Merry MessyMas… By Whitney Farmer – Un Pop Culture

December 21, 2011 Whitney Farmer 18 Comments

Whitney runs a rock music venue on the beach in L.A.. She has an M.B.A, and will celebrate Christmas in 74 degree weather.

Berto agreed to wear the coat and hat with white trim and play the pivotal role on one condition: Our bar manager, known occasionally for appropriate reasons as “Latin Velcro”, required a name change for his character. He would be known as “Sancho Claus”.

I hit the 99cent Store on the way to the Club for last minute necessities for the party. They had a Charlie Brown Christmas tree and string of lights left that could go on Sancho Claus’ side table where he could put his Corona and lime as employees sat on his lap and told him what they wanted. There was an unexpected surplus of XXXXL flannel shirts and red wrapping paper that could be used to wrap up even our security guards for the group picture we would take for our company e-card. I got red ball ornaments and a fake poinsettia for myself that would become dangling earrings and a hairpiece or corsage…I hadn’t decided which yet. They didn’t have any clay dreidels, but I got some spinning tops Made in China that were a close and honoring approximation that I could put on the tables.  Later in the night, they became a huge success as a source of fierce spinning competitions. Our adored Jewish owner won.

It was a potluck, and the one table soon became three and still looked ready to break from the weight of contributions that sampled the globe. Fried chicken nestled next to Greek kebabs, sushi, and Swedish meatballs. Victor the Phoenician (of partial Lebanese descent) brought choices from the other side of his bloodline with a homemade enchilada casserole and spicy rice. He seemed to have gotten over the spelling error from the night before…

For his birthday, Bone our lead security had gotten Victor a cake. He wasn’t certain how to spell “Phoenician”, so he instructed the cake decorators to write “Happy 25th, Hummus”. It’s a term of endearment between the guys as well as a popular food choice on the potluck table.  However, the cake decorator didn’t know how to spell “Hummus” either. It came out “Happy 25th, Hamas”. This probably means that someone has reported us for celebrating the militant and violent political organization. Victor was happy anyway because we didn’t use the proximity to Christmas to do the dreaded two-fer-one party economizing.

The most traditional dessert choice was brought by J.J. Dynamite. She arrived in vinyl pants and corset, with her English rocker boyfriend on one arm and Charlie Chalupa the Chihuahua held in the other. She had made Rice Crispy Treats.

The group picture was a delicious train wreck. We had set up Sancho Station complete with wingtip chair and mistletoe on the stage with full production lighting engaged. Putting on a party is much easier when you have access to the entire production infrastructure necessary for putting on a show. Telling everyone to squeeze close together wasn’t a problem. We all have a tendency to hang all over each other anyway. My magnificent niece had arrived following a James Joyce reading in Pacific Palisades and provided photography services with zero blurring from giggles. That’s rare.

We didn’t have a dance marathon this year. It wasn’t a formal decision, just the result of an intense game of dominos that was running simultaneously beside the PS3 gaming competition running on the big screen mainstage.  After that, everyone was wrecked.

Big John didn’t arrive till after the group photo at around 10. Since it was Sunday, it had been a big day at the tree lot. He told me they were expected to go through about 75,000 at his location alone. How he was able to get so put together with crisp shirt and gold stunners after getting home from the Club at 3ish and starting his other 13 hour day at 8ish I will never know. That he shaves his head and doesn’t have to mess with a hairdo probably helps.

I had promised the owner that everyone wouldn’t leave until they were safe. My babysitting began at around 1. We had pulled out the couches from the VIP room and put them in the middle of the dance floor right in front of the big screen. We added to these couch cushions and pillows from the other smaller venue and blankets that we had brought from home.  The slumber party began as “A Christmas Carol”, black and white with Alistair Sims, began.

Very soon, the room became quiet. Some snored softly, but most were transfixed by the story that unfolded on the screen. I gave a brief explanation about what the story was about to those who weren’t familiar with the tale, ending by saying, “You know the movie ‘Scrooged’ with Bill Murray? It was based on this.” That connected.

Sometime during the show, I was asked, “Yo Boss Lady. What’s a shilling?” It was a great question. When Scrooge was confronted with paying the cleaning lady only two shillings a week, I had no idea what that would represent in modern currency with the rate of inflation. I told them that I assumed it might be about minimum wage.

“$16 a week?  Man, that’s messed up!”

They laughed and sighed in all the right places and reminded me to pay more attention to something that had become familiar. Daniel had taken off his derby for the screening. He had insisted on the movie, but couldn’t remember what it was called. After describing it to me, I knew that this guy who lives a very different life now than he had before coming to the Club was talking about my family favorite.

After “A Christmas Carol”, we watched “Scott Pilgrim vs. The World” while we cleaned up the venue after the party. Our last show is Thursday and everything needs to be put together for load-in of the bands. We did have another show that had been booked, but had got cancelled. Very disappointing. Scott Weiland of Stone Temple Pilots and Velvet Revolver had gotten free of heroin and had put together a Christmas show. Our contract even required that the venue be decorated for the holidays to put everyone in the right mood.  We reaped the rewards of the contractual obligation at our party, but wished that he hadn’t pulled the show. We also hoped that it was only because he had decided to spend time with his family instead of having to fight against ancient demons again.

As the night ended, all had received Merry Christmas’s and Happy Hanukkah’s and Happy Holidays’s that were all genuine, not a source of arguments. I celebrate the birth of Jesus, but that didn’t even happen in December. The Christmas season that seems to become a war cry was once upon a time a gloss that was painted over a pagan celebration to the god Saturn. I love Christmas trees, an iteration of a pagan tradition.  I’m not interested in bullying anyone into the Kingdom. My heart gets healed and comes alive from hearing blessings and not curses spoken over it. Could anything be expected or offered to anyone else? In the darkest and coldest time of the year, there are many reasons to come together for a celebration. Or perhaps only one that can gently connect all: Peace on Earth and Goodwill. From this moment, the days will become longer and warmer. Amen.

Our party ended at dawn with everyone completely sober, some with a good night’s sleep, and the venue shining. There were no leftovers. Just like us.

Quote of the Blog, from Tiny Tim: “God bless us. Everyone.”