News, Views, & Interviews

Back in April of 2006 I found myself flipping through early morning television shows. I often stop when I come across television preachers because I find many of them equally entertaining and appalling at the same time. It was a late April day when I discovered Rev. Peter Popoff of People United For Christ, Inc. Ministries. He was on every other day on Channel 61 on my cable system (this channel is significant… bear with me). Rev. Popoff was different. Unlike the other television preachers, he wasn’t yelling about doom and gloom. Nor was he promising eternal salvation. This guy was promising money — big bucks — to those who called his 800-number and asked for his miracle spring water. The 30-minute segment on Channel 61 was full of people who… how can I put this politely… didn’t seem overly articulate or educated by the way they were talking… saying things to the good Reverend like, “I don’t know how it happened, but one day there was $15,000 in my checking account.” “Halleluiah!” Popoff would shout in response. “My wife and I just bought a brand-new Cadillac, and just six months ago I didn’t know how we were gonna pay our rent,” said another witness. “Amen!” Popoff would reply. Once in a while during this infomercial, Popoff would perform the obligatory faith healing. He’d through an old woman’s crutches away, he’d lay his hands on the head of another gentleman and claim that he cured him of AIDS, and other theatrics, but the main focus was money. The green stuff. You don’t need to earn, he didn’t even say you had to pray for it, just call the 800 number, get the miracle spring water, and do exactly what he says to do. So I called. Less than a week later the spring water arrives in a little plastic packet — almost the size of those ketchup packets fast food restaurants give you with your fries. The instructions were complex and very specific: Place the unopened envelope containing the spring water under my pillow. In the morning, take 7 sips of water from a bedside glass in Jesus’ name. In the morning, open the envelope, open the holy water, and anoint my hands. Next, I need to send him a “Holy Consecrated Seed of Great Harvest Offering” of $17.00. He goes on to write, “NO, I don’t want you to send $37 or $77…” So I sent the $17 to the good Reverend, because his letter said he foresaw a miracle money windfall of between $1,700 and $17,000 coming my way from some unexpected source. Who couldn’t use $17,000, right? What is the significance of the miracle spring water you may ask? He doesn’t tell you this in the infomercial, but it’s in the letter. This miracle spring water comes from a natural spring near Chernobyl in Russia. Everyone who drank from this spring immediately after the meltdown disaster didn’t die (which makes sense because it probably takes a little time for the radiation to seep into the ground and contaminate the water supply). The Chernobyl disaster happened in 1986. By 2006 I’m sure the radiation is thoroughly in the ground water now — and I rubbed that water all over my hands — all for $17,000 dollars. What is the significance of Channel 61 you may ask? Channel 61 on my cable system is also Comedy Central. They don’t have 24 hours of programming so they sell their early morning time. Since sending in the $17.00 back in May, I’ve received dozens of other letters from “Prophet” Peter Popoff. In coming Blogs, I’ll share some of the many other rituals he’s asked me to perform to get my miracle money. From chewing mystical bubble gum to rubbing holy oil, he leaves nothing to chance. The letters and pleas get more insane as they go. Stay tuned… If you’d like to see his Web site, you can visit it at: http://www.peterpopoff.org/

Heeeeey, just a quick note to say Happy New Year… almost. I’m spending the last day of 2006 watching football (the New England Patriots, of course) and grazing on tons of snacks we bought for the day. It’s a quiet day here at the Belanger Palace, a day to reflect on 2006, and get fired up about the myriad of projects and endeavors I’m planning for 2007. I hope everyone has a great evening and a fantastic 2007 full of love and laughs. -Jeff

Some people die at the most inopportune times. Sure, dying on Christmas day is a tough blow to family and friends, but dying the day before an American president pretty much insures your tributes will be buried on page 2. In his twilight years, James Brown was best known for his legal troubles, chemical dependency, and… well… more legal troubles. But when you put on his old music… that guy rocked. He was bad ass. Super bad. I don’t care if you’re white or black, young or old, when “I Feel Good” comes on the radio, you groove. Jump back. Wanna kiss myself. OWWWWW! I’ll mourn the loss of an artist over the loss of a politician any day of the week. But two things are really bumming me out right now. First, that the United States media will focus on Gerald Ford’s three years in office instead of an American legend’s many decades in music, and second, I have a cold and I come in and out of clarity thanks to swelling sinuses taking on antihistamines. If James Brown ever haunts the Apollo, call me. I’m there.

