Category Archives: Holidays

Oh, It’s on, Karl

Recently my neighbor Karl took me to task for being unenthusiastic about decorating for the holidays when I told him how I celebrate fall.

It isn’t my fault. I got my home fashion sense from my mother, whose sole criterion for quality art was “I got it in Tijuana for three dollars.” The bar might be set a tad low for my taste:

black velvet painting_tiger_no CR notation found
“Tiger Suffering from Ennui”

I’ve never seen the interior of Karl’s place, but I envision that on February 15, the hearts and flowers are tossed because Valentine’s Day is over, dammit, and St. Patrick’s Day will be here in a month.

I doubt that there’s a time in the year when his place is nondecorated, but given how many days there are between major holidays, I offer this calendar to Karl and every other overachieving decorator.

There’s 365 different things to celebrate just to keep it fresh. No Pants Day is one of my favorites given that I work at home:

Holidays for the Deranged

My all-purpose pumpkin for fall, Halloween, and Thanksgiving. It’s still cheap, but I don’t have to go all the way to Mexico, and it doesn’t cause me to dream of tigers eating me as comfort food because they’re bored.


Karl’s rebuttal

Happy Bastille Day

I like the idea of a national holiday that starts with a beheading.

As far as I know, I’m bereft of French ancestry, but every July 14, I go around the grocery store, neighborhood, wherever I happen to be, and I wish people a “Happy Bastille Day!” Folks are consistent in their response:

Samuel_Johnson_by_Joshua_Reynolds_public domain

Maybe I should live in Soulard, a French neighborhood in St. Louis. This is a town that not only celebrates Bastille Day with a beheading reenactment, but it also can’t quite make up its mind what the day’s theme really is.

Jump to 3:15 in the clip to see a realistic portrayal of Marie Antoinette’s giggle fit right before what’s possibly the world’s most comical beheading:

Vive la Soulard!

Throughout the event, the town’s attention to period detail is admirable. There’s a Taste of Soulard, cars and buses driving through, and for some reason a percussion group playing a Latin beat. There’s even a local television reporter covering the events, just as they did in 1789.

This is my kind of town. Let’s just get together and do random shit, drink, and lop off some heads. I’m calling the movers.