H.o.p. in his new magic hat. Taken back at Christmas.
The equivalent of putting together any of the Legos builds H.o.p. was so fascinated by when he was younger, this Christmas Eve was spent toiling over connecting his DSi to the wifi so he could procure the coveted Rayman game. First efforts were failures which led to me searching the internet on the issue and finding many many such disappointments. But eventually, thankfully success was had and that was reason enough for hearts and wearied nerves to celebrate.
Between attempts, on our way to pick up our yearly Chinese-American take-out, we drove neighborhoods in the rainy wet looking at blurry lights, there seeming to be not as many displays as in years past–not even the ordinary variety–which makes sense, so many houses up for sale in this area and more rental signs than I’ve ever seen, my assumption being all to do with the economy. Where we did find decorations they were most often little enclaves of two or three homes that had gone all out in similarly over-the-top displays for the touring motorists, a couple of other homes nearby satisfied with candy canes or icicle lights. With apartment buildings, there would usually be one festive window or balcony–much the same as ours. Our window is the only one I’ve observed lit up in our building. As with last year, we hung light blue lights and made large paper snowflakes to hang in the window beneath them, the effect being rather peaceful and serene.
At my insistence, we made two passes by a brick house on a hill done in strands of deep red and blue lights. Most lights twinkle and brightly illuminate. These did not. Despite the lights strung around the roof line, the windows, the stairs, the house was all dark shadow behind the lights, because they didn’t radiate, reminding me of some house displays I’ve not seen since the 60s, nor thought about, so it was a surprise to me that memory sprang forward, entranced by those dark lights.
We ate and opened fortune cookies handed out eagerly by H.o.p. who was a lead player and cohort with Marty in spreading Christmas cheer this year. His read he would have a change for the better. Mine simply advised me to take a walk in the park. Marty’s said he would soon be traveling the desert on a fun vacation. Later, H.o.p. offered another round of fortune cookies. This time my fortune read I would have talent and suitable recognition for it.
When we could have entertained ourselves with Rudolph the Red-nosed Reindeer, we instead watched Christmas cartoons on Boomerang and the Cartoon Network because H.o.p. was having fun laughing over how bad they were, nearly all of them cartoons relying on old Looneytunes and Hanna-Barbera characters for viewer interest, and not an iota of wit or imagination to them.
And it was all good.
I’ve not pulled together my blog of “Santa vs. Satan” but plan to. Here’s one I did last year of “Santa Conquers the Martians” which stars a child Pia Zadora. It’s actually an anti-war film that had me clearly thinking way too hard, being as overwhelmed as I was. A fascinating bauble from the 60s.
Santa Conquers the Martians
Directed by Nicholas Webster
Story by Paul L. Jackson, Glenville Mareth
John Call – Santa Claus
Leonard Hicks – Kimar
Vincent Beck – Voldar
Bill McCutcheon – Dropo
Rates: Too good. Way too good.
Eggnog’s in the fridg. Must be Christmas. Hooray for Santa Claus! That’s the theme song that greets with the intro credits of the too delicious “Santa Conquers the Martians” starring John Call as Santa Claus. My husband was out picking up paper at the office supply store and I called to remind we needed canned chili for H.o.p. and during that phone pause he saw the DVD “Santa Conquers the Martians” which he confused with “Santa Claus” (a.k.a “Santa Vs. Satan”) and brought home. We put it on while supper cooked. I got laryngitis and inspired. It’s been a long time since I’ve completely forgotten my surroundings and troubles and cares and the mind’s basement not echoed with some sub angst, but “Santa Conquers the Martians” put that voice to rest. That’s how full of question marks this freaky Babes in Martianville movie is.
Wham. I start the movie several times over because it’s like ramming into a wall, no preparatory lubing, wonderland with no warning. The title backdrops remind of 60s glitter-strewn television variety show curtains laced with 50s seaweed art inclinations (I want these in fabric on my bedroom window) and as the bright horns for the “Hooray for Santee Claus” theme blast not quite Tijuana Brass style, sleigh bells jingling, one waits for Dean Martin to enter the screen to croon about the moon and pizza pies, but instead it is all titles slid in by a white-outline illustrated St. Nick. “On Christmas Day you’ll wake up and you’ll say, hooray for Santa Claus”. Invisible singing kiddies spell his name out M-I-C-K-E-Y-M-O-U-S-E style, cheery and bright. “Conquers” is a good-times kid flick, happy are we and so shall you be after your visit with Santa Claus.