leftovers
I'm sort of lacking in blog inspiration these days. I thought maybe I'd write a holiday weekend recap but when I sat down in front of ye olde PC, I realized that not much happened out of the ordinary. But I'll take a crack at summarizing it anyway.
Suffer.
Let's see, there was the usual talk of turkey carcasses and then the subsequent simultaneous gagging/shushing of everyone who dared utter that word by moi, the lone vegetarian in the McDimple clan.
There was a James Bond marathon on cable and, of course, my father had it on all day. He simply cannot pass up a Bond movie, even though he thinks that any Bond other than Sean Connery is a right pussy. When I mentioned that Daniel Craig is getting favorable reviews, I was met with a haughty, "Ach! He canny even swim! Sean Connery did all his own stunts!" My father is rocking a serious boy crush on Sean in conjunction with his usual, "If it's not Scottish, it's CRRRRRAP!" mentality, you see.
On Friday, I watched Jaws with The Adorable Six-Year Old Niece. Lest you be concerned about her mental and emotional well-being after watching this scary film, you have nothing to fear. She's a hearty sort and not easily frightened. Actually, no, that's not true. She has a very specific set of fears but none of which involve a mechanical shark devouring Robert Shaw. However, don't go near her with this game. The face on that guy freaks her out. Between you and me, I was glad to see that toy get the heave-ho as I wasn't too keen on the idea of sticking my hand in the dude's cranial cavity. Ew, I said cavity.
Anyhoo, the niece got through the movie like a champ. Me? Not so much. My Equally Adorable One-Year-Old Nephew climbed up on me for a nap while we were watching it and during one scary scene, I totally jumped and nearly flung the boy clear across the room. And I've seen the movie countless times! The niece, on the other hand, didn't even flinch. Her reaction to the film? Anger. She was pissed that the shark (spoiler alert for anyone who's been living in a cave for the past 30 years) got bumped off at the end. Judging by her serious scowl, knit eyebrows and impassioned tone, she cares quite deeply for the species. I informed her that Jaws got his (her?) revenge several more times in a series of crappy sequels. Oh man, don't even get me started on Jaws 3-D...
The niece and I spent a good deal of time together drawing and coloring pictures. I went down to the basement to find some more crayons for her and I came across a beloved game from my childhood: Strolling Bowling.
Basically, you set up a little bowling alley and then you wind up the wee sneaker-clad ball and it hops down the lane in search of pins. Hours of fun, I tell you, particularly when you eschew the hopping part and just throw it like a real bowling ball. The niece squealed with delight whenever we broke the rules which was uh, all the time. If I may paraphrase Charles Barkley (because I'm too lazy and disinterested to Google the official quote), I never said I was a role model.
On Saturday, I put up my parents' Christmas tree. Yes, I know it's early but I don't feel like going back out there before Christmas to do it. December weekends are a precious commodity and I'm loathe to part with them. Now you might be asking yourself, "Why don't Curly's parents put up their own tree?" The answer is simple, really: My father is a decorating retard.
I love him but the man would be wise to step away from the tchatkes. Yet, despite his obvious inadequacy in this area, he is persistent in trying year after year. So, I've learned to relent and leave some of the trimming to his [in]discretion... often to comical results. Or, as I said a few years back, "When it comes to illuminated ceramics, the man knows no restraint."
So, as a favor to my mother, I assemble the very life-like fake tree and tastefully adorn it with beads, bows and Hallmark Keepsake Ornaments. The rest of the family has learned the painful way to just leave me be when I'm in decorating mode. I used to slap hands, tsk, sigh and eventually chase everyone out of the room because I felt like they were compromising the integrity of my design. Yeah, those movies and television shows that show happy families trimming the tree while singing carols and sipping eggnog? Complete and utter bullshit. If you want to portray the holiday rituals and traditions honestly, there needs to be impatience, frayed nerves and at least one person storming off in a huff. Otherwise, it's a complete sham.
Speaking of the holidays, I'm about to embark on a series of reviews/recaps of Christmas specials and movies. I'm telling you this now so that I don't slack off. I haven't exactly been motivated or consistent with updating the blog lately in case you haven't noticed. Anyhoo, if you'd like a somewhat relevant appetizer to tide you over, kindly check out The Alan Alda Sensitivity Project: Holiday Edition.
Suffer.
Let's see, there was the usual talk of turkey carcasses and then the subsequent simultaneous gagging/shushing of everyone who dared utter that word by moi, the lone vegetarian in the McDimple clan.