Merry Christmas to all my Christian friends. And to all my friends of other belief systems… happy Chinese food and movie night!  I met Dave on Ghostvillage.com. He was an actor, storyteller, and a friend. He passed away in June of 2005, but not before leaving his mark on a lot of people. I asked him what it was like to play Santa. I played Santa at Universal Studios Hollywood for five years. Parade, lap, and media Santa. But my favorite memory as a Santa was when I went out with a group of volunteer performers to a place that was basically a day care center for senior citizens who couldn’t really take care of themselves. That’s where I met Frank. Frank had a stroke and couldn’t speak anymore. A nurse/helper-type person wheeled him up to me and said, Frank, tell Santa what you want. I watched as this man who reminded me of Kirk Douglas struggled to try to speak and saw the tears build in his eyes when he couldn’t, and I heard myself say, “It’s all right, Frank. Santa never forgets a friend, and we go way back. I know what you want and I’ll do my best. Bless you Frank.” I’d never said bless you to anyone before. Frank then grabbed me in a hug so tight I thought my ribs would break. We were both crying openly. Absolutely no shame. As we were leaving, the nurse said Frank had been unresponsive for a week before that visit. I went back the next year and all they knew was that Frank was no longer there. I sure hope he got that wish.

I asked my father what his earliest memory of Santa was. I remember I was about four years old — I was in preschool. My father worked in the tool and die department of American Optical Company with about 100 guys, and they did lots of stuff for the families. They had a children’s Christmas party at the Hamilton Rod and Gun club in Sturbridge, Massachusetts at the north end of Cedar Lake. The club was a lodge-type building with an upstairs and a downstairs. The upstairs was a dining area with two or three rows of tables about 30 or 40 feet long and then a front porch, and the basement was like a game room with a knotty pine wood bar. I remember being there for a Christmas party, and we drove up there, just my father and I, and when we got to the place, it was dark. We went inside and all of the kids were downstairs in the basement and we watched movies. They were Christmas movies, and they showed Santa Claus flying through the sky with Rudolph and landing on rooftops. We watched movies for a good long time, and we had candy canes and stuff. Then it was time to have dinner for the fathers and the children, so we marched upstairs toward the dining area, but first they brought us out on the porch, and there was the biggest Christmas tree I have ever seen in my life — it was huge. I was spellbound by the size of this thing. Then it started to snow, and it was those big, big, big snowflakes, and I could hear sleigh bells in the background. And up through the parking lot comes a horse-drawn sleigh with Santa in it, and he got out and came up on the porch, where all of us children were standing, and it was the Ho Ho Ho — it was so real it was unbelievable. We all got presents out of this big bag that Santa had, and our names were on them and everything. He knew everybody in the room. After we started opening our gifts, he was gone. To this day, I don’t know who that Santa Claus was.

Brandon is my nephew. Like many boys his age, he’s focused on toys and play time. Ever meet Santa? I never met him, but I heard him once. I heard a buncha deer on Christmas Eve. When I was three, I met the fake Santa at the mall and by mistake I pulled off his beard. It went back on, and all he said was hey. Then he asked me what I wanted. Last Christmas I saw a bunch of Santa dudes. They were like dinga linga ling with those bells. People were putting money in the thingamajig. They say Have a good Christmas, and then I say You too. One time I was looking out the window, and my parents weren’t there, and I thought that Santa just left. I thought I saw some breath steam coming off the roof. Something did stink like deer. What do you think of Santa? He’s pretty cool. Technically, he might need to go to a weight-loss clinic, but he’s pretty cool. Think you’ll see him this year? Hopefully, because last year my sister tried to wake up early to see if Santa Claus does exist, but when we got up, all we saw were a bunch of filled stockings and presents.  If you could tell Santa anything, what would it be? I’d like to have… you’ve heard of the TIE fighters in Star Wars, right? Well I want a TIE pilot, cause I don’t have one. That’s what you’d tell Santa if you had the chance to tell him anything at all? I might want more Star Wars things like a sand trooper, a snow trooper. I just like the bad guys more than the good guys. Do you think Santa deserves a year off? No. What could be so hard about making your deer land on it [the roof] and then barely walking to the chimney and then just jumping down the chimney or tapping your nose and falling through the roof? I never even saw the guy. Yet.

