Since this is a (vague) childhood memory of mine, it should properly be titled Living With Ceausescu, but I pandered for name recognition. In any case, if I had been born 500 kilometers that a way, and a few years earlier, it would apply just as well.

This creation is dedicated to my mom, as part of her 75th birthday present. Widowed, with 2 children in tow, she braved offending the communist party to get us out. Her reward for the next several years was to be thrust, stateless, into a world of foreign languages, with an unrecognized medical diploma.

She has also been a most perceptive and shrewd critic of my MOCs, no doubt aided by eyes made keen in the course of her second career in art (though radiology may have contributed too).

Funny thing is, one of the first sights I remember in the U.S., flying into JFK airport over Queens, New York, was a nearly identical block housing development, sans roasting pig (but possibly with a trash can or tires on fire). That, coupled with what, I suspect, was the first movie I ever saw, anywhere, in any language, Apocalypse Now, at the age of 10 or 11, gave me a firm footing for interpreting the American Dream. (I don't know if we sat through the umpteen hours of the movie, and fortunately we probably did not yet understand enough English. Mama: I know you had no idea what you were getting into with our first theater outing, and I think it's funny in retrospect. At least my shrink thought so. ;^} )

The pig is taken from here. Thanks for the pointers W. Mark (and you were right, it's just as good in tan).

As with Strelnikov I am using "forced perspective" as a pun on political propaganda.

Disclaimer for those who care: this contains many modified parts. This is the only time I have ever modified parts. As a gift, these parts will not be reused and forced perspective is challenging enough in Lego already. There were also other constraints, such as the size of the base (the baseplates are also trimmed). If it makes you feel any better, I wrung my hands for a week before pulling out the knife. (It was actually only 2 minutes, but in your imagination I want you to picture me pacing up and down a hallway for a week, looking worried. I would give an unconditional promise to never do this again, but it depends on how good Phipson's spanking is.)

For documentation only: