Glog

December Nights was sorta-kinda fun. Do you know there are people who stand around in there all night with signs, picketing the fact that it's no longer called Christmas on the Prado? Don't they have anything better to do? It makes me sad.

Anyway, I am the weirdest, most controlling person in the world and I printed out a list of what all the International Cottages were serving, so we got to zero in on the stuff we wanted: stew from Ireland, naan and chicken tikka from India, crepes from Hungary. And, of course, hot apple cider, which is mandatory for each celebrant.

It took us a long time to walk from our parking place through the thronging hordes to get to the stage where the San Diego Men's Chorus was performing; I really wanted to see them. We arrived in time for about three songs, which is better than we did last year! They really are very good; it's a shame that some sort of Zipper midway ride was situated right next to the stage and the lovely harmonies were punctuated with rising gales of scream.

I finally got to see the San Diego Floral Association, but there was some serious crapcake in there; all kinds of trees and tchotchkes festooned with dying flowers, and signs proclaiming that some ladies organization or other was responsible for the carnage. And they had advertised gingerbread, which was not in attendance. Luckily on the way out we happened on the San Diego Civic Dance Company, and got to see a dozen or so Santa-attired little girls in tap shoes doing the most fabulous Rockette-style kick line to an Ethel Merman-esque song called "I Need A Little Christmas." That alone made the whole evening worth it.

Still no news, by the way, if you were wondering.