Bruce C. asks: “Hey Red, how's cum the damn lights all light up, din u put ‘em on tree ‘n none of ‘em burn ?”
BarWench says: Just throw out the defective lights and go grab a new set. It will save you the frustration of dealing with faulty strand year after year. While you're out, I suggest buying a new keyboard, too. Yours seems to be broken.
Night Shift says: Bruce, ‘dem lights are on what called a cereal sircut. If one go out none ‘dem work. If you was to spill yer Old Milwaukee Light on one of them lite bulb spots, it could mess ‘em all up but good. Also, I know where you cheked ‘em out was way over there and the tree is way over here so you may not a put the shiny part back in the wall holes next to the tree. (The little wall holes, not where Donnie fell while dancing around with your antler rack on his head after drinking all that JD.)
Ask Red says: Those are brutal answers to an honest question. I understand your frustration, my stump-stupid friend. Let me share a tale I wrote in another life about the same subject. It’s longer than most of my answers but this is Christmas time and lore must be passed along. It reads:
“My father is a master at using the same corny one-liners so often that the predictability of his delivery is funnier than the joke. Thus, it was a tradition growing up at my house this time of year to hear him complain about Christmas lights.
As sure as I'd sit glued to the old Zenith watching "Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer,” it was with certainty dad would unleash his joke. It started with his retrieving the strands of bulbs from the basement. He'd unroll them, plug them in and inevitably, nothing would happen. My brother and I'd then be recruited to help search for the malfunctioning illuminant.
A popular brand of lights in those days was made by NOMA. Dad would never fail to mention how fitting the name was. "One goes out and nomah lights," he'd say. Hearing that meant the official start of the Christmas season at our house.
This thought went through my head last weekend as I untangled balls of lights that I had failed to stow neatly away at the end of last holiday season. Instead of taking the time to carefully re-pack them to minimize damage, I rolled the dice and hoped the bulbs would be forgiving.
As I brought them out recently and laid them across the front porch for a pre-hanging testing, a sense of doom washed over me. I knew that once I plugged them in I'd be muttering my dad's "One goes out and nomah lights" saying.
To my surprise, however, the lights didn't fail. I stood over them - all aglitter - stumped. This wasn't supposed to happen. Decorating for Christmas is supposed to be a test of my will.
As I thought how strange this was, I noticed my neighbor was again standing high on a ladder as he had been the weekend prior, humming Christmas carols, chewing on a corncob pipe and decorating his house. Each year he adds something new to his Yuletide arsenal. Even though it now takes him two full weekends to put up the decorations, he doesn't seem to mind the extra work.
Back to my simple décor; fearing lady luck would leave me at any moment, I quickly wove the lights around garland and hung them. I added a few accents here and there.
With my task complete, I marveled at both my efficiency and how quaint the house looked dressed in the colors of the season. I called the kids and wife out to witness my handiwork. Each cast an approving smile.
The Norman Rockwell moment in which I basked, however, was short-lived. As I stood in self-admiration, the neighbor descended from his ladder still humming carols. His cheeriness now an annoyance.
The sun was dipping below the horizon and my modest display glowed under the darkened sky. It was enchanting, but, suddenly a burst of light so intense it could be mistaken for a nuclear blast blinded me. The heat from it reddened my face. The illumination from my lights was washed out. They never had a chance. Neighbor-man had fired up his display.
If it was his intent to shock and awe me, his mission was accomplished. Icicles lights dripped from the eaves, garage and even dog house. A Santa outlined in neon waved to me from the rooftop. An inflatable snowman - backlit of course – bobbled bloated in the yard.
The spectacle grabbed the attention of my children who scampered from the warm hearth of the house to investigate. Their heads swung back and forth - first to see my display and then the one across the street. After sizing up the two they frowned, kicked me in the shin and ran in the house screaming something about daddy being a Grinch. Even my faithful old dog lifted a leg to my foot in disgust.
Neighbor-man continued to piddle in the yard, picking up tools and crates. His work was finished, too. He cast me a side glance and with a wry smile continued to hum carols. I wanted to shove that corncob pipe down his throat.
As if it couldn’t get any worse, on cue, displays down the block fired up; millions of lights burning away the evening darkness. The curious began to drive by in cars. All slowed to see the lights glaring around me. No one looked my way. "Curse you, carol-humming neighbor, and you, and you, and you," I said to myself pointing down the street like the madman I became.
Americans spend billions on outdoor Christmas decorations. At least half of that comes from my neighbors. Displays these days are a far cry from those of my youth when a string of bulbs on the eaves and a bow on the porch rail sufficed.
Today, carbon footprints be damned, everyone wants to outshine everyone else. I refuse to give in. The tried and true mixture of garland woven with lights is about as far as I will go.
That's not to say I don't marvel at what my neighbors do. The fact is, their decorations look great and I can't help but be envious and envious people sometimes act badly.
Perhaps my dad's Christmas light saying wasn't a joke, but sage advice. Maybe I’ll sneak across the street tonight and unscrew a bulb. Then maybe neighbor-man will start singing a new ditty that you now know. "One goes out and nomah lights."
