Well, the pink Christmas tree, which I affectionately call The Ugliest Christmas Tree In The World, is up again and, thanks to some bafflingly hideous ornaments, it is worse than ever. I’ve kinda fallen in love with it. I can’t stop looking at it. It has transcended mere neon tackiness and is now, I feel, a work of art so intensely disagreeable that defines a whole new kind of beauty. That’s why I put it in the front window, for the whole street to enjoy. The looks of “What the FUCK??” on the faces of sidewalk passersby are a treasure of which I never tire.
Dramatization. Actual dinosaurs not pictured.
Under the tree I’ve set up a diorama of plastic dinosaurs in a frosty winter forest, because dinosaurs, if you think about it, were really the only thing missing from last year’s setup. And instead of a tree skirt, the whole thing sits atop a leopard skin throw. It’s glorious. My mom came over just to see it because she didn’t believe the description and thought I surely must be exaggerating. Once she saw it she was momentarily dumbstruck, and afterwards all she could do was say my name, over and over, in a worried, defeated tone. “Christopher, Christopher, Christopher…” I could not have asked for a more encouraging response. Oh, and I also have a boring old green one that’s going up somewhere, eventually.
