December is here. The first real cold snap has arrived in Washington, and the first snow is just around the corner. New York has the Rockettes and skating at Rockefeller Center, but the District’s major holiday tradition is the Pageant of Peace. Every President since Eisenhower has used the Pageant of Peace as an opportunity to light the National Christmas Tree. There’s no room for a forty-foot spruce in my apartment, so I might just get a snowdome. Snowdomes are older than the National Christmas tree, dating to the late nineteenth century. They’re wonderful pieces of chintzy Americana; I can see the appeal to collectors (1, 2). When I get sick of snow, I could switch to a more Western motif. Prisoners escape fromAlcatraz; hippies do their thing in San Francisco; hula dancers enjoy the Hawaiian beaches; people die in Texas. If the London Riot Reenactment Society sets up an American branch in Pennsylvania, they can enjoy a Whiskey Rebellion snowdome; if, on the other hand, a dimensional vortex is breached and angry slaad or shirokinukatsukami storm the mid-Atlantic region, perhaps a Frank Frazetta snowglobe will appease them. L.A. may suffer from poor air quality, but given how badly D.C. drivers handle the snow, I might prefer the smog — I might even prefer a swarm of locusts to the inevitable SUV wipeouts and eight-car pileups that winter brings. And when winter has receded, I can spirit Marion Davies away on my yacht, lie back in bed, and let a snowglobe fall from my hand. Nothing says "spring" like a rosebud.