Three Cheers for the Undigested Bit of Beef

"You don't believe in me," observed the Ghost.
"I don't." said Scrooge.
"What evidence would you have of my reality, beyond that of your senses?"
"I don't know," said Scrooge.
"Why do you doubt your senses?"
"Because," said Scrooge, "a little thing affects them. A slight disorder of the stomach makes them cheats.  You may be an undigested bit of beef, a blot of mustard, a crumb of cheese, a fragment of an underdone potato.  There's more of gravy than of grave about you, whatever you are!"

 
It's an unusual day when I write about movies, because I just don't see that many. Even in my high school and college days when I worked at the movies I didn't see that many (criminal, really, considering they were free for employees) because who wants to go to "work" on a day off? Not I.

It's an even more unusual day when I write about a Jim Carrey movie, because I'm just not a huge fan. There have been a few that I have really liked (see: A Series of Unfortunate Events and Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind) but they were both a little on the bizarre side, script-wise, and none of them involved pets, masks, Batman, Cable-TV, liars or God.

But here I am, talking about a Jim Carrey movie. Today I went and saw Disney's Christmas Carol, and shockingly (happily so) I was blown away.  I went in with seriously low expectations.  Disney often means predictable, saccharine, silly, and dumbed down to the lowest common denominator.  I suppose I might say it was predictable because it was Dickens, but it wasn't predictable... because they kept it as Dickens.  The words were his, and there weren't any misguided attempts to modernize the language or change plot points.  It certainly wasn't saccharine, silly or dumbed-down.  The film was in turn frightening, surreal and compelling.

Part of the reason I was so astonished at the success of telling this particular story with this particular actor was that it managed to do it all within the realms of 3D motion capture animation.  I was pretty skeptical of the whole 3D deal too.  I've seen 3D films before with varying degrees of success, and none of it overwhelmingly positive.  Sometimes they trumpet the technology, up the price, pass out the dorky glasses, and then have one or two instances where something comes popping out of the screen.  Other times it's 3D everywhere at all time.  SNOW!  ELBOWS!  TRAINS!  You name it, it's JUMPING out at you.  The only thing not JUMPING out at you is the SCRIPT!  That part is often left out, as if it were that one extra piece of luggage nobody could afford to bring.  This, of course is a shame, because, call my silly, but I'm really here to get lost in a story, not in visual trickery.

This film was absolutely amazing.  Director Robert Zemeckis (whose previous Christmas 3D motion capture animation film, The Polar Express, I'm sorry to tell you, I didn't love...not one little bit) took the 3D technology and used it to help tell the story instead of using it to substitute for the lack of story.  And it worked.

Tonight I came home to read several external reviews and to be truthful they are decidedly mixed.  Some felt it was a stunning achievement.  Others felt it was still too much 3D gibberish that detracted from the story.  With the exception of one drawn out chase scene that I thought was superfluous to the story, I thought the 3D was genius and the motion-capture animation was spectacular.  To see the cinematic magic married to the visual artistry told by the voice of Dickens was precisely what I needed today.  There are lots of versions of good old Ebeneezer Scrooge floating around out there.  This one has instantly become one of my favorites.

In My Little Town

They call my college a "cow college".

In fact, it was the premiere Land-Grant Institution that served as a model for those to come. And yes, being a part of a Land-Grant Institution meant a focus on teaching agriculture. Cow college? Maybe. But proudly so.

That other school down the road (you know, the one whose school colors are blue and corn) looks down on my college.  There is, of course, good-natured yet intense interstate rivalry between the two schools, but my college is no hick college.  We've had several Pulitzer Prize winners, and a record number of Rhodes Scholars.  The other school is no slouch either, but despite the jokes about our graduates being the ones delivering pizza to their graduates, we are a strong academic community.

For those that care (which can at times be a strain), we are strong in the field of athletics.  We win lots of games.  We also lose lots of games.  Sometimes, lots and lots of games (on either end of the spectrum), as compared to other places.  But we have our share of championship banners, trophies and other dustable knick-knacks.  Could we be better?  Of course.  Couldn't everybody?

Our campus is beautiful.  There is no other word to describe it, perhaps with the exception of the word large.  There are trees and grass and flowers everywhere.  There is a river that winds through campus, which means we have more than our fair share of ducks scamming bread, squirrels demanding popcorn, and Canadian Geese pooping all over everything.  Our campus is its own little world just across the street from the town in which it lives.

And our town. I might have taken our quaint little town for granted until today.  Directly across the street from the campus is a bustling, thriving community.  There are an incredible number of bookstores in the area, not to mention locally owned restaurants, coffee houses and stores that feature the talents of local artisans.   To be fair I will admit yes, there are a seemingly obscene number of bars.  However, when you live here, you simply learn to work with it or circumvent it altogether whenever necessary.

Chocolate cheese is a campus specialty, and everyone tracks the seasons according to the teeny tiny soft-serve ice cream shop.  Open all but four winterish months a year, we flock there as a respite from homework or housework, to celebrate recitals or to cool down on a hot summer day.  Yes, we have even driven to get ice cream while wearing winter coats and mittens.  It's currently the off-season (there are three long, dark, lonely months to go) but we are counting the days until it reopens.  And yes, most definitely yes, we ARE COUNTING.

All these things are at my disposal every day, but I can't say that I've ever really thought how lucky I was to have any of them.  But it all came into focus today as I spent many hours trying to get to know a different college town, and wanting to support their local businesses, restaurants and artisans.  Instead, I walked around for quite awhile and then drove around getting both frustrated and bored.  There wasn't much to see...  And there was even less to do... I'm certain there is a personality somewhere in that town, but what it is I don't yet know.  Maybe someday I'll figure it out.

Meanwhile, thank you cow college.  Thank you cow town.  Some may think you're nothing special, but you and I, we know better.  Thank you for being right across the street, arms flung wide, just waiting to embrace your visitors.  When I go back to work on Monday, I'm going to grumble a little less at the traffic and the pedestrians.  You're the heart, but the students and the townies are its lifeline.   I'm glad to be a part of it.

You put the Green in GreenTuna.
Go State.

In My Little Town

They call my college a "cow college".

In fact, it was the premiere Land-Grant Institution that served as a model for those to come. And yes, being a part of a Land-Grant Institution meant a focus on teaching agriculture. Cow college? Maybe. But proudly so.

That other school down the road (you know, the one whose school colors are blue and corn) looks down on my college.  There is, of course, good-natured yet intense interstate rivalry between the two schools, but my college is no hick college.  We've had several Pulitzer Prize winners, and a record number of Rhodes Scholars.  The other school is no slouch either, but despite the jokes about our graduates being the ones delivering pizza to their graduates, we are a strong academic community.

For those that care (which can at times be a strain), we are strong in the field of athletics.  We win lots of games.  We also lose lots of games.  Sometimes, lots and lots of games (on either end of the spectrum), as compared to other places.  But we have our share of championship banners, trophies and other dustable knick-knacks.  Could we be better?  Of course.  Couldn't everybody?

Our campus is beautiful.  There is no other word to describe it, perhaps with the exception of the word large.  There are trees and grass and flowers everywhere.  There is a river that winds through campus, which means we have more than our fair share of ducks scamming bread, squirrels demanding popcorn, and Canadian Geese pooping all over everything.  Our campus is its own little world just across the street from the town in which it lives.

And our town. I might have taken our quaint little town for granted until today.  Directly across the street from the campus is a bustling, thriving community.  There are an incredible number of bookstores in the area, not to mention locally owned restaurants, coffee houses and stores that feature the talents of local artisans.   To be fair I will admit yes, there are a seemingly obscene number of bars.  However, when you live here, you simply learn to work with it or circumvent it altogether whenever necessary.

Chocolate cheese is a campus specialty, and everyone tracks the seasons according to the teeny tiny soft-serve ice cream shop.  Open all but four winterish months a year, we flock there as a respite from homework or housework, to celebrate recitals or to cool down on a hot summer day.  Yes, we have even driven to get ice cream while wearing winter coats and mittens.  It's currently the off-season (there are three long, dark, lonely months to go) but we are counting the days until it reopens.  And yes, most definitely yes, we ARE COUNTING.

All these things are at my disposal every day, but I can't say that I've ever really thought how lucky I was to have any of them.  But it all came into focus today as I spent many hours trying to get to know a different college town, and wanting to support their local businesses, restaurants and artisans.  Instead, I walked around for quite awhile and then drove around getting both frustrated and bored.  There wasn't much to see...  And there was even less to do... I'm certain there is a personality somewhere in that town, but what it is I don't yet know.  Maybe someday I'll figure it out.

Meanwhile, thank you cow college.  Thank you cow town.  Some may think you're nothing special, but you and I, we know better.  Thank you for being right across the street, arms flung wide, just waiting to embrace your visitors.  When I go back to work on Monday, I'm going to grumble a little less at the traffic and the pedestrians.  You're the heart, but the students and the townies are its lifeline.   I'm glad to be a part of it.

You put the Green in GreenTuna.
Go State.

