No, it’s not a set up for a dirty joke. It’s just another holiday season in the Catskills. As the rest of America bristles and argues over impeachment and wonders what North Korea is going to send us for Xmas, here in the mountains all is calm. You wouldn’t think a far left of green, radical progressive frog could have a civil conversation with a raging, MAGA red suited Santa, but you’d be surprised just how easy it is. Here’s an example as best that I can remember:
“I’ll have a martini.” I order at High Voltage, our local bar in Mountain Dale. Sonia the owner smiles and turns to find the vodka. Carlo is buying. He’s just back from China and Moscow on some sort of secret mission for the Art Department. (Shhhhhhhhhush) “I’m Catskill rich.” he crows and pays for my drink. Money from Rudy? (the lawyer not the reindeer). I’m dressed as a green bull frog, wearing a suicide vest of glitter bombs. Butch Resnick is dressed as Santa and already wiping booze out of his beard. Butch is my neighbor and owner of most of Mountain Dale. Carlo is in civilian clothes. We all clink glasses and slide into the holidays. The solstice is upon us. Here comes summer.
“You like Trump, right Froggy?” Santa asks. My long green fingers tighten around my martini glass. Obviously Santa has not been paying attention in church. “I hate the motherfucker!” I admit. Santa looks over his wire rim glasses in disbelief. “You’re kidding.” he questions “You mean to tell me with all your anti-establishment shit, you don’t like the guy.” I hop up and down stamping my webbed feet and glare at Santa. “The guy’s a disgrace Santa. How can you defend him?” Santa smiles that big grin of his. “The economy you stupid frog.” he declares. Santa (and Butch) are the kings of the capitalists. “I can put up with anything with an economy this good.” Santa continues. I adjust my suicide vest. Should I just let ‘er rip? No. It’s the holidays. I grin right back at Santa, work my gills filled with vodka and as my mother would say, “Agree to disagree.” We toast and hug. Hark the herald angels….
This is the second year Mountain Dale has gathered in a half-assed, hastily conceived attempt at bringing strangers to town to eat, drink and buy stuff. Is it working? It depends on who you ask. Most Catskill communities like Neversink, Livingston Manor and Callicoon, market holiday festivities in the more traditional “chestnuts roasting” and “carolers caroling” theme. We all got snow, but the tone of Mountain Dale is about as “off the beaten path” as the hamlet itself. Pinning the pickle to the Pussy Pole, destroying the environment with glitter and getting drunk all afternoon is more our speed. Butch, who was pitching the place to a new potential investor, said the "mark" thought Butch had hired actors to put on a passion play in order to impress them. HA! Solstice Frog, a wise woman, Daesh the Red Nose Reindeer, Drunk Santa and Buddy the elf (a prominent local politician) are all locals, always ready for a good time and an excuse to party. Although hiring us is a novel concept that I’m not opposed to.
Herein lays the problem for expanding the crowd. We are a group of cliquish, clannish, subversives who store up ammunition year round just to shoot ourselves in the feet. We may make outsiders a bit uncomfortable. Between disappearances to check out the snow conditions on the slopes, Santa is the worst of the bunch. He may profess to be all about the economy, but under that beard he (and Mrs. Claus) are good hearted, generous, party animals. Santa doesn’t really care if the North Pole (or Mountain Dale) is solvent, or if that next investor ponies up the green to buy more toys. All he cares about is a good place to hang out. I see you Santa. We are all admittedly misfits in paradise. The rest of America may not be able to get along, but I thank the LGM that here in the Catskills we all (green, blue and red-eyed) can. HAPPY HOLIDAYS ONE AND ALL!
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