PETER BUFFA -- Comments & Curiosities

This is it. Hang on tight. Better yet, lash yourself to the nearest

pine tree with some garland. The winds of festivity are reaching

hurricane force. Decorations, lights, gifts, parties -- swirling around

us from every direction. We have reached the core of the holiday vortex,

the eye of the yuletide storm.

We do have some new wrinkles this year, though. Lights are something

of an issue. At Mariners Elementary School, we had a brief outbreak of

political correctness -- an annual tradition in itself -- over some

lights placed around the outside of the school by parent volunteers.

Little did I know lights were denominational. Hear me well on this,

Cratchit. Obviously, lights clearly favor one religious preference. A few

lights today and before long, kids will be calling Hanukkah the Festival

of Lights, for heaven’s sake.

Then there is the sudden and mysterious power crunch. Anyone

understand it by the way? No one I know. Until a few months ago, we were

powered up and ready to go as always. Now, apparently, we rank just above

Zimbabwe in electrical power, and we’re supposed to feel guilty about

Christmas lights. I don’t get it. It is all too reminiscent of the

dreaded Y2K “crisis.”

Been awhile since you heard that phrase, hasn’t it? Speaking of Y2K, a

few people are trying to generate some excitement about the fact that

this Jan. 1, not the last one, is the real start of the millennium.

Please, just shoot me. Everyone knows that by now, but most of us would

rather have a root canal without Novocain than go through that again.

Finally, from the lighting department, a brief tip of the holiday hat

to a house on Country Club Drive in Costa Mesa. I don’t know who you are,

but you do, so please step forward and take a bow if you happen to read

this. Every once in a while, something new in outdoor decorations comes

along, such as the now-ubiquitous icicle lights that showed up a few

years ago. The house in question has a number of very tall palm trees,

front and back. The owners have somehow managed to place a few lights at

the very top of each palm tree, but I have no idea how -- two trees last

year, and about five this year. You can see them for blocks and blocks,

and the net effect is something like a handful of highflying circus

balloons, glowing bright red and green and blue against the night sky.

It’s a happy, slightly wacky sight that demands a smile when you see it,

and one which I predict we’ll see more and more in the years to come.

Holiday parties are also changing with the times, I think. Do you

agree? I knew that you would. These days, the key word seems to be

downsizing. Smaller gatherings, closer friends, simpler offerings. When

we first arrived in Newport-Mesa land, progressive dinners -- and we’re

not talking about politics -- were a big deal, especially around the

holidays. It was progressive because you went to this house for hors

d’oeuvres, then that house for the main course, then another house for

dessert, et cetera. There was an abundance of beverages at every house,

however.

I suspect the popularity of progressive dinners dropped as the concern

over drinking and driving rose. The other oddity about big holiday

parties was the “party people.” We all have them in our lives. Party

people only exist at holiday parties. We catch up on each other’s lives

somewhere between the guacamole and the bruschetta, and that’s it. Done.

Over. See you next year. What happens to the party people from December

to December? Do they get stored in the garage with the other ornaments?

No one knows.

The office party, another venerable holiday institution, has also

become more subdued. The overall quality has improved significantly, and

the incidence of lamp shade-wearing has fallen dramatically. The days

when six or eight glasses of champagne punch convinced the painfully shy

woman from accounting to climb atop the conference table and do her

imitation of Madonna and “Material Girl” are, mercifully, over. A lot of

office parties have a charity twist now -- “everybody bring two cans of

food,” etc. -- which is a good thing.

Boat parade parties are fun. There is the built-in entertainment of

the boat parade, and I like the interaction between the boat people and

the shore people. Whatever team you’re on, you shout at them, they shout

at you, no one understands a word, everyone smiles and waves. Then

there’s the endless game of guessing how much the really big boats cost

(“I have no idea”) and whether they did the decorating themselves or had

someone do it (“Someone did it”). You have to cheer for the little boats,

though, some of which look like more beer was involved than lights.

And that just leaves the perennial question of New Year’s Eve. Stay

home or go out, go out or stay home? One never knows. If you go out,

should you go to a party or do the restaurant thing? If you stay home,

should you throw your own party, just invite a few close friends over, or

go it alone. The risk there, of course, is slipping into a

recliner-induced coma and missing the whole thing, only to wake up at

1:25 a.m. during some infomercial for Victoria Principal’s skin care

system. Of course, as a former New Yorker, I don’t believe it’s the New

Year unless I see the ball come down with my own eyes, even if I am

watching something that happened three hours ago. Let’s not get bogged

down in details.

So there you have it, the holiday waltz. Have fun, don’t get too

crazy, but party hearty, Marty.

I gotta go.

PETER BUFFA is a former Costa Mesa mayor. His column runs Fridays. He

can be reached via e-mail at PtrB4@aol.com.