I live in a street of gentiles who trade in Christmas inflatables of every design. Helicopters, ladding pads, sleighs, nativities, green elves. Every time the wind blows, disassembly ensues. Across the the street is a 2-story Santa. It's owner is ungifted at tethering. Last year it was something that flew off unexpectantly. This evening it was in fall forward position, face on the ground as if begging forgiveness from Mecca. It was a confluence of religions I could not endure, so I closed my blinds. Following this was a full viewing of Miracle on 34th street. No news, no commercials. Back in the 50s we go.