When it comes to the endless debate regarding real vs. artificial Christmas trees, it's not hard to figure out where my sentiments lie.
To me, nothing says Christmas like a 54-inch chunk of dull green polyvinylchloride garishly decorated with cheap tinsel, bordello-red lights and that fake snow stuff.
Add 40 or so electric blue balls and top it off with one of those winking, DayGlo stars and, well, if that doesn't get you in the holiday spirit, nothing will.
Surprisingly, though, there are people who find all this a bit . . . much. These people prefer the natural, leafy look of a real tree -- and the smell of a real tree, too.
I know, I know . . . go figure. Me, I'll take that musty smell of flame-retardant plastic and synthetic foliage any time.
Besides, if you're so hung up on an evergreen scent, just take one of those pine tree air fresheners -- like the one hanging from the rearview mirror in your car -- and put it on your artificial tree.
(For you snobs who are somehow above using car air fresheners in your home, there are artificial trees such as the one listed in the Spiegel catalog, a Sierra fir tree for $139.90, that come with a "natural balsam" scent kit designed to "fill the room with that unmistakable evergreen aroma.")
There are so many advantages to owning an artificial tree that I hesitate to list them all, for fear of bumming anyone who puts up a real tree.
Well, OK, here goes:
No. 1, to acquire an artificial tree, you don't have to tramp through the frozen woods or some godforsaken Christmas tree farm with a chain saw slung under one arm.
Or you don't have to fork over your hard-earned cash to some cranky old guy named Gus in a supermarket parking lot, who looks at you like you're a hair in his blue cheese dressing when you ask for rope to tie the tree to the roof of your car.
All you have to do is stroll up to the sales clerk in Sears, Caldor, etc., stab a beefy finger at whatever plastic-and-metal beauty catches your eye, and bark: "Gimme that baby right there, chief."
A few minutes later, some pimply-faced college dropout shuffles out of the storeroom and hands you a box with your 6 1/2 -foot Columbia Firneatly disassembled inside.
No muss, no fuss, no hurried trips to the emergency room with three toes packed in ice that were accidentally hacked off when the chainsaw bucked high in the air and came down on your foot.
What could be simpler?
Now, let's talk finances.
Unless you're a hermit who lives in the woods and can whack a tree down anytime, you're going to pay for your real tree.
A tree farm can charge anywhere from $20 on up for a decent tree. And Gus? Let's just say that with the prices Gus charges, he might as well wear a stocking mask and wave a 9 mm pistol in your face.
Artificial trees are far more cost-efficient. Sears, for instance, offers the following trees and prices: a 7 1/2 -foot Colorado spruce ($89.99), a 7 1/2 -foot Douglas fir ($139.99), a 7 1/2 -foot Belle Shore pine ($129.99), a 7 1/2 - foot Valley Regal spruce and a 9-foot Valley Midland fir ($199.99)
So for what it costs you to visit Gus three times, you can have your very own artificial tree. And this baby will last you for, I don't know, 75 years, since its petrochemical base has the atomic half-life of boron.
Plus, you'll never again have to listen to Gus blather on about which tree holds its needles the longest, which tree requires more water, etc.
Now let's talk about something really important. The real-tree advocates are always whining: "There's no tradition involved in putting up an artificial tree."
Wanna bet? In at least one household I know of, the tree-raising is accompanied with all the ritual of a Buddhist tea ceremony.
First, the whole family climbs up to the freezing attic, each of us banging our head on the single exposed light bulb as we try to locate the big cardboard boxes marked "Xmas tree stuff." Then we take turns dragging the boxes downstairs, trying not to trip and throw out our backs.
Then everyone gathers around as one of the children sings out: "Insert pole with slotted end marked A into base marked B. Insert branch marked C into slot marked D. Insert branch marked F into . . ." well, you get the picture.
I . . . I'm getting mist-eyed already.
Memories like that last a lifetime.