Elvis Buys His Tree Here Every Year

So, where were we?

After 3 years and 7 months, The Referee has finally decided to retire from his self-imposed retirement and get back on his blogging horse, if you will.

And so, those of you who have missed reading pointless and rambling stories, who have longed for unfathomable tangents, who have pined for the almost criminal over-use of parentheses (that is to say, brackets) (see what I mean), you need to wait no longer.

No doubt you, dear reader(s) (note the optimistic plural), are wondering why The Referee entered his self-imposed retirement in the first place, and why he has now retired from it.  Both fine questions, if I may say so.

The answer to the former question is far too dull for an action-packed organ such as this.  The latter question, however, can be answered by a simple road sign.  Let me explain why.

I have long been fascinated by the search for the perfect retail moniker, that is to say, shop name.  Creative retailers the world over have often entertained their customers with comedy names for their establishments.  You know the sort of thing I mean.  Herr Kutz the barber.  Paws for Thought the pet shop.  Wok this Way the Chinese restaurant.

My personal contribution to this list occurred to me in a recent visit to Washington DC's national zoo.  While communing at the orangutan enclosure, it came to me, like a Damascene revelation, that orangutans would make the perfect logo for my aspirational chain of tanning salons, which would be named Orange-U-Tan.  If no one else has already done it, I'll be off as soon as I've finished this message to register the name Orange-U-Tan with whoever it is that registers the names of tanning salons.  Presumably the Federation of Authorized Tanning Salon Owners, or something along those lines.

Anyway, this remained just an idle (some would say pointless) (others would say worrying) obsession, until I heard a rumo(u)r that, right here in what the locals like to call the DC Metro Area, there was a Christmas tree selling establishment with the glorious name of Elvis Buys His Tree Here Every Year.

Elvis Buys His Tree Here Every Year.  Could it really be true?  If so, this was enough to cause me both to seek it out for my own arboreal acquisition purposes, and to emerge from retirement into the warm yuletide twinkle of the blogosphere. How could I wallow in retirement in front of the Fox Asocceration Football Channel, with such rich nuggets of American popular culture almost begging to be mined for your edification?

And so, loading up Mrs Referee and the Little Referees in the back of the RefereeMobile, I set off to find the place where Elvis buys his holiday (don't get me started) tree.

Sure enough, only a matter of minutes from Chez Referee, we spotted clear evidence that Himself had been seen nearby, in the form of a roadside sign that is well known to the locals.  Better still, the folks who run this establishment could not have been nicer or more helpful, they had some top notch trees, one of which we purchased and, to top it all, the sounds of Barry Manilow filled the advent air.

The only downside of the whole experience, which dawned on me as I studied my receipt on the way home, was that the name of the establishment was actually Suzanne Eaton Christmas Trees of Florida.  And the sign was just a sign.  Still, they were fine people, and maybe, just maybe, they had at least one very special customer.  And I'm not talking about The Referee.

Either way, for better or worse, I was already out of retirement.  I'll let you decide, dear reader, whether that's a cause for glad tidings, or bad.  Or something inbetween.  Middling tidings, perhaps.

Which leaves me only to offer something on the true meaning of the season.  I'd like to think it's the time of year for spending time by the fire with family and friends, for thinking back to a time when the King walked among us in person and wondering if, in a sense, he still does.

And so, as Tiny Tim observed, God bless us, every one.