With Bryce, the lights are on but nobody's home

If your neighbor did it, you'd call it tacky.

But when James Island County Park puts up thousands of Christmas decorations every year for its annual Holiday Festival of Lights, somehow it seems just right. You know, in the same kind of way Tammy Faye Bakker's makeup was always "just right."

OK, so the words "tastefully done" and "understated elegance" aren't ever going to be used to describe the 2 million-plus lights that make up the HFOL, but who cares? It's fun and people love it. Plus, it's not like James Island County Park has its Camaro on cinder blocks in its front yard like your neighbor does.

Every year, nearly 200,000 people visit the park during the two-month light show that runs through New Year's Day. Last Thursday, I was invited to help put the finishing touches on it before it opens to the public Friday. But before they put me to work replacing burned-out bulbs and hanging strands of lights in trees, I got a behind-the-scenes look at the 3-mile-long attraction.

My tour guide for the evening was county park assistant director of capital projects Andy Hammill. From the comfort of his Ford Explorer, we drive slowly through Santa's Village, Noah's Ark and Candyland. (LITTLE-KNOWN FACT: Per capita, Candyland has the highest murder rate in the country. Or maybe it's candy. It's definitely one of those, though. I just can't remember which.)

Once our joyride was over, Andy put me to work on the outskirts of Dinosaur Land. My first task was to place a bunch of green lights on some bushes. Apparently I misunderstood his directions because instead of placing lights on the bushes, I got attacked by fire ants.

Naturally, I handled this with the dignity and poise of a 6-year-old who has just been informed it's bedtime. As a result, I came running out of the bushes shrieking: "I'm being attacked! I'm being attacked!" The man working with me, who up until this point I thought was actually a nice guy, responded by laughing so hard that he fell to the ground.

Later, I was told that he thought my tragedy was so funny because the spot where I came running out of the woods was next to the alligator light display and he thought I was making a joke. I sure wish I had known that little tidbit before I let all the air out of his car tires in the parking lot. Oh, well. Serves him right for driving a Pontiac Aztek.

My next task involved me using a long pole to hang more green lights, this time in the tops of the trees. In just under five minutes I had gotten the pole stuck. However, drawing on all the skills I learned in Boy Scouts, I quickly blamed it on somebody else.

At this point, instead of finding me another job, Andy politely told me I was free to go home.

Though I didn't really do a whole lot to help him and his crew, I can honestly say I left the park with a much better knowledge about the HFOL. For instance, I learned that in its 17 years of its existence, the festival has grown from 18 light displays to more than 600; that it takes roughly four months to set up and take down all the displays; and the park's monthly electric bill during the festival is somewhere in the neighborhood of $20,000.

Which, if my calculations are correct, is roughly the same amount Tammy Faye spent on makeup.