There was a James Bond marathon on cable and, of course, my father had it on all day. He simply cannot pass up a Bond movie, even though he thinks that any Bond other than Sean Connery is a right pussy. When I mentioned that Daniel Craig is getting favorable reviews, I was met with a haughty, "Ach! He canny even swim! Sean Connery did all his own stunts!" My father is rocking a serious boy crush on Sean in conjunction with his usual, "If it's not Scottish, it's CRRRRRAP!" mentality, you see.
On Friday, I watched Jaws with The Adorable Six-Year Old Niece. Lest you be concerned about her mental and emotional well-being after watching this scary film, you have nothing to fear. She's a hearty sort and not easily frightened. Actually, no, that's not true. She has a very specific set of fears but none of which involve a mechanical shark devouring Robert Shaw. However, don't go near her with this game. The face on that guy freaks her out. Between you and me, I was glad to see that toy get the heave-ho as I wasn't too keen on the idea of sticking my hand in the dude's cranial cavity. Ew, I said cavity.
Anyhoo, the niece got through the movie like a champ. Me? Not so much. My Equally Adorable One-Year-Old Nephew climbed up on me for a nap while we were watching it and during one scary scene, I totally jumped and nearly flung the boy clear across the room. And I've seen the movie countless times! The niece, on the other hand, didn't even flinch. Her reaction to the film? Anger. She was pissed that the shark (spoiler alert for anyone who's been living in a cave for the past 30 years) got bumped off at the end. Judging by her serious scowl, knit eyebrows and impassioned tone, she cares quite deeply for the species. I informed her that Jaws got his (her?) revenge several more times in a series of crappy sequels. Oh man, don't even get me started on Jaws 3-D...
The niece and I spent a good deal of time together drawing and coloring pictures. I went down to the basement to find some more crayons for her and I came across a beloved game from my childhood: Strolling Bowling. Basically, you set up a little bowling alley and then you wind up the wee sneaker-clad ball and it hops down the lane in search of pins. Hours of fun, I tell you, particularly when you eschew the hopping part and just throw it like a real bowling ball. The niece squealed with delight whenever we broke the rules which was uh, all the time. If I may paraphrase Charles Barkley (because I'm too lazy and disinterested to Google the official quote), I never said I was a role model.
On Saturday, I put up my parents' Christmas tree. Yes, I know it's early but I don't feel like going back out there before Christmas to do it. December weekends are a precious commodity and I'm loathe to part with them. Now you might be asking yourself, "Why don't Curly's parents put up their own tree?" The answer is simple, really: My father is a decorating retard.
I love him but the man would be wise to step away from the tchatkes. Yet, despite his obvious inadequacy in this area, he is persistent in trying year after year. So, I've learned to relent and leave some of the trimming to his [in]discretion... often to comical results. Or, as I said a few years back, "When it comes to illuminated ceramics, the man knows no restraint."
So, as a favor to my mother, I assemble the very life-like fake tree and tastefully adorn it with beads, bows and Hallmark Keepsake Ornaments. The rest of the family has learned the painful way to just leave me be when I'm in decorating mode. I used to slap hands, tsk, sigh and eventually chase everyone out of the room because I felt like they were compromising the integrity of my design. Yeah, those movies and television shows that show happy families trimming the tree while singing carols and sipping eggnog? Complete and utter bullshit. If you want to portray the holiday rituals and traditions honestly, there needs to be impatience, frayed nerves and at least one person storming off in a huff. Otherwise, it's a complete sham.
Speaking of the holidays, I'm about to embark on a series of reviews/recaps of Christmas specials and movies. I'm telling you this now so that I don't slack off. I haven't exactly been motivated or consistent with updating the blog lately in case you haven't noticed. Anyhoo, if you'd like a somewhat relevant appetizer to tide you over, kindly check out The Alan Alda Sensitivity Project: Holiday Edition.
Labels: family, holidays, movies
posted by curly mcdimple @ 1:15 PM :: permalink :: ::
Alliances and cliques all but faded away. Intermingling was the order of the night. Although, a turf war did ensue in the form of a junior-high dance-off. Sadly, I was the only one representing my Catholic school that night. The dirty publics controlled the dance floor so I bowed out. In retrospect, I really wish I busted out my best 
None of us were content to let the night end at 11:00 so we proceeded to a cheesy nearby club and disco-danced among a sea of middle-aged divorcees. Truthfully I loathe disco but the fact that I partook means that a) I was feeling rather euphoric from the success of the reunion and b) I was totally bombed.
