Magic helicopter, my ass

It's December, meaning we're in for rerun season here at Casa Velvet. If the major TV networks can get away with it, why can't I? (Oh, I'll try to chime in with something new if I can, but busy, busy, busy.)

Expect lots of truly horrible Christmas-themed videos. Like a personal favorite, "A Trip to Santa":



When I was four or five-ish, my parents brought me to the parking lot of Billy Blake's department store (a now-long-defunct '60s discount chain) for the arrival of Santa -- in his decidedly unmagic helicopter. He began climbing down the rope ladder when ... the pillow under his coat fell out.

Cries of bafflement were heard from the wilds of suburban Long Island to the North Pole. Mom, thinking quickly, explained that it was not actually Santa, but one of his many helpers.

Confused, I went on believing until the year* I noticed the remnants of a price tag on the box of a board game. Santa, if he existed--I reasoned--would have his elf indentured servants make toys. He would not buy retail.

*2005, give or take.


PARENTHETICAL ADDENDUM: I'm not kidding about the price tag on the board game--that's really how I figured out I'd been the object of what amounts to a years-long practical joke (somewhat before 2005).

Flying reindeer? Fine! Fat man comes down the chimney? No problem!

Remnant of a price tag on supposedly elf-made game? Now hold on one darn minute there, mister!!