A Downtown Christmas

Downtown's first blogger playing Santa Claus at December's Art Walk.

‘Twas the week before Christmas, and all through this blog,
Not a subject was stirring, not even about dogs;
The notes were hung on my keyboard with care,
In hopes that ideas for a post would be there;

The 3bn was busy with wet ice rink tales,
In between e-mails of comix that printed, but failed;
So with my hamster in it’s wheel, my computer in my lap,
I had just settled down to read the El Chavo re-cap;

Then from the roof arose such a racket,
I dropped my laptop thinking someone just hacked it;
Gathering my senses, I went to the roof with a camera and flash,
On the way up I told the neighbors ‘you better hide your stash’;

Outside, the rain glistened a Downtown skyline like a shroud,
Off to the north, City Hall’s beacon cut through the clouds;
Then, my eyes saw what I first thought was a faker,
It was a copter and crew, with eight tiny filmmakers;

With a union stunt pilot, so lively and slick,
I had to blink twice ‘cause he was dressed like St. Nick;
Then more rapid than LADOT towing cars––as if insane,
By bullhorn, the bloggers were called out by name;

"Now BGreen, Now Rico, Now Garza who sings,
On Eric, on Bullock, on, on 5th and Spring;
To the top of the Library Tower! Then to the loft walls!!
You didn’t blog away filming! So blog away, blog away all!"

With limits on locations and the strike, he was just bitter,
And his ‘copter circled my loft, he checked in with Twitter;
With his red suit, no more Santa gigs from Kelly,
He didn’t want to go home, ‘cause nothing was on tonights telly;

He landed the chopper, so there was no noise to fear,
He has twitch in his eye when he twisted the cap off his beer,
Santa was tired and hacked, not his same old self,
And I gave him some change, in spite of myself;

They all look forlorn, for there was nothing to shoot,
The strike has taken hold, making film-making moot;
So with nothing at midnight for a below the line crew,
They went to Banquette, and the fake St. Nick, too.

He jumped off the chopper, gave a crew a whistle,
They all looked weary, with beards that looked like bristle;
But he shouted with hope, as he reached for his freakin' bike,
"Merry Christmas to all! We’ll be back . . after the strike.”

Comments

[EL CHAVO!]

Now you're obligated to do your own version of a Posada song. I know of an alternate lyric for the Santos Peregrinos, but I'll have to tell you that one offline! ;)

[shannon]

wow. how long have you been working on that???

[e@v]

It was in my head all morning. When I got home at 1:45 pm this afternoon, I tinkered with it and wrote it.

[spinsLPs]

This is awesome Ed!

[cindylu]

Hah! That's cool. All it needs is some pictures or podcast of you reading.

[e@v]

OooOo...PodCast. I like.

[celia]

i love that the santa in the picture is the original (and first) downtown blogger, jim from trainedmonkey.com