This year, the holiday-tableaux designers at the Giannini building across the way have introduced a new note of poor taste to the usual orgy of PCP-eyed mittened snowmen, tweetastic electric trains and occasional carolers in full Victorian garb (who holler more than carol). Among the poinsettia lining the space between the two escalators are a few dozen orchids. Standard-issue white ones, with faintly violet innards. Are you processing this? Poinsettia abutting orchids? This strike anyone else as profane, as screechingly discordant? The damp-paper-towel petals ("petals") of the loathsome poinsettia nonconsensually stroking the orchids in the escalatory breeze, the poor orchids leaning away from their colossally less appealing distant cousins, leaning too close to the escalators and getting their heads lopped off by passing briefcases, oh goodness, it's hearty eyesore vs. fragile loveliness and the eyesores are in command.