(no subject)
My neighborhood is sick with holiday spirit.
You can almost imagine them spending all night last Thursday, fighting through their Thanksgiving meal cramps to get the trees propped, light slung, wreathes wrangled around nails.
Down the street, someone’s outlined the frame of their house in single strands of primary colored, vaguely patriotic lights that blink strobe-like. Snoopy is splayed - larger than life, larger than my own, real dogs - on top of his point-tipped house. “Joy to the World” plays in tinny midi over a pair of speakers wired just for this time of year.
They sit inside, watching Monday night football, somehow successfully ignoring the ugly celebration that they’ve propped up on their lawn.
On the 26th, early, the whole mess will be ripped down. Coldness will cover everything.
You can almost imagine them spending all night last Thursday, fighting through their Thanksgiving meal cramps to get the trees propped, light slung, wreathes wrangled around nails.
Down the street, someone’s outlined the frame of their house in single strands of primary colored, vaguely patriotic lights that blink strobe-like. Snoopy is splayed - larger than life, larger than my own, real dogs - on top of his point-tipped house. “Joy to the World” plays in tinny midi over a pair of speakers wired just for this time of year.
They sit inside, watching Monday night football, somehow successfully ignoring the ugly celebration that they’ve propped up on their lawn.
On the 26th, early, the whole mess will be ripped down. Coldness will cover everything.