Must Be My Liberal Arts Background

Yesterday I took my daughter to a birthday party for one of her classmates. It was a rock climbing party so I hung out for a while to watch. My only mistake was not tuning out the conversation going on next to me.

Mom #1: We took the kids to see The Lion King in the city yesterday.

Mom #2: Did they love it? 

Mom #1: Omigod no! It's so scary! The dad lion falls off this cliff and dies and then his son thinks it's all his fault!! I couldn't believe it.

Mom #2: (shocked) Oh, that's awful!

 Me: (in my head) Seriously, have you not seen the movie? Did you think the Broadway show could somehow gloss over a major plot point that drives the whole story?

Mom #2: Well, we saw The Lorax. 

Mom #1: How was that?

Mom #2: The kids liked it. But I just can't stand these movies that try to jam a message down your throat. I mean, I know that the liberals in Hollywood get to decide what we see but, really...

 I could take no more. I interjected myself into the conversation.

Me: Did you know that Dr. Seuss wrote The Lorax in the '70's? Pretty prescient, really. More of a "paved paradise and put up a parking lot" thing than a straight global warming message.

 [Crickets.]

Me: You must have hated Wall-E.

 Hey Weaselsnark, why aren't you popular with the Chicago Police Department?

Home Alone (with two kids and one incredibly needy dog)

Another week, another snow day...

Today we were pinned inside by grey skies and icy, sleety rain. Silver lining: my son's birthday was yesterday so we had a bunch of new games to play and legos to build.

At about 4PM, the house of brotherly (and sisterly) love started to show signs of an imminent cave-in; I decided to put on a movie. Yes, I get all my parenting tips from Roseanne.

Weeks ago I had Tivo'd Home Alone, figuring that its Tom and Jerry-like violence would appeal to my kids. I was not wrong. My kids howled as the Wet Bandits repeatedly fell victim to the booby traps set for them by crafty eight-year-old Kevin McCallister. Woo-hoo! Kids rule, grownups drool! I totally get it.

Interestingly, their big take-away from the movie was not the iconic shot of Mac dousing himself with after-shave and shrieking. It was not even the montage of Kevin doing all the things a kid would do if no parents were home to stop him (jumping on the beds, eating a giant ice cream sundae, etc.). No, it was a blink-and-you'll-miss-it line uttered by Kevin as he paws through his brother Buzz's things: Kevin picks up a framed photo of a girl, winces, and says "Buzz, your girlfriend-- woof!"

It's been about three hours since the movie ended and my kids have quoted that line no less than 100 times.

Please, please, please let there be school tomorrow. No whammies, no whammies, no whammies......

Quid Pro Woe

A few years ago, while on vacation, my husband took one for the team and watched Sex and the City with me on the hotel TV. It was a real stinker. And I've been paying for it ever since.

How? Countless airings of Bad Boys (parts one and two), some choice selections from the Nic Cage oeuvre, and any movie in which Jack Ryan is played by Harrison Ford. Evidently USA and TBS love these movies as much as my husband.

I kind of don't mind watching those same movies over and over because they require so little of my attention. I can read, flip through a catalog, mess around on the computer, change the laundry, or do a crossword puzzle without missing anything.

But I may be in some real trouble.

Last night, for the first time in ages, we saw a movie with no cartoon characters or animatronic guinea pigs. A real movie. In an-honest-to-goodness-theater. One small problem: the movie we saw was my idea (on the recommendation of every freaking publication I read)-- The Kids are All Right.

Eh. The kids (and the film) really were just all right. The acting was strong (Annette Bening makes a very believable lesbian) but it was a little slow. To his credit, my husband did not sigh audibly, excessively shift in his seat, or fall asleep.

As the credits started to roll, I looked at my husband and could not stop giggling. He asked why I was laughing and when I finally regained control I told him what had been running through my head for most of the movie.

Now I'm going to have to see The Expendables.

Yup.

Sigh.

My Name is Inigo Montoya

My son tried out for a travel soccer team today. The team will be made up of boys from all around the area, not just our town. As a result, I knew some-- but not all-- of the mothers there with their boys.

Because I had my daughter with me I mostly watched the try-outs from a playground next to the field. After spinning my daughter on a tire swing (at her request) for so long she actually fell over when she got down, I ended up chatting about the tryouts with another woman (we'll call her Vizzini). As we were talking, a woman I know from my town came over (we'll call her the Dread Pirate Roberts). In the course of our conversation DPR asked Vizzini whether she lived in our town. Vizzini said no and told us the name of the town she lives in. DPR evidently has family there and was very chatty and friendly.

After DPR walked away, Vizzini let loose with some surprising vitriol. "How pretentious. 'Do you live in [my town here]?' It's like she doesn't even know that anyone from anywhere can be on this team. It's so pretentious. The coach isn't from [my town here] or anything."

"Well, I'm from [my town here]," I say. "She probably just thought that since we were talking that you were from [my town here] too. She's actually very nice."

Vizzini ignored everything I said and continued to rip my town, the people in my town, the kids in my town, the people (and their kids) in neighboring towns, and all kids who have to look beyond their own siblings for playdates. More than a few offenders were incorrectly (at least in the context of what she was complaining about!) slammed as, you guessed it, pretentious.

The whole time I was seeing Wallace Shawn's head on her body. And so, to you, Vizzini, I say: "You keep using that word. I do not think it means what you think it means."

A scenario in which I would willingly hang out with her again of my own free will? Inconceivable!