Life is rife with little ironies. In my case it is the fact that my father’s family (whose delightful mishmash of Lithuanian and Polish in the way of a surname I sport) immigrated to the United States via New York. It is possible— if not probable— my forebears once called Greenpoint home. Regardless one of their progeny lives in “Little Poland” now. A gal whose last name is laden with all the consonants, but alas something got lost along the way:
- I’m a vegetarian. The smell of kielbasa be it hot* or otherwise makes me queasy.
- I know very little in the way of Polish. What little I do know was learned here and would probably get me punched in the face.
Anyhoo, when I see stuff like the following (which hails from Manhattan Avenue) I really wish I was fluent in Polish.
I have no idea who SPOTKANIE z BALLADA is or what they do— but I like them! Enough so to steal commandeer the following poster to decorate my bathroom.
I cannot overstate how much joy the sight of this bit of knitted fanny floss gives me everyday. Which brings me back to their latest show. Upon closer examination I observed the “Santa” in their flier was a wee different than the one I grew up with.
It’s not the glassy-eyed expression on this gent’s face or his dirty undershirt. I’m used to that. It’s the solitary red star on his cap. This here Santa is a RED. Naturally I immediately brought this to the Mister’s attention.
Miss Heather: This Santa has a red star on his cap. He’s a Commie!
Mr. Heather: (laughing)
Miss Heather: What would Soviet Santa stuff in kids’ Christmas stockings?
Mr. Heather: (thinking)
Miss Heather: I know! A copy Das Kapital —and nothing else!
Mr. Heather: Or a free ride on his sleigh to the gulag.
Yet another childhood myth busted.
The jolly fat man (WEARING A RED SUIT NO LESS) who crawls down capitalist chimneys to give children of Bourgeoisie scum gifts every Christmas is in reality a Soviet agent. Don’t believe me? Think about what you asked dear Santa for as children, dear readers, and compare it to what you actually got. Uh-HUH. That Erector set you didn’t get wasn’t an accident, it was a message!
Rudolph’s red nose was in actuality a coded reference to a Sukhoi S-26 experimental ski-equipped jet fighter. Sleigh guided by a red-nosed reindeer my fat capitalist American ASS! And to think I grew up thinking he was a reindeer who had a cold— or possibly a cocaine problem.
I am now a sadder but wiser woman. Come Christmas Eve I imagine I’ll be kicking it in Alaska with my pal Palin. Our eyes (and scopes) will be locked on the Arctic Circle. When we take these infiltrators down I’ll leave the debriefing/interrogations/taxidermy to her.
P.S.: This one goes out to you Mr. Heather. I never thought the (numerous) evenings I tried to write while listening to you watch Soviet aircraft porn on the television— LOUDLY— would amount to anything more than aggravation and wasted time. I was wrong. Thank you.
*Someone should make a porno called “Hot Kielbasa” and it should feature Ron Jeremy.