ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED BY THE SOMERS RECORD (12-13-18)
Last Sunday we strolled into town for the lighting of the Somers Christmas tree. The weather outside was frightful. It was dark and rainy, so any light at all would have been welcome, but we had to wait until 5:00PM before the tree was illuminated, and we had an hour and a half to sing some Christmas songs and poke around accompanied by Gidget, the world's cutest dog. Due to the rain, songsters Rich and Harry Egnor were holed up inside the lobby of the Elephant Hotel, so we found ourselves a seat just in time for the chorus of Silent Night. The Bing Crosby version is reputed to be the third best-selling single of all time, but I bet an Eric Clapton lead break after the second verse would vault it right into first place.
Santa was available for photos, which seemed pretty safe compared to some of these vacation selfies that have been popping up lately on Instagram. Santa, thanks for letting me take my photo with you! Would you mind standing over here with me on the precipice of the Grand Canyon? A little closer. Closer. Closer. Oops, not that close. Can Santa fly or is it just the reindeer? I should have asked beforehand.
The Girl Scouts were in attendance, leading some Christmas carols and distributing hot chocolate to the less fortunate (me). As a journalist and someone who has never been a Girl Scout, I wanted to infiltrate the inner workings of this fascinating group and find out what makes them tick. I found three representatives in full dress uniform that were willing to talk to me on the record. "Which merit badge was the hardest to get?" I asked, getting right to the tough issues with an incisive question. "I don't know," all three said in unison, and I jotted down the answer in shorthand, meaning that I scrawled some of the letters of each word in handwriting so bad only my wife can read it. By the time I looked up they were gone, but I feel that my reporting laid some important groundwork for a future exposé on the subject.
We caught up with town councilman Anthony Cirieco and chatted about some of the new developments in Somers. DeCicco's is running a little behind schedule, they had anticipated an opening sometime this month, but I hope it happens soon. Every time we cook chicken breasts at least two of the pieces taste like they were cloned from a sofa cushion. Are they on antibiotics? If so, I hope they finished the whole bottle as directed. And the fruit we get from the supermarket these days seems like it's made from something synthetic that has too many isotopes in it. I swear that grapes these days are as tasteless as some of my jokes. That reminds me of a joke but I can't tell you here. We talked about the proposed Somers Academy that is poised to repurpose the IBM campus into an 1800-student STEM school. It seems that I am much more in favor of schools now that I don't have to go to them. Somers Crossing is the 65-unit condominium construction that is underway nearby on Route 100. All these projects seem like good additions to the prosperity and growth of Somers, as long as I don't have to stop at any more traffic lights. I don't want to stop at red lights coming from one way, and I don't want to stop at them coming from the other way. I propose that they reduce the duration of the red lights and increase the duration of the yellow lights, so I can proceed with caution without slowing down. And for those of you who wanted Somers to be the new second headquarters for Amazon, cheer up- at least we're not the hindquarters for Amazon.
We sang a few more tunes from the Chamber of Commerce songbook, where some poor soul had to type "Fa-la-la-la-la, la-la-la-la" about a hundred and twenty times, before they invented "cut and paste." We sang Jingle Bells, and if you stick it out through three or four verses, the song gets darker and darker, the guy falls out of the sleigh, somebody comes along and laughs at him but doesn't help. It's a mess, but to cheer things up, right as everyone sings "laughing all the way," I tell my worst joke, and then everyone says, "ha ha ha!" and the joke's on them. Grandma Got Run Over By a Reindeer is even worse- she forgets her medication and ventures out into the snow on Christmas Eve, no one's sure exactly why. Apparently, Grandma had some egg nog and was lit up like a Christmas tree.
That reminded me- it was time to light up the Christmas tree. First, Santa made his way to the exit, back to the North Pole, amid a phalanx of security and a bunch of Hos. Then we assembled by the tree, which seemed quite a bit taller this year. I went over and pinched its cheek and said, "Wow, look how you've grown!" Like my grandmother used to do to me, even if I hadn't grown and she was just getting smaller. Then it was five, four, three, two, one, and presto! The tree lit up and I was now officially behind in my Christmas shopping. We filtered into the parking lot, and took it easy on the way home. I didn't want any more incidents with Grandma, in case she's been dipping into the egg nog again.
