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December Nights...utter crap

By Barbara Graham

December 8, 2006

San Diego--When did Christmas at the Prado turn into a December Nights Crap-O-Rama? Since my high school days as a nerdy kid, my friend and I have had our own tradition of browsing the exotic fare offered by the Houses of Hospitality, enjoying the music at the Organ Pavilion, the tree lighting ceremony in Balboa Park, and the museums.

"Boy, you miss one year and it all goes downhill..."

Boy, you miss one year and it all goes downhill, devolving into some sort of crapfest carnival, complete with a midway and obnoxious shills pushing the same garbage you can find at any neighborhood street faire.

Christmas on the Prado used to be a classy affair. It was a great way to kick-start the post-Thanksgiving holiday spirit, spending a peaceful evening on a crystal-clear December night. The parking lots were full of visitors, and you could stroll around without being molested by loudmouthed hucksters, enjoy a cup of mulled cider while enjoying the magic of Balboa Park after dark.

But now, thanks to mayor Jerry Sanders in collusion with the Barona Casino, it’s now a cheesy carnival event, with booths hawking everything from cell phone plans to cheap manufactured goods. Yeah, obviously Christmas on the Prado was exploitable. Of course there was potential for profit. But, in exploiting this event, San Diego leaders ruined something pure and magical, stripping away the sublime experience and reducing it to a cross between a swap meet and a traveling carny show.

Buried under the booths, the amplified music and the lights of the ride zone, the original event still exists. The museums are still open, the Houses of Hospitality still offer international fare. The Christmas, errr, “December Nights” production still plays at the Organ Pavilion, if you can manage to hear the chorus over the loudspeakers blaring “Rock You Like A Hurricane” at the funnel cake booth.

And you can still walk around the park, if you don’t mind dodging the thundering hordes of suburbanites and their triple-wide strollers jamming the walkways left over after the booths were erected. And you can still have a smoke somewhere in a dark corner, joining the other shifty-eyed nicotine addicts huddled behind a bush to burn a weed, watchful that the Cigarette Police don’t find them and issue a ticket. And you can still get a cup of hot, spiced wine, glogg, or Irish coffee, if you don’t mind standing in a fenced-in area with absolutely no place to sit down and relax. And Santa’s reindeer are still pulling the old man’s sleigh into the sky near the Organ Pavilion, but he doesn’t look as jolly as he used to.

And no wonder. The City took something that was sort of refined, somewhat classy, and turned it into a sprawling, cheesy moneymaker—a big, noisy, smelly, cheap, tawdry street fair in the middle of San Diego’s crown jewel. Thanks, Barona. Thanks, Sanders. In your efforts to “save” Christmas on the Prado, you’ve destroyed it. I doubt the people responsible ever really understood the appeal of an event without rides, funnel cake booths, and rock music blaring out of cheap, buzzy speakers.

Thanks to you, it no longer stands out from the swap meets, street faires, and other crapulous commercial events designed to attract the masses and separate them from their money. Well done! You’ve struck another blow for mediocrity in San Diego.

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Barbara Graham is a San Diego-based writer. Click here for here previous article, a first-person account about dealing with Scientologists.

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