Betty Jane is my mother-in-law. I asked her for her earliest Santa memory. My first encounter with Santa was in the basement of our church when I was in second or third grade. We were having one of those little Sunday school shows, where you sang those little Sunday school songs and everything. Nobody ever expected Santa Claus. Even when I look back I’m surprised, because Santa Claus is almost a verboten in our church. They don’t even talk about him — I have to be careful what card I send to my minister, that kind of thing. There was a small stage in the basement, and our parents were there, and we were all just sitting in our seats when the Sunday school director came up and said, I have one more surprise for everybody. And here Santa Claus came bounding out onto the stage, waving and ho-hoing and everything. And the kids, we just all went crazy, because we never expected him. We all got in a long line waiting to get up on the stage and talk to him. We were laughing and giggling, jumping up and down and squealing — it was so much wilder than you would have at a department store, because it was such a surprise and in church, it felt kind of forbidden. It was him he was up there and we just couldn’t believe it. We kept saying to each other, It’s him! It’s him! It’s him! and by the time we got up on stage, it changed to It’s you! It’s you! and he handed out little presents to everybody. I remember looking around for my mother, looking for direction on how I should behave during all this, but she was just laughing at having a good time, so I guess I was allowed to be rambunctious. Also, my mom used to buy us presents that we could wrap up for my dad. I look back on this with some shame, but she always picked out a carton of Lucky Strikes. And I would wrap up this carton of Lucky Strikes for him, and he always acted real surprised that he got it. He told me many years later that usually by the time he opened it, he said, Bets, I snuck in there and probably the carton was half gone by the time Christmas rolled around. Because he didn’t see going to the store and buying more cigarettes when he knew he had a stash already under the tree.

It all started back in 2001 when I wrote a Christmas poem called “Redneck Christmas Carol.” My wife, Megan, and I recorded the poem complete with sound effects and background music. We sent the song to our friends and family. Fast forward to Christmas 2004. I had written some lyrics to a song I called “South of the Border Santa,” and sent those lyrics to my father-in-law, Robert Peckman. Robert is a really talented musician who has written and recorded a lot of excellent music. I asked him if he wanted to write some music and record “South of the Border Santa.” Being a responsible artist, he needed to take a look at the lyrics first. When he saw the level of maturity involved, he simply said, “sure.” We spent a good part of Christmas Eve day in 2004 recording this song in his studio at his house in Pittsburgh. I do a lot of radio interviews, especially around Halloween and I’ve become friendly with some of the hosts who have interviewed me about all things ghostly. In December I contacted some of those hosts and offered them this song to play on the air. Against their better judgment, some of these radio shows started playing “South of the Border Santa.” If you’d like to listen to either of these “artistic accomplishments” in MP3 format, you can download them here: http://www.jeffbelanger.com/santa/ Enjoy!

Howie Adams played Santa every year at the office party for the company I used to work for. Employees would bring in their young children to get a gift from the big man himself. What’s it like playing Santa at the office party? It’s great with the kids, with the looks on their faces and everything. They just love it. It’s like I’m a god. This is it. This is the man they look up to, and they really worship, and they really wanna get all the goodies for Christmas. You know what I mean? They finally bought me a real suit. Last year they gave me this total piece of shit — I said, You expect me to wear this? I said, It looks like I’m Salvation Army, I am not wearing this. So they bought me a real good one. I have it in my closet at home. My granddaughter, she was two last year. You’d think she would recognize the voice and everything, but she was mystified by the whole bit, the whole outfit. Some of them cry — they’re scared because they’re young, you know. Some of the older ones, they see me every year, they’re getting older and they’re starting to figure it out. They don’t say too much, they don’t squeal on ya, pull your beard off or somethin’. With some of them I say, You say anything, you’ll get a good swift kick in the butt for Christmas, kid. Don’t you mention it to your little sister.

I went to college with Sean. I was particularly interested in asking him about Santa because Sean isn’t Christian. What did Santa mean to you as a child? I’m Jewish, but I wanted to see Santa, too. All my friends were. All that was on TV was Santa this and Santa that, so of course we had to do Santa. I’ve sat in the big man’s lap and asked for toys. My mom took me. I didn’t understand it all at the time. We weren’t terribly religious. We didn’t do a lot of stuff until late when I got toward Hebrew school or was getting Bar Mitzvahed, really. But I don’t know why they did it or gave in to my demands. Guess any little kid wants toys. Did your family celebrate Christmas? Well yeah, in a way. I mean we didn’t have a tree, okay, but we did hang stockings a few times. So we got candy and little toys. We already had Chanukah, so we got our presents then. Santa Claus was just kind of this seasonal extra that didn’t have any specific religious meaning. Did you tell your friends at school that Santa came to see you? I think I must have — to fit in. You give in to peer pressure and whatnot. Everyone knew I was Jewish. There were a number of other Jewish kids in the class that I was growing up with and you kind of wanted to do what they do, but there still wasn’t enough of us to make a stand against Santa. So you just kind of rolled with it, I guess.