I’m That Dude

Yep, I can’t deny it. I’m the front yard holiday mascot blowup dude that lives on your block. I know, I have a problem and am now willing to admit it. That’s the first step, right? I don’t mean to brag, but this year I will achieve an almost perfect state of Griswold. Clark would be proud. And I suspect that Cousin Eddie would too.

I was driving around with the fam over the weekend and we had to do that goofy quick right turn because there was the draw of intense illumination we were about to pass on a side street. They were in awe, but I was unimpressed. Haughty? I’d say educated. Snobbish, I say experienced. Jealous? No way. It was totally prefab, with no continuity of theme or color. When they tried to freehand, nothing was proportional. Commercialism. What a drag.

The official decoration season does not follow the calendar year. It starts with the standing 8’ turkey that comes out November 1st. Then while the turkey sandwiches are still flowing as close to Thanksgiving as possible, the 8’ Santa and complementary 8’ Tree make their appearance. Along with all the red and green trimmings baby. It’s a visual gallery of festivity. Then the season concludes with an 8’ Uncle Sam for the quick setup and putaway for the 4th of July. It takes that long for my neighborhood to recover from my Christmas bonanza. And for me to pay off my utility bill.

So, tonight I made the mistake of dwelling on the Lakers loss to the Spurs while I’m shutting down the bonanza (I was sick two days over the weekend and have yet to finish, much less setup my intricate electrical distribution system complete with timers). While I’m watching Santa and the Tree kiss the dirt during deflation, all of a sudden my mind does this weird combo meld.

What I desperately need are some sports mascot self inflating decorations to fill my gaps during various sports seasons. I could have the A.C. Green pulling down a rebound. Or best yet, the ultimate dominant Lakers center presentation: Mikan, Wilt, Lew (Kareem), Shaq, and Mihm. I’m kidding on the Mihm of course.

Baseball season would see Mike Sciosa striking that emotionless pose behind his dugout desk. Or Tim Salmon at the plate. Or Frankie Rodriguez pointing at the sky after closing a game. Lurking around the corner of my house could be none other than Nolan Ryan in fresh California Angels gear in mid windup. I’d find a place for Konerko.

For football, I would have to wait until the Saints make it official and I research my new favorite team.

A big huge red OU monument would look great in my front yard Hall of Fame. I hate to even mention OU, ‘cuz I have this one certain power pom pom wielding friend that drills me with USC gloat everytime he remembers I’m a Sooner. Better times are ahead my friends.

I’d need some UFC dudes, delivering roundhouse kicks, dropping people on their heads, and wrestling like chimps. Yeah, I don’t know what that last one means either. But it’s a funny visual.

You could have NHL players sitting around in strike mode watching TV, and you could have soccer players running around filling the chip bowls and pouring sodas.

I guess this sickness comes from my love of the ginormous balloons in the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade growing up. Underdog was always the highlight for me. And yes, I know that these holidays mean more than decorations and ornaments. But I’ll take being Clark Griswold anyday over sitting in the center of the mall waiting for the remainder of my shopping party to finish purchasing women’s unmentionables.

Or trying to outwrestle a grown man for a dvd player in the middle of WalMart.

I guess I better get back to the excellent upcoming new skool vs. old skool piece on this year’s Colts. The Frappe editors are crawling on my back to get it out.

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