The Myth of Santaphus

"Yes, Virginia, there is an animatronix Santa Claus, and no, he will never, ever, ever stop laughing"

If you've ever been to Crown Center during the winter holidays, you've probably seen the ancient mechanical Santa Claus that jerkily slaps his knee over and over again while merrily chuckling "ho ho ho" amid fake snowy scenery in the company of spinning panda bears and magical elfkin friends.

I remember loving that thing as a kid, but also being just a tiny bit afraid of it due to its sheer immensity. You'd think that I'd see it now through nostalgic eyes, but I went there over my lunch break last week and the thing looks scarier to me now than it ever did as a child.

This mostly has to do with the Santa's appearance. His face, coated with nearly a century's worth of varnish, is covered in a pattern of fine cracks, giving it the distinguished antique quality of a Renaissance-era fresco. His unchanging smile and repetitious laughter grow unnerving after a few minutes, reminiscent less of a holiday totem than a man gone permanently insane.

The man has a history, as well. I read the sign chronicling this Claus's story, how during the transitions from one department store to the next, he sat for years in lumber yards and warehouses in a deactivated state. For some reason, the Santa's unnatural longevity caused me to view it as a mechanical monstrosity brought back to life through nebulous acts of technosorcery. Like an Urak-Hai of Happiness.

With a pang of guilt I realized that, for the first time, I was thinking of the storied Santa as a machine and not a Santa. I looked at the heavy red velvet costume draped over his massive forearms and imagined what the hulking figure must look like beneath his Christmas clothes. Probably like a giant rusty terminator cyborg, I thought. A morbid image, I know, but once it presented itself, I found it rather hard to dismiss.

I had to admire the man, though. The machine. The Santa. Whatever you want to call him/it. He simply never runs out of jollity. Though it's a bit unnerving to know the man's been laughing for generations (racking up an astonishing 267,840 knee slaps per season), it's sort of wryly humbling to know that through all the changes, school years, romantic fiascoes and travels I've been through, he's still up there slapping his knee for all we're worth.

Creaky and battle-scarred but mysteriously resilient -- if there's a better metaphor for my own Christmas spirit than this jolly but slightly unnerving old elf, I'm not likely to find it anytime soon.