Kool Kristmas

If there is one thing guaranteed to get hearts pounding around here at this time of year, it's Christmas decorations, from trees in the parlour and wreaths on the front door to Santa Clauses and reindeer electrically depicted as scampering all over the front lawn, to a backdrop of white light bulbs massed in a snow formation. As in Britain, there is some snobbery about white lights versus coloured, but that is a detail: the sheer volume is enough to want to start a lighting shop or an electrical repair service. The scope for sabotage is endless, and it is no coincidence that one of the hit films of last winter was based on a BBC TV play about neighbours vying to put on the best display. It makes driving very distracting, as you can pass whole side streets lit up more than Oxford Street and Regent Street combined: Pasadena Water and Power should be paying a dividend in January. (It's OK, I'm not holding my breath).
Since the start of December I've been to three tree-lighting ceremonies and a wreath auction, and it seems impossible to enter a house or public building without being confronted by yet more tinselled pine. Bah humbug!
The first lighting event was at One Colorado, a little square just off Colorado Boulevard in Old Pasadena that houses an Italian restaurant, a micro-brew pub, a mock-Japanese restaurant, a branch of the Johnny Rockets 50s diner chain, a cinema and a Crate & Barrel. Quite a lot, really, to surround a small arena, and it has been known to host open-air film shows with the film projected high onto a white wall.
The square was packed on this occasion, I suspect because it was early in the season and Christmas exhaustion hadn't set in. Although Santa Claus was attending to do the actual lighting, the main guest of honour was Tom Lasorda. He means nothing to non-Americans, but he managed the LA Dodgers last time they won the World Series, all of 19 years ago, so his nearest British equivalent might be Kenny Dalglish for getting Blackburn the Premiership title in 1995. That's where the resemblance ends. As far as I know, wee Kenny has kept his trim figure pretty well intact but Lasorda was more Santa Claus than Santa Claus: all he needed was the beard and red coat.
Touchingly, he virtually ignored the huge tree about ten yards in front of where he was standing. Instead he embarked on a eulogy of the perennially underperforming Dodgers (bit like Chelsea pre-Abramovich) and how next season was going to be their year, especially now they had hired the Yankees' manager, Joe Torre. It was quite stirring stuff, so long as you were even vaguely interested in baseball and a Dodgers fan, but I could see a lot of bored faces in the crowd as he ploughed on with his rehearsed speech.
With an eye on taxpayers' money being spent, the Pasadena Town Council laid on a more modest but still pretty impressive tree to grace the tall entrance porch of the Italiante City Hall. As they didn't have One Colorado's incentive to pull in the punters, not much had been spent on advertising the event so consequently we were a fairly exclusive bunch, shivering in the cold as we waited for something to happen.
Eventually some student musicians arrived and started tuning their instruments, and then some Starbucks ladies turned up pushing carts laden with vats of coffee - which were accompanied by the magic words 'Compliments Of' and the Starbucks logo.
The band was pretty good, jazz in style but nothing to do with Christmas, but Starbucks stole the show, triggering a queue that ran diagonally right across the tree space and seemed to get longer and longer as word went round that here was a chance to get something back for all the hundreds of dollars we had each spent on the chain's overpriced brew (OK, it's only half the London price at the current exchange rate, but then wages here are the same in dollars as they are in pounds in Britain).
Finally, once everyone had a coffee, Pasadena Mayor Bill Bogarde apologetically shuffled towards the microphone to deliver the tree-lighting speech. He's a most uncharistmatic mayor, as unlike the Simpsons' Kennedy-inspired Springfield mayor as you could imagine. Dressed in his regulation light grey suit and inoffensive blue tie, there was nothing to dislike about him, but he had nothing to say. He spouted some drivel about how the holiday season unified all the religions, wished the Christians a happy Christmas, the Jews a happy hanuka, the Muslims whatever they wished themselves (immolation and 72 virgins, presumably) and stressed that this was an eco-friendly tree, lit by LED lights. That, incredibly, got a round of applause from the assembled mums and social workers who had escaped from the council offices for half an hour.
Tree ceremony number three was held at the appropriately named Christmas Tree Lane in Altadena, in the foothills north of Pasadena, and it certainly had quantity on its side - a whole street flanked by Douglas Firs, which have been lit every Christmas since 1920.
A crowd of about 100 or more endured the usual boring speeches from local community leaders, one of whom even suggested that we could still buy raffle tickets even as the draw was being held! A detachment from the Air Force presented colours and everyone had to stand to attention for the pledge of allegiance. Ditto National Anthem. The local Baptist church sang a few Gospel songs, an ancient biddy calling herself Mrs Altadena insisted she would be officiating for another ten years ('not just another four like that George Bush', seemingly oblivious to the fact he's only got a year to go, and a smug County Supervisor, Mike Antanovich, lit the lights undiplomatically dressed in a red Angels baseball jacket - you may not realise it, Mike, but this is the Dodgers end of town. He'd have been flayed alive for the equivalent crime in England or Scotland. No one else seemed to mind, though, and we all set off walking down the lane behind a school drumming band. I even bought a red Christmas Tree Lane cap, $5 for charity.
By the time that was over, we were running late for the wreath auction being held in a very grand house down past Caltech. But we needn't have worried: by the time we arrived in the transparent tent in the garden, everyone was still tucking into the free food and drink before the actual business began. It was organised by the local estate agents for charity, what charity we never quite found out. They were generally a bit funny about money: when people turned up they were asked for their credit card numbers, before anyone could know whether they were going to bid or not. In fact, as often happens on these occasions, most of the 50 lots went to the same half-dozen people, many of whom had donated the lots in the first place...
The drink flowed generously, but getting everyone tiddly before an auction is a two-edged sword. While it loosens wallets, people also feel less inhibited about talking loudly through the serious stuff, as they did, which made it tough on the two auctioneers.They did well to maintain their sense of humour.
Like the heavily made-up women there, with a few tasteful exceptions all the wreaths were loud, garish and expensive, selling for $200 to $500 (you can buy rather plainer varieties in Trader Joe's for $12). Interspersed between these were an assortment of other items that had been donated - including, yes, two Christmas trees. I wish we'd bid for one, looked good and sold for $450 against the $800 you can pay in local stores. Plane rides, lunches, dinners, winetastings, weekends Carlsbad, weeks in Little Balboa Island and even a chihuahua puppy came under the hammer (metaphorically, I should add). I tried bidding for a dinner for six, but the price soared way over my head. An entertaining way of raising money, though.
Much quieter, far more civilised and much more fun was the Christmas dinner of the local branch of the Oxford University Society at the Atheneum Club on the corner of Caltech.
We all had to negotiate death by decorations, including an enormous tree, but it was worth it: an eclectic group of Brits and Americans and their guests, all of whom had something interesting to say for themselves and about others. A lovely 80-year-old, Bea Hopkinson, organised it as she apparently does every year. The men swapped tables before the pud - it was that sort of evening - the Queen was toasted, but there was enough of an American flavour to the event to stop it being totally expat. Inevitably, the Brits exchanged stories of life away from home, languages, customs and so on, but there was always an Angeleno on hand to keep us in check and mock our xenophobia. The next event is a scotch and chocolate evening, in February, and I'm very tempted to go.
Next up: a comedian whose act is based entirely round the word Motherfucker.