Exit, Stage Left

This weekend a great many people I know are calling the stage their home.

Tomorrow, hundreds of high school singers across the state are participating in the annual Regional Honor's Choir. In the midst of spending the entire day in rehearsal, each singer is also required to audition again for a spot in State Honor's Choir. The soundtrack of my evening has been an Ivesian combination of Harry Potter and the Soprano I part of "Zadok the Priest" by Handel. Yes, it can be a surreal life.

An acquaintance of TeenTuna's is finishing up the second weekend run of a children's play at the local community theater. We saw it last weekend and it was great fun, even if the Rooster was, well...somewhat disturbing. Good and funny, yes. But definitely disturbing.

Up north where I teach, every single student of mine is involved in one of two major events. This weekend the choirs present their annual "Festival of Carols" which is simply spectacular. Three choirs, instruments, lights and fabulous singing result in three sold out performances. It is one of the highlights of the music calendar. The theater department is also busy this weekend with their festival of one-act plays, several of which are directed by students. I am quite certain that nobody at that college will be sitting around bored and complaining that there is nothing to do this weekend.

Stacked-up performances are not at all uncommon in December, but what has been rather special has been all the support that has been extended for each and every offering. Today many a Facebook status not only trumpeted a particular performance, but in the same breath encouraged attendance of ALL performances. Earlier this evening TeenTuna sent a text message to her friend wishing broken legs, and tonight she received a call from someone else wishing her luck for her audition tomorrow.

The perception in the performing arts is that it is a highly competitive, cut-throat sort of venture. And honestly, it is. Or, can be. Fellow musicians and actors are now competitors. Friends and peers turn into rivals. Unless you are performing a solo work or reciting a monologue, it takes the contributions and talents of every single performer working together to share music that is more than notes on a page, or to share a story that is more than words in a script. But sadly, It takes so very little to destroy the entire creative output when one is so focused on figuring out whom to hate.

As pleased as I am of all my college kids who have given so much of their time and talent to perform this weekend, and as excited as I am for all the High School kids who have worked so hard and are coming together tomorrow to create something amazing, I'm so very proud of all of them who have supported and encouraged each other throughout the entire process.

Bravo.

.

Exit, Stage Left

This weekend a great many people I know are calling the stage their home.

Tomorrow, hundreds of high school singers across the state are participating in the annual Regional Honor's Choir. In the midst of spending the entire day in rehearsal, each singer is also required to audition again for a spot in State Honor's Choir. The soundtrack of my evening has been an Ivesian combination of Harry Potter and the Soprano I part of "Zadok the Priest" by Handel. Yes, it can be a surreal life.

An acquaintance of TeenTuna's is finishing up the second weekend run of a children's play at the local community theater. We saw it last weekend and it was great fun, even if the Rooster was, well...somewhat disturbing. Good and funny, yes. But definitely disturbing.

Up north where I teach, every single student of mine is involved in one of two major events. This weekend the choirs present their annual "Festival of Carols" which is simply spectacular. Three choirs, instruments, lights and fabulous singing result in three sold out performances. It is one of the highlights of the music calendar. The theater department is also busy this weekend with their festival of one-act plays, several of which are directed by students. I am quite certain that nobody at that college will be sitting around bored and complaining that there is nothing to do this weekend.

Stacked-up performances are not at all uncommon in December, but what has been rather special has been all the support that has been extended for each and every offering. Today many a Facebook status not only trumpeted a particular performance, but in the same breath encouraged attendance of ALL performances. Earlier this evening TeenTuna sent a text message to her friend wishing broken legs, and tonight she received a call from someone else wishing her luck for her audition tomorrow.

The perception in the performing arts is that it is a highly competitive, cut-throat sort of venture. And honestly, it is. Or, can be. Fellow musicians and actors are now competitors. Friends and peers turn into rivals. Unless you are performing a solo work or reciting a monologue, it takes the contributions and talents of every single performer working together to share music that is more than notes on a page, or to share a story that is more than words in a script. But sadly, It takes so very little to destroy the entire creative output when one is so focused on figuring out whom to hate.

As pleased as I am of all my college kids who have given so much of their time and talent to perform this weekend, and as excited as I am for all the High School kids who have worked so hard and are coming together tomorrow to create something amazing, I'm so very proud of all of them who have supported and encouraged each other throughout the entire process.

Bravo.

.

The Way I am (Today)

I knew at 7:05 this morning that I was done with humanity for the day.

This was not a good development because I had only been awake for 90 minutes and I was staring down the barrel of a twelve-hour workday where I had to teach which included such Kum-bah-yah concepts as encouraging and inspiring.  It was going to be a long, LONG day.

