COMMENTS & CURIOSITIES

Peter Buffa

Anybody home? I’m sure lots of people are. I just don’t happen to be

one of them. I am back on the right coast, in the Very Large Apple,

Gotham, New York City.

If there is a capitol of Christmas, this must be it. The First Noel

was in Bethlehem, but the second must have been in Rockefeller Plaza.

Between Thanksgiving and Dec. 25, this place is one long, breathtaking

Christmas party.

This morning dawned cold and bright, with towering white clouds

against a deep blue sky. The first stop was Rockefeller Plaza, with the

world’s most famous Christmas tree soaring above and the skating rink

below. I found a spot on the rail above the skating rink and staked it

out like a Kodiak bear protecting its cubs. The crowd was not bad, except

for a short scuffle between groups of tourists who were trying to take

pictures of themselves holding up a Daily Pilot. Just kidding.

I am writing you on a late December’s eve, snug in my midtown room,

high above 44th Street. I can hear the constant “meep, meep, mop, mop” of

car horns drifting up from the street -- the authenticating sound of

midtown Manhattan. Cabbies here have a deeply religious belief that

beeping at cars in front of you will make them move. If they don’t,

you’re not beeping enough.

I wanted to write a heartfelt, sappy Christmas story for you.

Something about a little girl whose life would have made Dickens cry

until the spirit of Christmas changed everything. Frankly, I don’t have

time. This place is permanently stuck on fast forward and it’s impossible

not to get caught up in it.

The only miracle on the real 34th Street is if you make it across it.

It’s hard to understand what a “New York minute”means unless you’re here.

It really is shorter. So we’ll do something endearing next year. Promise.

But for now, you might be interested in how New York and Newport-Mesa

are different, or not.

In the land west of the 405, life is not only good -- it’s easier.

Much easier. The clothing thing alone is an enormous burden. For you, a

big decision is whether you need a jacket or not. Back here, there’s the

coat, the scarf, the gloves -- on, off, on, off, on. It’s a lot like

skiing. By the time you get on everything you need, you’re too exhausted

to do it.

Back home, when you go to a restaurant, they say “how many,” you say a

number, you sit down. Here, just getting from the door to the table is a

major magilla. Take off the coat, fold up the scarf, gloves in the

pocket, give everything to the girl, make sure you get the little claim

check.

Why can’t you just keep your stuff with you? Because restaurants in

Manhattan are not only really, really good -- they’re really, really

crowded. Two overcoats on the back of a chair take up more than enough

space to set up another table for two.

Intimate? I’ll give you intimate. You better like the people next to

you, because you’ll know every sordid little detail of their lives by the

time they bring that dessert tray around. And of course, being New York,

everyone pretends it isn’t happening. They never acknowledge your

presence, which happens to be 10 inches away.

I especially like it when the neighbors are a couple, and she has

decided that she isn’t going to put up with his insensitivity and smart

remarks any longer. At that point, you have no choice but to look

absolutely straight ahead, pretend you didn’t hear anything, and say

something like, “Have you ever had veal this tender? Nope, uh uh, not me.

Not this tender.”

And the next time you’re in a restaurant and you just get up and

leave, cherish that moment. Last night, five of us went to dinner and it

took at least 10 minutes to retrieve the coats, put everything on,

tighten everything down and waddle out the door.

Back there, it’s the Metropolitan Museum Store. Out here, it’s the

Metropolitan Museum of Art. Yesterday was the day for our obligatory trek

to the Met. My wife never leaves New York without it, and I’m more than

glad to tag along. We’ve done the museum thing the world over, and there

just isn’t anything quite like the Met. I can’t describe it.

OK, wait. I’ll describe one thing. Fashion Island and Rockefeller

Plaza can be very proud of their celebrity trees, but the Christmas tree

at the Metropolitan will quietly take your breath away. It’s called “The

Angel Tree.” The 30-foot masterwork is discreetly decorated with small

candle lights and a host of angels that seem to be hovering above the

branches.

The angels are from a collection of 18th century Neapolitan nativity

figures famous for their flowing gowns and incredibly detailed features.

The base of the tree is circled by scores of nativity and biblical

figures that are also incredibly delicate and detailed, from the Magi to

the smallest lamb. For anyone overwhelmed by the commercialism of

Christmas, a few quiet moments at the base of the Angel Tree will put

everything back in place.

So that’s it then. A bi-coastal holiday. May this one be the best ever

for you and your family. Have fun, stay safe and we’ll take another run

at this business of living next year. I think somebody’s beeping at me. I

gotta go.

* PETER BUFFA is a former Costa Mesa mayor. His column runs Sundays.

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