Last Sunday we strolled into town for the lighting of the Somers Christmas tree. The weather outside was frightful. It was dark and rainy, so any light at all would have been welcome, but we had to wait until 5:00PM before the tree was illuminated, and we had an hour and a half to sing some Christmas songs and poke around accompanied by Gidget, the world's cutest dog. Due to the rain, songsters Rich and Harry Egnor were holed up inside the lobby of the Elephant Hotel, so we found ourselves a seat just in time for the chorus of Silent Night. The Bing Crosby version is reputed to be the third best-selling single of all time, but I bet an Eric Clapton lead break after the second verse would vault it right into first place.
Santa was available for photos, which seemed pretty safe compared to some of these vacation selfies that have been popping up lately on Instagram. Santa, thanks for letting me take my photo with you! Would you mind standing over here with me on the precipice of the Grand Canyon? A little closer. Closer. Closer. Oops, not that close. Can Santa fly or is it just the reindeer? I should have asked beforehand.
The Girl Scouts were in attendance, leading some Christmas carols and distributing hot chocolate to the less fortunate (me). As a journalist and someone who has never been a Girl Scout, I wanted to infiltrate the inner workings of this fascinating group and find out what makes them tick. I found three representatives in full dress uniform that were willing to talk to me on the record. "Which merit badge was the hardest to get?" I asked, getting right to the tough issues with an incisive question. "I don't know," all three said in unison, and I jotted down the answer in shorthand, meaning that I scrawled some of the letters of each word in handwriting so bad only my wife can read it. By the time I looked up they were gone, but I feel that my reporting laid some important groundwork for a future exposé on the subject.
We caught up with town councilman Anthony Cirieco and chatted about some of the new developments in Somers. DeCicco's is running a little behind schedule, they had anticipated an opening sometime this month, but I hope it happens soon. Every time we cook chicken breasts at least two of the pieces taste like they were cloned from a sofa cushion. Are they on antibiotics? If so, I hope they finished the whole bottle as directed. And the fruit we get from the supermarket these days seems like it's made from something synthetic that has too many isotopes in it. I swear that grapes these days are as tasteless as some of my jokes. That reminds me of a joke but I can't tell you here. We talked about the proposed Somers Academy that is poised to repurpose the IBM campus into an 1800-student STEM school. It seems that I am much more in favor of schools now that I don't have to go to them. Somers Crossing is the 65-unit condominium construction that is underway nearby on Route 100. All these projects seem like good additions to the prosperity and growth of Somers, as long as I don't have to stop at any more traffic lights. I don't want to stop at red lights coming from one way, and I don't want to stop at them coming from the other way. I propose that they reduce the duration of the red lights and increase the duration of the yellow lights, so I can proceed with caution without slowing down. And for those of you who wanted Somers to be the new second headquarters for Amazon, cheer up- at least we're not the hindquarters for Amazon.
We sang a few more tunes from the Chamber of Commerce songbook, where some poor soul had to type "Fa-la-la-la-la, la-la-la-la" about a hundred and twenty times, before they invented "cut and paste." We sang Jingle Bells, and if you stick it out through three or four verses, the song gets darker and darker, the guy falls out of the sleigh, somebody comes along and laughs at him but doesn't help. It's a mess, but to cheer things up, right as everyone sings "laughing all the way," I tell my worst joke, and then everyone says, "ha ha ha!" and the joke's on them. Grandma Got Run Over By a Reindeer is even worse- she forgets her medication and ventures out into the snow on Christmas Eve, no one's sure exactly why. Apparently, Grandma had some egg nog and was lit up like a Christmas tree.
That reminded me- it was time to light up the Christmas tree. First, Santa made his way to the exit, back to the North Pole, amid a phalanx of security and a bunch of Hos. Then we assembled by the tree, which seemed quite a bit taller this year. I went over and pinched its cheek and said, "Wow, look how you've grown!" Like my grandmother used to do to me, even if I hadn't grown and she was just getting smaller. Then it was five, four, three, two, one, and presto! The tree lit up and I was now officially behind in my Christmas shopping. We filtered into the parking lot, and took it easy on the way home. I didn't want any more incidents with Grandma, in case she's been dipping into the egg nog again.
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