And you'll never guess what happened...

What happened was...exactly what I thought was going to happen.  It was a long, LONG day.  Students were in various states of preparedness or lack thereof.  I never got the morning memo that I was driving the invisible car, and was getting cut off here there and everywhere. It was cold and snowflake-ish.  I left for work that morning in the dark and left teaching that night in the dark, feeling like a troll and wondering if I was growing moss.  My nylons decided to self-destruct in 27 places simultaneously, leaving me nothing but shreds and no time to buy a backup pair.  If one thing went right today, it was that I was wearing a longer-than-usual skirt and my unintentional fishnets weren't nearly as noticeable as they could have been.  Small favors, right?

At 4pm I walked over to teach my class.  I was looking forward to this one only because for once, the students were going to do the talking.  They were all assigned to bring in something to listen to.  The only requirement -- it had to have singing in it.  I didn't care if it was pop, rock, country, broadway, jazz, world, folk and children's music.  It just had to have singing.  And the students were to play it and talk about it.  Talk about the voice, and the singing style and what instruments they heard.  Talk about why they liked it, and why they brought it to class.  The in-class presentations couldn't have come at a better time, because today I honestly felt talked-out.  I was ready for someone else to offer up their opinion.  And besides, I really like to hear what they come up with.

This year, among other selections, we got some pop Latin (Spanish), some acoustic Indie, some crossover classical-lite, some Celtic, and something with voice and electric cellos.  No kidding.  The observations were basic but decent.  They talked about the singing style, the ease (or lack thereof) in the sound, the instrumentation, the form of the song and the lyrics.  Several of the songs (which I did not know) were pretty catchy, with interesting rhythms, rich harmonies, beautiful melodies, or just highly unusual sounds (electric cellos, I'm looking at you!).  The very last student of the day played a song by a popular acoustic indy singer.  It was a song I actually knew (amazing) and owned (doubly amazing!).  Like all students, the last question I asked was, "why did you choose this song?"  The answer was a blush, a bit of an embarassed smile, and the confession, "it just makes me happy."

Right then, in the midst of my terrible, horrible, no-good, very bad day, I smiled.  It didn't erase the rest of the mess like some sort of magical, musical Etch-A-Sketch, but in that brief moment I was grateful for the reminder that despite it all, music was always there to cheer, console, encourage or inspire.  Lord knows I was never going to see it or hear it today, but assignment or not, someone else did, and shared the joy.

Seeing someone else touched by a song just made me happy. 
And that was good enough for today.

The Way I am (Today)

I knew at 7:05 this morning that I was done with humanity for the day.

This was not a good development because I had only been awake for 90 minutes and I was staring down the barrel of a twelve-hour workday where I had to teach which included such Kum-bah-yah concepts as encouraging and inspiring.  It was going to be a long, LONG day.

And you'll never guess what happened...

What happened was...exactly what I thought was going to happen.  It was a long, LONG day.  Students were in various states of preparedness or lack thereof.  I never got the morning memo that I was driving the invisible car, and was getting cut off here there and everywhere. It was cold and snowflake-ish.  I left for work that morning in the dark and left teaching that night in the dark, feeling like a troll and wondering if I was growing moss.  My nylons decided to self-destruct in 27 places simultaneously, leaving me nothing but shreds and no time to buy a backup pair.  If one thing went right today, it was that I was wearing a longer-than-usual skirt and my unintentional fishnets weren't nearly as noticeable as they could have been.  Small favors, right?

At 4pm I walked over to teach my class.  I was looking forward to this one only because for once, the students were going to do the talking.  They were all assigned to bring in something to listen to.  The only requirement -- it had to have singing in it.  I didn't care if it was pop, rock, country, broadway, jazz, world, folk and children's music.  It just had to have singing.  And the students were to play it and talk about it.  Talk about the voice, and the singing style and what instruments they heard.  Talk about why they liked it, and why they brought it to class.  The in-class presentations couldn't have come at a better time, because today I honestly felt talked-out.  I was ready for someone else to offer up their opinion.  And besides, I really like to hear what they come up with.

This year, among other selections, we got some pop Latin (Spanish), some acoustic Indie, some crossover classical-lite, some Celtic, and something with voice and electric cellos.  No kidding.  The observations were basic but decent.  They talked about the singing style, the ease (or lack thereof) in the sound, the instrumentation, the form of the song and the lyrics.  Several of the songs (which I did not know) were pretty catchy, with interesting rhythms, rich harmonies, beautiful melodies, or just highly unusual sounds (electric cellos, I'm looking at you!).  The very last student of the day played a song by a popular acoustic indy singer.  It was a song I actually knew (amazing) and owned (doubly amazing!).  Like all students, the last question I asked was, "why did you choose this song?"  The answer was a blush, a bit of an embarassed smile, and the confession, "it just makes me happy."

