April Winchell

I’ve been getting a lot of requests from people to post more vacation pictures.

No, seriously.

The problem is, there are just so many of them, and I really could not figure out how best to show them to you.

So this morning, I signed up a for a pro account at Flickr. I put two different albums up; a Tivoli Gardens album, and a general album showing some of the incredible Christmas decorations and displays we saw in Europe.

The Christmas in Europe photos can be found here.

The Tivoli Gardens photos can be found here.

And the best part is, you can leave comments!

But before you go over there, I thought I’d share another photo with you. A very special photo that I came across last night.

This is a picture of me and my two sisters on Christmas, many, many, many years ago.

Those of you who are also friends with Kiki Martini will find this photo especially delightful, as she is the helion with the rolling pin raised above our sister Amber’s head.

There are several things I’d like to bring to your attention in this loving family portrait, taken that happy winter’s night in Encino.I’m not taking about the terrifying decor, or the fact that my 11 year old sister is wearing full-on whore make-up on the holiest night of the year, or even the fact that Kiki is poised to splatter Amber’s brains around the Christmas tree (which would be that shiny aluminum thing on top of the faux wood coffee table).

No, I’d like to talk about the gifts.

First let’s talk about the weird rubbery looking thing in the back there; the thing that looks like it has nipples on it.

I would be hard pressed to tell you why it is that I remember this thing so vividly, and can tell you all these years later exactly what that was.

That was a inflatable punching bag toy, also known as a “punch ball”. You blew it up, tied it around your wrist and punched the shit out of it. And as you can see, Kiki definitely needed a release.

What made this toy special, was that it had pictures of The Beatles on it. And let me tell you something, my sisters loved The Beatles.

I remember one day, probably a few months before this photo was taken, when my mother and father came home with 4 small parakeets. My sisters were crowded around the cage, jumping up and down, naming them as fast as they could.

“That one is Ringo!”
“That one is Paul”
“That one is John!”

“Wait a minute, wait a minute,” my mother interrupted. “You can’t name all of them. You have to let April name the last one.”

My sisters turned and stared at me.

“Please name him George!” they pleaded in unison, giving me puppy eyes that would shame Keene.

I never really felt like I had lot of power in my family. Both of my sisters were considerably older than me, and I had a different dad. So I always felt a little behind the curve. This was my moment. They wanted something from me, and I could be the hero.

“I’m going to name him . . . ”

They froze.

“Trapeezie.”

I still don’t know where the fuck that came from, but it was a real miscalculation.

Now let’s talk about this handsome gift.

There it is, under the “tree”. A beautiful boxed set of Vitalis hair care products. I’m willing to bet it was purchased at Fedco.

My father did use Vitalis, as I recall. He also used Lilac Vegitalis. I don’t remember what that was, I just remember the bottle, which had one of those dispenser tips you’d see on a bottle of olive oil.

My father also used a hairspray called “Consort”, and as he got older, he added a product called “Top Coverage” to his styling arsenal. “Top Coverage” was a sort of Christmas tree flocking you sprayed on your bald scalp, artfully arranging the remaining strands over the texturizing to approxmate hair. It was effective until the San Fernando Valley summers made you start sweating, resulting in black rivulets running down your neck.

Later my father would eschew all forms of faux hair dressing for a full on hair transplant, resulting in rows of round hair plugs that gave him a bad case of doll head.

Next up from Santa’s sack:

A puppet.

Yes, a puppet.

I don’t get this at all. Why in God’s name would I want a puppet? I lived with Jerry Mahoney, for fuck’s sake. That’s like giving Walt Disney’s kids passes to Legoland.

What I like even better about this shot is that I appear to be wearing a brand new watch. What the hell is that about? Like I had somewhere to be at four years old.

Well, who knows. Maybe I’d been late to work one time too many. And I did have a tendency to lose track of the time while I was playing the slots.

I do wish I could remember that watch , though. I’m not getting anything on that.

I remember Kiki giving me a red Snoopy watch with a vinyl band when I was eleven. That was pretty groovy. I still have it actually. And I remember a friend of my mom’s giving me a see-saw watch from her trip to Switzerland. I got in trouble for that one though, since I never wrote a thank you note. So let’s just move on before we tarnish all my memories.

Oh, here we go.

Cracker Jack.

Cracker fucking Jack.

I would like to point out that my father was, at this point in our lives, a millionaire. A superstar with his own television show and multiple endorsement deals. And I see exactly . . . let me count them up . . . one box of Cracker Jack. What the fuck?

Do you suppose that’s what the rolling pin thing is all about? Are we all duking it out over a box of Cracker Jack? Or did I get to it first because I knew what time it was?

Truthfully though, my father was astoundingly cheap. Maybe it was that depression mentality. I remember askng him for money for a notebook and back to school stuff when I was a kid, and him grudgingly handing over a five dollar bill. He even asked for change.

Next on the Christmas pile:

Well, this appears to be an ant farm, though I really can’t imagine who it would be for.

Kiki had to be about fouteen or fifteen, so why she would want to sit in her room with a box of ants when she was months away from a learner’s permit is beyond me. Amber was about eleven, and the idea of her being interested in insects doesn’t make sense to me either. Especially since she was clearly just discovering lipstick.

I suppose it could have been for me, but Christ, I was like four here. I mean, I had a watch, so I knew when to feed them, but it seems like too much responsibility to me.

I think it was probably something my father wanted. I can see him now, sparking up a joint in the garage and smoking out the ants, just to see if they would work harder. It always worked for him.

Happy holidays, and may you get what you really want this year.