Tuesday, January 16, 2007
Box of Rain
Sisiggy, blogging as Linguini on the Ceiling and also known as Jeanne Jackson when she's writing here, posted a piece back in early December titled, quite appropriately, "Crying Out Loud".
Short version. Her bruiser of a husband, lovingly labeled Dirtman, is, like quite a few guys (I raise my hand hesitatingly here), a domestic weeper.
Quoting Ms. Jackson, "Dirtman is a pretty tough husband. He works outdoors in rough terrain in all kinds of weather. He is the killer of all that is creepy and the cleaner of all that is disgusting. During any crisis, he gets busy behind the scenes, doing what needs to be done while everyone else is panicking and falling a part.
But show him the end of the movie Rudy and he is a puddle of treacle, sniffling away while I sit there, baffled, saying, “But they were going to win the game anyway…”
He is particularly vulnerable during the holiday season. You can’t turn on the television or go to the movies without something cloyingly sappy popping up before you.
"
She goes on to note that "...stoicism is not Dirtman’s strong suit, though, and I know he gets pretty embarrassed that something as innocuous as a TV ad is all it takes to set him off. He’s blocked the Hallmark channel on the satellite feed so he can be sure that while channel surfing he won’t be faced with that little boy singing O Holy Night by himself until the brother he’s been waiting for to make it through the blizzard begins singing with him from the doorway. (If Dirtman is reading this paragraph, be assured he’s is now wiping his eyes. He can’t even talk about that commercial.) "
I found myself reaching for the box of T's, when she mentioned the Bing Crosby song "We'll follow the Old Man.." from White Christmas. Can't count the number of times that I've seen this movie, and yet this song gets me every time.
The kids have noticed.
"Getting some more chips and salsa, right?", they throw in my general direction as I pick myself out of the futon to leave the room when the whistling in the Vermont inn commences.
Good Old Dad, humbugger extraordinairre, being undone by a sapola of a musical number. Each year. Each time.
Ms. Jackson makes some great points illuminated by her family's dialogue and her Jersey bite. The only thing I don't agree with in her piece is when she says that "Guys from the Shenandoah Valley put a lot of thought into this sort of thing (Acceptable Moments of Men Crying)".
I would change the Shenandoah location to worldwide. Hey! We're human. We've got all of that salty water sloshing inside of us and sweating can only get us so far as far as expelling the liquid is concerned.
This past season's new introduction to the Holiday Tear Festival was Family Stone. A two-boxer.
Short version. Her bruiser of a husband, lovingly labeled Dirtman, is, like quite a few guys (I raise my hand hesitatingly here), a domestic weeper.
Quoting Ms. Jackson, "Dirtman is a pretty tough husband. He works outdoors in rough terrain in all kinds of weather. He is the killer of all that is creepy and the cleaner of all that is disgusting. During any crisis, he gets busy behind the scenes, doing what needs to be done while everyone else is panicking and falling a part.
But show him the end of the movie Rudy and he is a puddle of treacle, sniffling away while I sit there, baffled, saying, “But they were going to win the game anyway…”
He is particularly vulnerable during the holiday season. You can’t turn on the television or go to the movies without something cloyingly sappy popping up before you.
"
She goes on to note that "...stoicism is not Dirtman’s strong suit, though, and I know he gets pretty embarrassed that something as innocuous as a TV ad is all it takes to set him off. He’s blocked the Hallmark channel on the satellite feed so he can be sure that while channel surfing he won’t be faced with that little boy singing O Holy Night by himself until the brother he’s been waiting for to make it through the blizzard begins singing with him from the doorway. (If Dirtman is reading this paragraph, be assured he’s is now wiping his eyes. He can’t even talk about that commercial.) "
I found myself reaching for the box of T's, when she mentioned the Bing Crosby song "We'll follow the Old Man.." from White Christmas. Can't count the number of times that I've seen this movie, and yet this song gets me every time.
The kids have noticed.
"Getting some more chips and salsa, right?", they throw in my general direction as I pick myself out of the futon to leave the room when the whistling in the Vermont inn commences.
Good Old Dad, humbugger extraordinairre, being undone by a sapola of a musical number. Each year. Each time.
Ms. Jackson makes some great points illuminated by her family's dialogue and her Jersey bite. The only thing I don't agree with in her piece is when she says that "Guys from the Shenandoah Valley put a lot of thought into this sort of thing (Acceptable Moments of Men Crying)".
I would change the Shenandoah location to worldwide. Hey! We're human. We've got all of that salty water sloshing inside of us and sweating can only get us so far as far as expelling the liquid is concerned.
This past season's new introduction to the Holiday Tear Festival was Family Stone. A two-boxer.
Comments:
<< Home Verging on Pertinence Just some more disposable thoughts clogging up the hinterlands
I'm so glad you made your way to Jeanne. She's hilarious.
In fact, she, Trasherati, and I have gotten together twice now and made complete asses of ourselves ... er, had long intellectual discussions.
In fact, she, Trasherati, and I have gotten together twice now and made complete asses of ourselves ... er, had long intellectual discussions.
# opined by 
: 1:03 PM, January 16, 2007
: 1:03 PM, January 16, 2007
"n fact, she, Trasherati, and I have gotten together twice now and made complete asses of ourselves ... er, had long intellectual discussions."
That booth behind you in the restaurant? Yeah, that's where I wish I was to overhear the high octane verbal shenanigans going on at your table.
That booth behind you in the restaurant? Yeah, that's where I wish I was to overhear the high octane verbal shenanigans going on at your table.
And? All that foolishness was lubricated by wine, tequila, limoncello, and champagne. We wisely have sequestered ourselves at Trasherati's and then Sisiggy's homes instead of inflicting our loud silliness on the public, but Dirtman was witness to the second gathering AND SURVIVED IT.
# opined by : 7:26 PM, January 16, 2007
: 7:26 PM, January 16, 2007
Boy, White Christmas certainly has its own acre in the soft-spot of your heart. Perhaps the way Wrath of Khan does in mine? Or not....
WP,
How right you are. Nothing like a movie starring an alleged kid-beater and an alleged homewrecker in a film with Christian holiday related songs written by a Jew who married a devout Irish-American Catholic girl.
Yep, that's the movie for me, a guy who usually dislikes musicals.
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How right you are. Nothing like a movie starring an alleged kid-beater and an alleged homewrecker in a film with Christian holiday related songs written by a Jew who married a devout Irish-American Catholic girl.
Yep, that's the movie for me, a guy who usually dislikes musicals.
<< Home Verging on Pertinence Just some more disposable thoughts clogging up the hinterlands
