Merry Christmas!!!

Wishing everyone a Merry Christmas and a Cool Yule and a Happy and Healthy New Year!

Even the bats. We're even wishing the bats a Happy New Year because Peace on Earth, Good Will Toward Mammals and we're rolling like that here at Chateau Halushki.

It looks like Santa has already lifted off from the North Pole and has been down under delivering Lord of the Rings trilogy DVDs. He then worked his way up to India, buzzing the Taj Mahal before dropping down for some late night aloo gobi. (I'm just hoping he makes a pit stop in Moscow before heading to the USA, because I know what too much curry does to my tummy, especially at high altitudes. Be sure to leave a shot of Maalox next to those cookies!)

If you want to track Santa, check out NORAD's super cool site. It will make you a believer...again.

Merry, Merry!

Prima, Seconda, and Little Terzo!

Oh, Baby I Love Your Che!

Dudes. I am like sssoooooo totally in the weeds right now.

October's been like soccer practice, soccer practice, soccer practice, soccer practice, soccer practice, soccer game, soccer game, soccer practice, soccer practice, soccer practice, soccer practice, fall festival, fall festival, pumpkin, pumpkin, pumpkin, broken toilet, baby, baby, baby, soccer practice, Girl Scouts, Girl Scouts, Girl Scouts, pee, eat, sleep, Halloween costume, Halloween costume, soccer, soccer, soccer, and then start again.

Oh yeah. And I've also had to fit in watching the entire fourth and fifth seasons of The Sopranos.

Maddon', I've been busy!


Anyway, here's an oldie but a goodie, just in time for Halloween. Except, I missed Halloween.

Okay, just in time for St. Swithin's Day.

Enjoy!

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Oh, Baby I Love Your Che!

I had no idea what to dress as for Halloween this year. I don’t often go (i.e. get invited) to fancy dress soirees, but yesterday but my sister called and asked me to go with her to the Dead Celebrity Costume Party at Malloy’s bar in G-ville this Saturday night.

Of course my first idea for a costume was to go as Liberace, but wouldn’t you know it, that’s who my sister is going as. And then I thought, well I’ll just go as that Roy guy who got mauled by the tiger. But my husband had to explain to me that Roy wasn't quite dead yet. (Actually, I must have said the part about going as Roy out loud and not just thought it, unless my husband is reading my mind. Again.)

I was beginning to get frustrated because all the good celebrities were either taken or not dead yet, and I was resigned to the fact that maybe I’d have to skip the party after all.

Then my husband said to me, "Say! You always look convincing when you dress as a young Latino. Why not go as Che Guevara?"

Hmmmmm…Che Guevara?

A crazy idea, but it just might work.

Then I worried. I didn't know a whole lot about Che other than he lived south of Florida and looked great in a beret. What if I was at the party and someone approached me dressed as, say, J.F.K or Mao Tse-tung and they wanted to strike up a conversation? Or, I wonder…what kind of mixed drinks did Che like? Or if someone said, "Hey, Che! Your turn to put some money in the juke box!" would I be out of character if I chose Frampton over Floyd? Exactly who did Che listen to? Did he read fiction or non-fiction? Was he an average pool player or did he know how to lay a little english on the ball?

Okay, it was time to do my research.

I headed for the Internet and pulled up a few biographies on the guy. And as I began to read about Che, I noticed something that can be only described as really, really, really weird:

Che Guevara and I actually have a lot in common.

I know, it’s difficult to believe at first what with him being a world famous revolutionary with a beard, and me being so fair-skinned. God, I look horrible in drab green. But, you know, all I can say is read on. The poof is in the prudding. (Che and I both love a good spoonerism!)


Che Guevara was an asthma sufferer. He developed asthma at two years old and his parents moved to a drier climate in the hope of improving his health.

Me: I have been coughing all day today and my chest hurts, I swear. It’s like I have a cold or something. Already, I think that I’m beginning to understand and empathize with Che’s physical life .


According to Edward Hyams’ Dictionary of Modern Revolution, Che Guevara had a "contempt for the pantomime of parliamentary democracy, and a hatred of military politicians and the army, the capitalist oligarchy, and above all the US dollar/ imperialism".

Me: Oh my God, I hate mimes. Note to self: if the party gets boring and people ask me to get up and entertain, I will NOT perform "walking against the wind" or "mime in a glass box". Instead, I may choose to sing a simple duet with my sister or recite from a small book of verse.


Che Guevara was a medical doctor who specialized in dermatology.

Me: I have had five moles removed.


Che Guevara knew a guy named Nico Lopez, one of Fidel Castro's lieutenants.

Me: I knew this kid named Nico Lopez in Allentown, Pennsylvania and his dad was a lieutenant on the police force. Nico looked like an average nobody and drove an old Pontiac, but his mother was something like fortieth cousin removed to Prince Charles, so Nico was actually in line for the British throne. I mean, if like five-thousand other people died. As if. Anyway, the rear seat of that Pontiac was pretty spacious, and Nico and I made-out back there a few times.


Che Guevara moved to Mexico City in 1954 and began working in the General Hospital

Me: There was a period in the 1980s when I watched General Hospital. I bet if Che were around he would have been saying "Whenever death may surprise us, let it be welcome if our battle cry has reached even one receptive ear and another hand reaches out to take up our arms" and I would have to tell him, "Dude, it was so obvious that they were going to kill off one of the Cassadines." I think he would have really understood the whole Luke and Laura storyline from a socioeconomic point of view that most viewers never even considered.


Che Guevara once said "Many will call me an adventurer - and that I am, only one of a different sort: one of those who risks his skin to prove his platitudes."

Me: Ditto


Hymans’ says that Che Guevara "…joined other Castro followers at the farm where the Cuban revolutionaries were being given a tough commando course of professional training in guerrilla warfare by the Spanish Republican Army captain, Alberto Bayo…'Che', as he was now called (it means chum or buddy and is Italian origin), became his star pupil and was made a leader of the class."

Me: I so kick butt at paint ball. One weekend, I my sister and her husband invited me to play on this enormous course on the side of a mountain in the Poconos. It was about 40 degrees outside, and we were crawling through mud and climbing trees and dropping down on people.

My sister and I had devised an elaborate plan to capture the flag. First, I was going to drop down on one of the opponents, rough him up a bit, and force him to switch outfits with me. Then, my sister would change into a peasant costume that she had stashed in her backpack. Together we would approach the flag (remember, it’s really the enemy’s flag!) with my sister in front of me as if I’ve captured a civilian. I'd tell my comrades (remember, they're really not!) that I think my disguised sister might actually be a guerrilla fighter. Of course, all the guys would want to frisk her and start arguing over who got to frisk her first. During the confusion, I’d grab the flag and break through the throng, firing from the hip and shouting "Viva la Geurra!" My sister would pull out her paintball gun (which she had concealed inside a secret petticoat), knee a few guys in the brass baubles, hurdle their writhing bodies, and follow me out machine-gunning all the way.

It was a perfect plan, except that after I dropped down on the opponent, I didn’t quite fit into his clothes. And then while I was trying to get my pants back on, the guy got up and shot me with a paintball right on my butt. Can I just tell you how much a paintball stings at close range in cold weather on your near-naked butt? I guess I probably could have taken a tip or two from Che on that point.

Che Guevara’s favorite Beatle was Ringo.

Me: You know, I found this a little disappointing at first. I mean, nothing against Ringo, but you’d expect Che to be a Lennon fan, right? Anyway, I’m sure if Che had been around to hear that "Photograph" crap that Ringo put out in the 1970s, he’d have changed his mind. Lennon is ten times the revolutionary that Ringo ever was.


Che Guevara’s paternal grandmother was Anna Isabel Lynch and it is commonly accepted that she was born in County Galway, Ireland. Others disagree as to whether or not Che is of any Irish ancestry, but his father once said, ""The first thing to note is that in my son's veins flowed the blood of the Irish rebels."

Me: I am of Irish heritage. My father once said, "The first thing to note is that in my daughter’s veins rows the flood of Blirish ebels." I think my dad was drunk at the time.


And finally, Che Guevara smoked only cheap Cuban cigars.

Me: I’m smoking one right now.

And so, in conclusion, I’m pretty darn sure that I’ll make an all-around convincing Che this Halloween. I still need to grow my beard by Saturday, but along with the fact that I’m already naturally dashing and a fairly romantic figure myself, knowing that I won’t have to try so hard to embody the mind and spirit of Che is a huge relief. I thought that I was going to have to stay sober all night or else risk dropping character. But as they say down Malloy’s "Póg mo thóin! Long Live the Revolution, Mis Camradas!"

