So at dinner last night I mentioned to my six-year-old daughter, “You know, as the arctic ice sheet melts, I guess Santa’s North Pole toy factory is going to sink into the sea.” My daughter struck an immediate sad face, my wife glared at me. “Just kidding!” I chirped. But you know, I’m onto something. The jolly old fat man’s days are numbered. Maybe all the toy stores and humongous Christmas industry should take heed: Once the North Pole is mush, Santa’s workshop will be a hard sell to the young’uns. Already the winter snowfall has become so erratic that ski resorts are suffering, with shorter seasons and patchy slopes, as reported today in the NY Times, here. When the weatherman on Christmas Eve starts to mention that the NORAD satellites have picked up an unidentified object heading south, you’ll know it’s simply another alien spacecraft UFO doing recon for the invasion, as how could Santa launch his sleigh from the middle of the melted ice sheet?
Meanwhile, we still have some time, running out as it is. And we’re all getting psyched for the holidays at my house: the tree is up (a fir cut from our own yard), the ornaments are sparkling, and the solar-powered outdoor xmas lights are keeping us awake at night with their frantic flashing. Bring on the reindeer! I think I’m even going to write a Christmas essay. Here’s a pic of the house:
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