Let's just lay our cards on the table, shall we? There's an 8-foot-tall lighted snowman in my front yard. You want to make something of it?

Oh, and yes, a couple thousand lights.

Well, sure, it's taken me a few days to put the whole display together. At least six electrical outlets are involved. So?

I made the rounds of all the major garden centers and hardware stores two months ago looking for novel Christmas lights. I don't deny it. It's good to get an early start on the season.

Maybe I already own enough of that green outdoor extension cord to power appliances in Delaware. I suppose next you're going to wonder why I really need to have pre-lighted fake evergreens, the dozen electric candles, the timers and the weather-proof switches.

I could stop at any time. Except, of course, not now. Not while I have my oversized, inflatable Frosty with his built-in heavy-duty fan to keep him nice and puffy. Darn if he doesn't look happy on my lawn.

You want to know why a good chunk of my children's college fund has been invested in a gazillion strands of lights? The real reason why I spend these cold December weekends lighting the outside of my home to Las Vegas standards?

Why the folks at the hardware store smile when I walk in the door?

It's because I've heard the calling -- much like artists, clergy or collectors of Hummel figurines.

That's right. I take no personal responsibility in this. Less than a decade ago, I had no interest in Christmas lights. Couldn't have cared less.

Lighting never struck my family as a good idea. In the '70s, there was an energy crisis. It wasn't cool to twinkle. My dad's chief contribution to the holiday landscape design was to change the bulb in the lamp post from white to red. It was either Christmas or the French Quarter.

But many years later, I started hearing about these amazing Christmas light displays that otherwise sane people would create each year. With friends in tow, I decided to make the rounds. See what havoc people had wrought on their front yards. It didn't take long before I was hooked.

At first, it was funny -- in a retro sort of way. We'd pile in a friend's car and map out an excursion in and around the city. We'd stop at as many as we could, snicker at the time and expense people had put into lighting their homes, appalled by the waste.

Yet even as we laughed, we began to develop an appreciation for what some people had done. There was some artistry in this. White mini-lights? Icicle lights? Animated deer? We saw all the trends come, rise in popularity and then hit the saturation point.

Instead of snickers, we started to make more serious critiques. "A daring use of the blue palette but lacks balance and textural interest." Or: "White lights in moderation present an appealing, old-fashioned, almost spiritual aesthetic; too many lights, and it becomes both too bright and too cold."

Naturally, one thing led to another, and I decided to try a little lighting myself.

Oh, the first year, it was just candles in the windows and a spotlight on the front door. That's a standard. Strictly entry-level stuff, a beginner's comfort zone.

Next came the mini-lights strung with the garland around the front door. Then came lights on the pine trees. Then we graduated to the hard stuff: C-9s, those big, fat, hairy bulbs that suck down electricity the way teen-agers gulp down fries.

But, this is where things got interesting. Have you ever tried stringing together a thousand lights or so? Our friend Mr. Electricity can be a real pain in the ampere, if you'll pardon my wattage.

Did you know that strings of lights have little tiny fuses? I didn't. Until I blew out a bunch by connecting too many strings together.

Then I blew the fuses on the controllers. Then I started tripping circuit breakers in my home.

Once, I strung 13 strands of mini-lights on a single dogwood so that every inch of those leafless branches was covered. It was beautiful. You could also do your nightly reading standing next to it. It was like a beacon on the block. People thought I was opening a store.

I think that was the year BGE started mailing me Christmas cards.

I bought a ladder. I bought a 12-foot pole (painted red and green to prove it was a Christmas light pole and not just, you know, a big stick). I bought a bunch of those little plastic gizmos that hold lights to tree branches.

I bought rope lights the first year they were available. Sure, a lot of people have them now. But I paid twice as much for them several years ago.

I bought white lights, multicolored lights, red lights. My wife banned flashing lights, however. She said she had to draw the line somewhere.

I would have protested. I mean have you seen those spiral Christmas trees with their dozen or so different flashing patterns? Caramba!

But I had to give the missus a little voice in this. After all, she is the one who tolerates those moments when I'm "in the Christmas spirit."

That would, of course, refer to those times when Daddy is outside yelling threats at my lights, my extension cords, my ladder, my stick. Why aren't you working, you miserable piece of -- well, you can imagine. It's best if she has the kids try on earmuffs on those days.

Now, I don't want to give you the impression that my Christmas light display is the most impressive on my street. I like to think it is, but I have to admit it's a pretty close call.

That's why I'm always looking to up the ante.

Maybe it's a guy thing. You don't tend to see women perched on ladders stringing lights along the gutters. They seem to be a little too clever for that.

Still, I rarely hear guys talking about Christmas lights, either. It's as if we're all a little bit embarrassed by our quest for holiday illumination.

But I digress. This lighting thing has not gotten to be a problem for me. No way. I could hang up my extension cords tomorrow and walk away from it all. It's just that I don't want to.

Not when there are so many opportunities out there. Lighted candy canes, those little lighted balls you hang from trees, lighted wreaths, waving Santas, lighted packages underneath lighted Christmas trees.

This year, I saw lighted ribbon. No, I mean ribbon that has lights sewn inside the fabric. Inside. What a world. What a brave new world. I'm appalled and intrigued at the same time.

My snowman understands.