Do you remember when the mere mention of Christmas would be enough to send a shockwave of butterflies to your stomach and evoke the scent of cinnamon, gingerbread and peppermint? How about the building up of suspense as the presents piled up under the tree? Quite honestly the last seven years have equated into little more for me then the seldom seen please-forgive-my-tragic-side gift from a few ex-lovers. Which come seldom and spaced far, far, apart. I don’t know but I feel as if all the Christmas magic ran out. The last ten years have been a downward spiral of holiday spirit. This sucks! Is Santa dead, plastered in some quick-fix wall at a project complex in Harlem? We have converted Christmas into the affirmation of family, by process of consumption. Meaning that if you lack family, lover(s) or enough money to buy ten percent of gizmodo.com’s toys you have just silently bared witness to your being cheated out of the best of all Christian holidays. What ever am I going to do? The Cuban connection is down in Miami, no one is getting a taste of the goods, my layoff is right around the corner and Nikita has no line of credit. Shit! I got scrooged by the Grinch without lube! Ho, Ho, H-Ouch!
In my search for the perfect Zen Christmas I went out to mini-mansion central in Brooklyn’s, Dyker Heights. These guys really know how to party. With an estimated One hundred thousand yearly visitors all piled up bumper to bumper, rubbernecking their gasoline’s worth of X-mas, this small quasi-opulent community is definitely on Santa’s good-list or way behind in their electric bills. This small neighborhood boosts giant nutcrackers, an entire choir of angels, robotic reindeers, scary looking elves, and millions of lights. It’s a must-go! Especially if you want to lose yourself in fantasizing what a jolly old time you could have if you owned half the net worth of some of these very fortunate souls.
After that, it was off to the "world famous" Junior's Restaurant for a quick bite and of course, cheesecake.
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