Good Tidings Toxicity Levels

Let there be light...

The neighborhood we live in goes pretty insane when it comes to Christmas lights.  There's no "official" rule that says you have to decorate, but for some reason we go all Clark Grizwald-y when it comes to decorating.


The first couple of years we lived here it was kind of fun.  People come from miles around to drive through the neighborhood to look at lights, and it was cool to wave as they went by.


Then the next couple of years the limos started, followed closely by the little mini-buses full of blue-haired ladies, followed by the full-size transit system bus tours, followed by the (no kidding) horse-drawn carriage tours.  Just getting in and out of the neighborhood after dark can take 20 minutes.


Then came the helicopters.  We had flights of helicopters hovering overhead, night after night.  It sounded like we were in a Vietnamese firefight.  We finally chased those guys off, though I don't really know how.  Maybe it had something to do with the heat-seeking missiles.


Adding insult to injury, my next-door neighbor routinely wins the Children s Choice award (yes, we even have judging and contests!).  Every night this time of year, hundreds of minivans full of little snot-nosed ankle biters wait for hours to pull up in front of his house and ogle.  They generally fall into three categories: they're either (a) asleep, (b) crying, or (c) fighting with a sibling.  Those in Category C often transition into Category B right before our eyes.


And then... this happened.  He's on the same street as me, except that he's on the segment of the street that dead-ends into a cul-de-sac.  So now we have buses, vans, horses, limos, the occasional shot-down helicopter, cars, trucks, trains and other random means of conveyance literally parking for hours, waiting impatiently, and depositing all manners of litter (and in the case of the horses, some high-quality fertilizer) in the street.


So you will pardon us if we get a little overdosed on Christmas cheer.  Mrs. Bug and I occasionally long for the anonymity of Jakar- THE REMAINING PORTIONS OF THIS BLOG POST HAVE BEEN REDACTED BY THE FEDERAL WITNESS PROTECTION PROGRAM.  MR. & MRS. BUG (NOT THEIR REAL NAMES) HAVE NEVER BEEN TO JAKARTA AND HAD NOTHING TO DO WITH THAT INCIDENT AT THE SOVIET EMBASSY.  PROMISE.

Dilemmas...

Dilemma (n); a German phase meaning "a lemma".

This is how you get a real appreciation
for the phrase "Christmas Rush"

So we got yet another request today from someone wanting to know if we sell wholesale.  The weeks immediately before Christmas are probably not a good time to ask - one of our Christmas ornaments was in Etsy Finds the other day in the No. 1, upper left-hand corner position, and we got crushed by orders.  Crushed as in "run to the office supply store because we drained an ink cartridge printing invoices" crushed.

(On a side note, what the hell is in those cartridges that makes them so expensive? Unicorn sweat?)

Anyway, the fundamental concept of wholesaling is that you'll make it up on volume.  That theory holds if and only if you can make the volume.  If you're running an operation out of an Uzbekistan sweat shop, achieving the necessary volume is a real possibility.  However, if you're running an operation out of a spare bedroom, the volume question becomes much more interesting.  Interesting in the way that an airplane crash is interesting.

This is a lemma. Really.

So for now we think we'll pass.  Talk to us in February when the sales have gone to zilch and we're breaking up furniture for firewood.  We might have a different answer.

Oh, and here's a lemma.