Art Kumbalek
I’m Art Kumbalek and man oh manischewitz what a world, ain’a? Listen, one more essay before Christmas, and this is it. So read it and weep, or read it and sleep, or don’t even read it at all, what the fock. I understand that you may not have the time to read further than this, what with the hustle, bustle and schmutz of the holidays and what not. Yeah yeah, I know a lot of you’s go nuts for the Christmas, but to a guy like me, all I can say is big focking deal. And I’ll tell you why, again, just in case you haven’t heard.
To a guy like me, every day’s a focking holiday, I kid you not. Today? A focking holiday. Yesterday? Just another focking holiday. Tomorrow? You bet. To a guy like me, tomorrow is sure to be a focking holiday, and the same goes for the day after that. And that’s because, why? That’s right. To a guy like me, every day’s just ANOTHER focking holiday. I must lead a charmed life. Most people, they got their Christmas, their Thanksgiving, New Year’s, Fourth of July—a mere handful of holidays a year. It is to pity, for they are the ones who are forced to wistfully remark to their loved ones: “Oh why can’t we make Christmas be each day of the year?” “Why does Sweetest Day come but once a year?”
Hey, you’ll never catch me whining like that, no sir. And I’m sure many would envy a guy like me, a guy who can honestly say, “Oh brother, every goddamn day is just another focking holiday.” In fact, I’m working right now on a new holiday song called “Every Day’s Just ANOTHER Focking Holiday.” I won’t have it done in time for Christmas, but it really doesn’t matter when the hell it comes out—it’s a song to be sung any damn day of the year, you betcha.
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But before I go, I’m duty-bound to shine a light for you’s on my New Year’s Eve plans. In case you’d like to buy me a New Year’s hot focking toddy or three, I’m going over by the North Shore American Legion Post 331 over there in Shorewood on Wilson Drive just north of Capitol. They’ve got the John Schneider Orchestra with Suzette Nelson, MRS. FUN (Kim Zick and Connie Grauer, natch’) and some guy named Rip Tenor, 9 p.m. to midnight, classic songs from The Great American Songbook. There can be no cover charge if you want to be a cheap bastard about it, but for civilized human beings I hear there’s a suggested donation of $10, or more if you’re really feeling the spirit of the season. What the fock, why not drop a couple grand at the door for the poor musicians? Hey, you tell me ’cause I’m Art Kumbalek and I told you so.
