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PAGE 8, DECEMBER 15, 2008, THE ISLANDER
'■iV:
Dam Barry.
Away in a mangy
strip club
J
Here in Florida (Official State Motto:
"I voted for WHOM??"), we do not have
what you would call a typical Christ
mas season.
For one thing, it never snows, at least
not in Miami. Down here, we don't sing
"I'm dreaming of a white Christmas."
We sing, "I'm dreaming of a Christmas
that is not so hot and humid that I
need a coat hanger to un-bunch my
underwear." Actually, it's a good thing
we don't get snow: People down here
already have enough trouble driving.
For example, we have an inordinate
number of accidents caused by people
driving into buildings. And these are
not buildings that have been carelessly
left in the roadway: These are build
ings carefully placed off to the side.
Yet people drive into them! I suspect
that somewhere in the official Florida
driver's manual there's a picture of a
building with the words: "If you see one
of these, aim straight for it!"
So if we ever had snow, it would be
horrible. There would be cars on roofs,
cars in the palm trees, cars in the
Gulf Stream. The only safe place for
a pedestrian to stand would be on an
actual highway.
Since I've lived here, we did have
one cold Christmas - cold for us, any
way -- when the temperature briefly
fell into the 30s. But snow did not fall
from the sky. What fell from the sky
was: lizards. Really. I went outside on
Christmas morning, and lying on my
lawn, looking stunned, were at least
a dozen bright-green lizards that had
fallen out of the trees. These were not
small lizards. These things were the
size of cocker spaniels, and they had
TEETH. That is not a normal Christ
mas-morning sight. There is no Christ
mas carol that goes:
Good King Wenceslas looked out
On the feast of Stephen
Saw big green lizards all about
So he said, "I'm leavin'!"
Nevertheless, even in Miami, we do
have our Christmas traditions.
Traditions are an important part of
Christmas. For example, when I was
a boy, my mom and I had a wonderful
tradition that went on for nearly 10
years, called: The Fruitcake Slam. I
am not making this tradition up. Every
year, some people we knew thoughtful
ly sent us a fruitcake that was approxi
mately the same density as the Hoover
Dam. And every year, my mom - who
was, take my word for it, the funniest
person who ever lived - would declare,
in her brightest June Cleaver voice:
"Look, Davey!" (She called me Davey.)
"The fruitcake has arrived!"
And I'd say: "Hurrah! I hope we
don't accidentally leave it in the kitch
en doorway, like last year!" Then I'd
open the kitchen door and place the
By Dave Barry
fruitcake on the sill.
"UH-oh!" my mom would say. "It's
getting drafty! I had best close the
kitchen door!" And she'd give the door
a mighty slam. Usually the first slam
would barely dent the fruitcake, so
my mom would give it a few more, the
two of us cackling like maniacs. This
is still one of my fondest Christmas
memories.
Anyway, here in South Florida I
have a new tradition, called: Try to
Find a Christmas Tree That Was Actu
ally Alive Within the Past Five Years.
This is very difficult. Christmas trees
are grown up north, and as the tree
shipments travel south, all the good
trees get taken along the way. By the
time the trucks reach Miami, all that's
left are these brown, scrawny things
that appear to be members of the
tumbleweed family.
And even those quickly get snapped
up. By the week before Christmas,
trees are scarce. Last year, on Dec. 23,
my wife and I were driving around,
desperately looking for a place that
still had trees, when we spotted a guy
selling some out of a pickup truck in a
parking lot. This was not just any park
ing lot: This was, I swear, the parking
lot of a strip club.
These were not choice trees. Each
one had maybe five remaining needles,
which was also the number of teeth
possessed by the guy who was sell
ing them. But at that point, we were
glad to get anything. We picked out
a tree, paid for it, and stood there for
a moment, basking in our success. It
was just getting dark, and the tem
perature was about 85 degrees. Our
Christmas tree's naked branches were
bathed in the bright pink glow given off
by the sign above us that said, simply,
ADULT ENTERTAINMENT. It was a
special moment, a Christmas-in-Miami
moment. And at that moment-call me
sentimental, if you want-I felt a very
special kind of feeling. It was my under
wear bunching up.
This classic DAVE BARRY column
was originally published Dec. 10,
2000.
(C) 2008 The Miami Herald. Dist.
by Tribune Media Services.
Dave Barry is a humor columnist
for the Miami Herald.
Write to him do Tropic Maga
zine, The Miami Herald, One Herald
Plaza, Miami FL 33132) □
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