Electric Boogaloo

In my suburban neighborhood, the display of Christmas lights is not merely a visible celebration of the holiday season. No, it is a reflection of one's masculinity.

Like the peacock who struts and shows his fantastical colors in a vibrant, theatrical display intended to outperform his lesser male rivals, the ritual of displaying Christmas lights is underlaced with competition, aggression and testosterone.

By this measure, I am a eunuch.

It started Thanksgiving weekend, when my next door neighbor began hanging his lights with the precision and discipline of a military exercise. His light strings were organized on rollers to prevent wire snagging, and he skillfully unrolled his display with one hand while staple-gunning the wire to the awning above his garage with the other, all while carefully balanced on an extension ladder. Within 45 minutes, every front-facing corner of his home had been carefully wired, with not a single inch of wiring left over. It fit perfectly, and was installed with the precision of a German engineer.

Soon after, the other neighborhood contenders were scurrying about their front yards like panicked, overmatched rivals who recognized the threat from the alpha male. Mesh-wire reindeers were carefully positioned to make it appear that they were nibbling on hedges, plastic lit-up snowmen were angled so their waving hands greeted visitors to the driveway, wreaths were draped over outdoor light fixtures just so, and, yes, the precision implementation of 40,000 watts of holiday lights began as the men moved like worker ants devouring a picnic.

In the midst of all of this, I decided I better participate for fear that without lights, I would be considered the neighborhood Scrooge -- but also to satisfy some unconscious primal urge to compete and succeed. I made this decision while passing by the Christmas display aisle in Tar-jeh, and it proved to be my downfall.

My first mistake was in ball-parking the length of the awning over the garage. I grabbed a 15 foot string of icicle lights, thinking that would do it. Turns out the real length is 14 feet. So after installing, now I've got an extra foot of light string dangling flaccidly over the end. I decided to solve this problem by extending the lights to cover the vaulted awning next to the 14 foot stretch, so I had to run back to Tar-jeh and get 2 additional 6-foot portions of light string. But I didn't factor in the 12 inches of unlit wire at both sides of the string. So once I plugged in the 2 extensions, I had 15 feet of lights -- then a 12 inch strand of no lights -- then 6 feet of lights -- them a 12 inch strand of no lights -- then 6 feet of lights. All on the most prominent portion of my house.

Embarrassingly, I scurried to remove the 2 extensions, all the while knowing that the male neighbors were probably contently sipping their beers while watching me through their windows, laughing. I decided to keep just the 15 foot length, and tucked the extra 1 foot length into the gutter to hide it.

Ooops, can't do that, because that's where the plug that hooks into the extension cord is. Seems I've installed the lights backwards. Now I have to take down the 15 foot section and reinstall it the other way. The only saving grace is it allows me to fold over the extra foot length and staple gun it to the awning, so at least I don't have a pathetic little dangling penis...I mean light strand any more.

I can personally guarantee that I am the laughing stock of the men in the neighborhood. God, I dread springtime and landscaping season. I just hope I don't chop of an appendage with my lawnmower or hedgeclipper.