be made out of yarn, a pink pig that suspends from above, (the proverbial ‘flying pig’) and ginormous green frog sporting a party hat that he parked on top of a building. The Duckie is his biggest and most popular attraction. Because it’s completely charming.

The giant Duck, like it’s tiny predecessors, is a world traveler. (Actually, Hofman makes a new duck for every installation; his work isn’t nearly as sturdy as that of the First Years Toy Company.) It’s passport has been stamped by appearances in harbors and rivers in Taiwan,  cities in Belgium, Sydney , New Zealand, Japan, Hong Kong and London. In the US, the Duck visited Pittsburgh and heralded the opening of the Chrysler Museum of Art in Norfolk, Virginia.

When it floated into the Los Angeles Harbor last week the Duck immediately created controversy.  The Duck was billed as part of a Tall Ships Festival.  Usually Tall Ships, the high masted sailing ships from the past, are enough to draw a crowd.  They spark visions of the Pirates of the Caribbean, and days of yore. Besides, they are beautiful. 

But even magnificent schooners pale a little when parked next to a forty foot tall yellow Duckie.  Okay, they fade a lot.  The Duck was a sensation.

The Duck was originally scheduled to be placed out in the Harbor, free to be seen by one and all. But then the organizers realized that next to no one was paying the $7 admission, or purchasing pirate-themed stuff from the vendors, or eating at the food trucks. The only merchandise that was moving was six-inch models of the duck.

So after an unanticipated ruckus from the vendors, the Duck was hauled into the dock and installed at the end of the row of Tall Ships. Instant hit. Sort of.

Now everyone who wanted to have a good view of the Duck had to pay the admission price. It didn’t slow the massive crowds.  Literally thousands came to check out the Duck. As a bonus, the Tall Ships were on view as well.

With the Duck in port, it was  now possible to get great selfies with the Duck. Virtually every person who came out to see it took advantage of the opportunity. And why not? More than likely, it was a once in a lifetime chance.

The only thing that was odd was the reaction of the kids visiting the Duck. There were zillions of them, but they didn’t really care about the Duck. While parents were entranced with the extreme fowl, the little ones were more taken with the faux pirates that were running around selling plastic swords.  Huh?

Maybe kids are so jaded by CGI Mutant Ninja Turtles and the like, that a monstrous yellow floating Duck is just business as usual. Which is kind of heartbreaking.

The children weren’t even all that excited by the “Baby Duck” that sat outside of the area. It was a mere 10 feet tall, and they could touch it.

Me, I loved the whole thing.  The Duck blew my mind.  And the Baby Duck would look absolutely awesome in my front yard. Quacking in the wind.