As I scoured every Chamber of Commerce website throughout the whole eastern end of the island for an engaging activity to take part in, I have come to the realization that the cold blistered hands of winter boredom are starting to suffocate the Hamptons. Its official…summer is just a cozy memory that is failing to warm up my tripled socked feet and stark white complexion.
As the hours of daylight dwindle so do the opportunities of things to do. I mean you can only indulge in a creamy greasy far from healthy dining experience so many times before you need to exchange your skinny jeans for maternity pants.
Going to the movies gets old when you repeat seeing flicks just because “its something to do” and the woman that rips your ticket starts recognizing you as the one that always gets peanut M&M’s.
I’m sure bars are remotely the same in any town but since the population here shrinks throughout the winter, there are less innocent by standers to help you avoid forced conversation with the girl that sat behind you in Mr. Broich’s earth science class junior year. No need to pay for a high school reunion there is one every Thursday night at Buckley’s in Hampton Bays.
I needed to engage myself in something different. Despite my love for the Hamptons and all the things it (usually) has to offer, I refuse to become accustom to the repetitiveness and uniformity that has become a Saturday night.
Problem: Monotony
Solution: Santa con.
Despite the fact that temperatures above 30 are no longer a possibility and it has already snowed twice even though the calendar keeps reminding me its still technically fall, this season has something very special to offer: Christmas! And what better way to start off the holiday season than with a Santa Claus convention.
According to the website, SantaCon is “a non-denominational, non-commercial, non-political and non-sensical Santa Claus convention that occurs once a year for absolutely no reason.” The night before the big event some mysterious Santacon leader posts about 12 starting points all over Manhattan, Queens, Brooklyn, and Hoboken. Commencing at 10 a.m. (college style) this anti-bar crawl (every time someone calls it a bar crawl a sugar plum fairy dies) begins a 12-hour drinking binge throughout one of the most entertaining and lively cities in the world.
Sanatacon is held in 179 cities in 24 countries but it only seems fitting that in New York City would you be walking down the street and look up to hundreds of intoxicated Santa Claus’ chanting inappropriate versions of Christmas carols and substituting milk and cookies for questionable beverages in brown paper bags and slices of pizza.
My friends and I, sporting antlers and “Hi, my name is (insert reindeer here)” name tags, hopped on the 9:57 train out of Speonk with bagels and train libations. Even though we missed the starting point, Rudolph friend was receiving updates via twitter about the next bar sites.
Santacon was the epitome of social media. Whoever was posting updates managed to organize and usher hundreds of people all over Manhattan, all through a few 160-character displays.
After the first pit stop (which we missed) the Santa tweeter posted the next destination to be Central Park. After sporadically spotting a few fellow Santas here and there on the subway, we screeched to a halt at the 77th exit and followed a couple of guys dressed up in red suits and beards. As we got closer to the park, the color red started infringing on my line of sight. It was like Manhattan suddenly had a red, white and black nosebleed.
It was like Santa was multiplying. Indian chief Santa, taco Santa, robot Santa, skanky Santa, male genitalia Santa, hockey Santa and World Cup Santa who was petitioning to have the 2026 World Cup at the North Pole converged from all directions. The Christmas spirit surged through the Upper East Side as a sea of red washed over Central Park. Camaraderie was established instantaneously due to a similar interest in alcohol and Santa suits.
But the outfits weren’t just limited to St. Nick copycats. Girls were wrapped up as gifts addressed to men from God, dreidels represented the Jewish community, and reindeer galloped through the park with snap-on snouts and artificial hooves. It was actually a true testament to creativity.
One of the best parts was the spectators that had no idea what was going on. On our way to the next bar, one thoroughly confused elderly woman stopped us. Somewhat agitated she wouldn’t let us proceed on our jolly crawl without informing her why she did not know about this Santa Claus convention. As we worked our way back through the subways towards the West Village little children’s faces lit up with excitement as hundreds of Santas stepped onto the platform. It was every five year old’s dream! Too bad for them the only gifts these men in red could offer were slurred words and empty cans.
When we finally got downtown it was bursting at its seams with Santas. Bleeker Street is renowned for its pub scene, all bars within walking distance of each other and one more fun then the next. And I’m sure that’s true, if we could get into them. We settled on a Mexican restaurant where the two bartenders looked a mix of extremely overwhelmed and slightly scared of these dollar flinging Santa Claus’ desperate to continue their Christmas buzz. Standing at the front of the pack, my friends and I waited a half hour without being served.
It was so ridiculously crowded the only place where we could quench our thirst was at delis and an empty restaurant called Café Espanol. Even McDonalds was over populated with reindeer and snowmen. We decided to escape the wild world of Santaland to an uncanny getaway: Times Square. We enjoyed the rest of our evening at the Heartland Brewery and singing “Rudolph the red nose reindeer” loudly for all to hear, as we were herded through 42nd street.
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