Happy Holidays y’all. Every Christmas Eve since 1984 – from dusk to eleven pm, rain or shine – The Magical Christmas Caroling Truck, a sixty-two foot eighteen-wheeler flatbed truck decorated with Christmas scenes, thousands of lights, and a powerful sound system, drives through the streets of our L.A. neighborhood accompanied by Santa and two-hundred dancing elves singing Christmas carols.
You don’t have to be Christian to enjoy it… It’s the only time of the year when all our neighbors (not only those of us with dogs) are out on the sidewalk. I wish I could show you the kids faces, especially when they see Santa. Have a look at Rick Holbrook’s video:
I can’t remember the last time I wrote about the Museum. Did you miss the stories? Here are a few…
One morning a few weeks before Christmas my co-worker Julian answered the phone:
Woman: “Hello I was in your Museum store about two months ago and I saw a book – a photography book – I don’t know the title or what it was about, but I know for sure it was a photography book.”
Julian: “What was the photography book about?”
Woman: “I don’t know,”
Julian: “Can you tell me anything else about it?”
Woman: “Oh I know, it was the last one on the shelf. Do you still have it?”
When Julian said he couldn’t help her, she asked to speak to the Manager.
Me: “Six post cards will be $6.50 please.”
Man: “Should be $6.48”
Me: “Excuse me?”
His wife: “Give her the two cents!”
Man: “No! It’s $6.48!”
Me: “I’m so sorry, I have nothing to do with the way the computer calculates the taxes…”
Man interrupting me: “Well I know it should be $6.48!”
Wife: “Give her the two cents!”
Man: “I know my math!”
Of course I could have taken his $6.48 and been off two cents at the end of the day, but he was so rude and spoke in such a condescending manner that I said: “Would you like me to call the manager?”
Wife: “For god’s sake give her the two cents!”
Man: “Okay damnit, here…!” he counted out the exact amount with many pennies and nickles, said, “At least you’re literate!” and stormed off shouting to his wife about the whole of America being ignorant and illiterate, but without giving me a chance to say another word.
Three-year-old Ivy couldn’t decide between nap, recess or lunch when I asked her what she liked best at school.
Remember the fire near the museum last summer?