FU LA(wrote this around Christmas time)

This evening I was convinced to go to a local mall by my girl. Normally getting me in a mall between Thanksgiving and Christmas would take an act of God or a sopeana, in this case it was promise of a good steak. Every man has his price. Little did I know I would be plunged deep into the most revolting display of LA "culture" anyone had ever experienced. On the main floor of the mall this time of year they fill the area with a snowy scene of Santa's North Pole village. Nervous children waiting, not so patiently, in line with protective mothers and fathers for a short usually terrifying visit with Santa himself. These lines typically wind through manmade cotton snow and giant Styrofoam painted candy canes. The old Christmas standards seem to linger in the air while you catch yourself singing along. Marketing at its finest. Marketing or not, this is the American Christmas Norman Rockwell would have painted if he were alive today. I picture this: an overly enthusiastic teen dressed as an elfin photographer capturing a screaming child being lifted off Santa's noticeably wet lap by an eye rolling Santa's "helper" while overheated frustrated parents scold rascally cued kids. Done in Rockwell's realistic style and tone. It's the closet thing to a common tradition we have in our fast paced, consumer driven, self-absorbed society.
At this mall in the heart of Los Angeles they have a Santa's Village. They have the giant candy canes and the elfin photographer but they also have something no other mall in the fucking world would have. Let me paint the picture for you. First you hear the loud "hip" Christmas type music. It sounds like a re-mix version of Manhiem Steamroller and The Crystal Method. That's the best I can do to describe it. The DJ; that's right Santa's village has a douche bag DJ, is dancing around as if it's after hours at Avalon and the passing shoppers are a mob of tweaking club kids. Then I notice the five whores-a-leaping. Watching five scantily clad women, billed as "The Candy Cane Dancers" grinding each other to I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Clause in front of a line full of drop jawed kids was staggering. At this point I wasn't sure I was pissed about this scene or if I was about to laugh my ass off and start breaking of dollar bills, either way the looks on the faces of the mothers was priceless. So Santa's strippers are bumping and grinding to hallowed iconic music, well the acid house version anyway, while the "Hunky Santa" bobs his head and claps his hands like he's a Garth Brooks dance academy graduate. However, he is tall, dark, and very tan so the mothers have now changed their expression and pulling out the compacts to make sure they look good for "Hunky Santa." We all have our price don't we. They Candy Cane dancers and Hunky Santa do their little Bob Fosse Christmas Special while the whole mall stops to watch the spectacle. Looking up I see heads lining the railing peering over from all three levels of the upper floors some smiling, some laughing, others in just as much disbelief as myself. I have to assume the latter are from out of town or Culver City. The house remix ends and the dancers finish in a wild tangled crumpled heap of red, white and boobs. Which is a great name for a Bill Clinton biography. Anyway the Ghost of Christmas past was shitting himself at the sight of this I'm sure.
As the music faded away the dancers picked themselves up and a sporadic seemingly confused round of applause arose from the crowd. Hunky Santa seemed very please with himself in his big sleeveless red and white robe. Oh did I forget to describe the sleeveless robe "Santa was sporting over his shirt, oh wait no I'm sorry he wasn't wearing a shirt. Just and open sleeveless red white fur lined robe. This kind of throws a wrench in the traditional rendering that is our collective Santa. This low carb single digit body fat version is certain to screw up some little kids notion of Santa. Now imagine this kid finds out there really is no Santa in a year or two after coming to grips with the discrepancy of body and spirit, in about three years we will need to start watching the tops of clock towers here in Beverly Hills. Only in a Los Angeles mall would we have a Santa on the Atkins Diet. Only in Los Angeles would Santa's helpers be strippers dressed like the third shift at Crazy Horse. Only in Los Angeles would a mall manager think this would be an acceptable way to express and honor the Christmas tradition of Santa Clause. Of course at the same time in this day and age of political correctness, to green light a show like that takes some balls.
Once the show was over everyone slowly moved back to the hustle and bustle of urban mall Christmas shopping. The lack of politeness and lack of awareness for other gained hold of the crowd and I knew all was back to normal.
This place sucks.
Merry fat as hell Christmas everyone.