Around here, the holidays get rung in by the festive lighting of the whale skeleton. There is folk singing, and everyone holds up their iphones using the little flashlight app for ambiance, and when the crowd yells, “Thar She Blows!” the lights go on, as if by magic.

This is in lieu of Santa. It’s complicated. Instead of dealing with elves and Jesus mangers and menorahs and Kwanza candles, in Santa Cruz we cut our losses and gather round a lit up dead whale. Ho ho ho.

Gustavo has grown up thinking that Santa is a giant glow in the dark skeleton. No wonder poor guy’s so messed up.