Time was we used to motor the kids over there in the van during the holiday season to see the Santa sticking out of the second-story window like a burglar caught in the act. Then the kids grew up, and for the next few years we drove the dog over there on Christmas Eve because she liked to bark at the horse-drawn carriages and she seemed to enjoy the pretty lights (or maybe it was just getting to sit in the front seat). Then the dog passed away, so now we just pick up a hot chocolate and a cookie at Starbucks and drive ourselves from one end of swanky Beverly to the other, hazarding the bumper-to-bumper Benzes and marveling at the hugely tacky decorations rich people are willing to pile up on their perfectly manicured lawns to celebrate the birth of Our Lord. Yep, that's a helicopter on that acre of yard, delivering gifts to folks who already have everything.