Now is that my Irish or my Cuban talking?

Aw, come on now...

I’m Che all the way!

Merry...Merry...

In children's section at local bookstore.

Lady Customer With Tight Face: I’m looking for a book that explains God to a child.

Bookseller With Sore Feet: Sure! What age is the child?

Lady: 18 months.

Bookseller: 18 months?

Lady: 18 months.

Bookseller: So, a book that explains God to an 18-month-old.

Lady: Yes. Do you have anything like that?

Bookseller: So, like, a Barney book?

Lady: No.

Bookseller: Boobah?

Lady: No. I want to teach an 18-month-old about God.

Bookseller: Sure. Right over here in the religion section. Here’s a Golden Book about God. And it’s a board book so, you know, if the child gets zealous and tries to eat the book….

Lady: Oh, this is nice. (glancing through book) This is perfect.

Bookseller: I like the illustrations. Eloise Wilkin. But then, of course, it's Eloise Wilkin. I think this was originally published in the 40’s or 50’s. A lot of blonde-haired blue-eyed kids.

Lady: Oh, that’s perfect! Just like my granddaughter!

Bookseller: Oh sure! I’m not saying blonde-haired, blue-eyed kids don’t exist…

Lady: But maybe…

Bookseller: Yes?

Lady: Maybe this book is a little “too much”.

Bookseller: I see.

Lady: Too many words. It might be confusing.

Bookseller: I have the same problem with the Bible.

Lady: Excuse me?

Bookseller: How about this book? Sort of a bunch of Holly Hobbies talking about God. In short sentences. In a cute font.

Lady: This is nice. Oh, much more simple!

Bookseller: Maybe I should read it. I get so turned-around somewhere around Leviticus.

Lady:

Bookseller: Here's another that might do. Here’s a board book about Jesus.

Lady: Oh!

Bookseller: Oh no!

Lady: Yes?

Bookseller: Oh…I’m sorry! I didn’t… I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have assumed you were Christian. I apologize.

Lady: (tight smile) No need to apologize. Our family is Christian.

Bookseller: Well, I still shouldn’t have assumed. Our children's religion section leans heavily toward Christian texts because when they look at sales in this store...but you know, maybe if they had more books that discussed other....

Lady: (tight shake of head) Isn’t it sad that you even have to apologize.

Bookseller: What do you mean?

Lady: Well, you know…(tight knowing glance)

Bookseller: Jesus…would…understand?

Lady: It never used to be a problem until some people started making it a problem.

Bookseller: The…The Spanish...Inquisition?

Lady: No. Those people. Sigh. This is a Christian country. I don’t understand why people want to come here if they are not going to try to fit in.

Bookseller: Those Cirque du Soleil freaks, right? Always with the tight leotards…

Lady: We are the majority, so I don’t know why people get so angry when we want to talk about Jesus. And you can’t even say Merry Christmas anymore!

Bookseller: Or "Jesus, Mary, and Joseph! My car’s been stolen!"

Lady: Yes…right...

Bookseller: (conspiratorially and with sore feet) I’ll tell you who really gets under my wimple.

Lady: Who?

Bookseller: The Zoroastrians.

Lady: Oh, yes! Those Zoro..aro…

Bookseller: …astrians…what with the Tower of Silence and the laying out of their dead to be eaten by vultures…

Lady: Vultures?!

Bookseller: Why can’t they put their dead on display for a day so that everyone can look at them all dead and dressed in itchy clothes for the rest of eternity…

Lady: Yyyyyeesssss…..

Bookseller: …and then dump them in the ground like normal people.

Lady: Okay…yes…

Bookseller: Well, not dump, but you know what I mean…I mean, vultures. Pfft.

Lady: That’s very strange. I’ve never heard of…

Bookseller: God wants us to be eaten by worms, right?

Lady: Is that really…worms...vultures…?

Bookseller: Or those Hindus. Whew! Just try saying Merry Christmas to one of them! Those people get ALL up in arms.

Lady:

Bookseller: And that’s a lot of arms!

Lady: (backing away) I think this book will do fine. Thank you.

Bookseller: Merry Diwali!

Lady: Merry…Merry…(scurries tightly from children's section)

Bookseller: See you in paradise, sister!