Right then, in the midst of my terrible, horrible, no-good, very bad day, I smiled.  It didn't erase the rest of the mess like some sort of magical, musical Etch-A-Sketch, but in that brief moment I was grateful for the reminder that despite it all, music was always there to cheer, console, encourage or inspire.  Lord knows I was never going to see it or hear it today, but assignment or not, someone else did, and shared the joy.

Seeing someone else touched by a song just made me happy. 
And that was good enough for today.

Reindeer Games

Sometimes it's interesting, if not amusing and also slightly scary when coincidences start to stack up. Yesterday I wrote about the one plague that Moses didn't have to deal with: Socialites. As usual, I was writing until midnight, and tweaking a bit thereafter. This morning, Maureen Dowd's editorial in the New York Times was about ... Socialites. Now, I know for a fact there is NO WAY we share a brain, and I certainly didn't see the New York Times until well after 8am this morning. Still, it was a bit of an odd and humbling coincidence.

Today when I got home a little after 8pm, I sat down to check life on Facebook, and a friend of mine wondered aloud in her status why the children's Christmas classic Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer was making her cry and was slightly depressing.  Of course, the only answer I could come up with was a smart-ass one, so I said something along the lines of "because Hermey doesn't want to make toys." and I left it at that.  A little later, I decided I should change my own status (the last being from Thanksgiving Day), so I revisited my friend Hermey and wrote: Hermey doesn't want to make toys.  I don't want to do the dishes.  We're even.

And the ball, she started rolling.

Across several Facebook pages various discussions of Rudolph waged on.  On the "Why does Rudolph depress me?" page, opinions varied from my dig at Hermey to someone calling Rudolph's dad a "hater" to someone else wondering if we weren't all misfits.

My page had taken on the highly philosophical question "what exactly is wrong with the doll on the island of misfit toys?  Why is she there?"  I read that comment and thought for a minute.... I guess I didn't know.  She didn't have square wheels like the train, she wasn't misnamed and her speaking voice didn't suffer from permanent puberty woes like Charlie in the Box, and she wasn't pink and polka dotted  like the elephant.  So what WAS wrong with her, anyway?

I vaguely remembered she cried a lot, but aside from that, I really couldn't remember an identifiable "malady."  So, having to know the answer, I turned to the source of all knowledge:  the Internets.  Was there an answer?  Of course there was!  She was sad and unloved (hence the tears).  I shared my mad skillz as a research specialist with my Facebook friends.

After reading all the discussions and dissections of a favorite childhood memory, it was clear that this holiday special held a very special spot in the hearts and memories of 30 and up crowd.  And when you think about it, it makes sense.  Some of the themes of the story speak to an older audience.  Hermey is unhappy being stereotyped as a toy-making elf.  He wants to be a dentist.  Rudolph is in the need of a great deal of therapy.  Rudolph's dad really IS a hater, Yukon Cornelius is a loner with an oral fixation, and the Island of Misfit Toys have enough social and emotional problems to keep Oprah, Maury and Dr. Phil busy for quite some time.  We know these characters.  We are these characters.  We've all taken extended vacations on the Island of Misfit Toys.  Some of us own land and have a time-share there.

With the exception of Charlie Brown (specially designed for optimal heart-string tugging), I can't imagine any other Christmas special gathering the same amount of sympathy.  Would anybody spend any measurable time wondering about emotional psyche of Frosty the Snowman when he keeps yelling HAPPY BIRTHDAY as if it was an audition for the revival of Rainman?  Meanwhile, over at Santa Claus is Coming to Town, sure everybody loves the Burgermeister Meisterburger, but when he breaks his leg and loses control over Sombertown, nobody is really shedding any tears.  We like to see him fall down and fail.  It's funny.

Stuff a sock in it, Frosty.

It's hard to be a tyrant when you have such a cute name and tweakable cheeks.

Sure, there are some characters in Rudolph we don't care much about or have much sympathy for (see: Crankypants Santa).  But Rudolph and those misfit toys, we really feel for.  Even the bad monster Bumble becomes squishy and cute when we find out BUMBLES BOUNCE!  He has fun fur AND he's alliterative!  What's not to love?

A half hour or so after the Rudolph conversation wrapped up on my Facebook page, I was checking statuses again, and, I kid you not, a second person (not privy to the first conversation) wondered why the doll was stuck on the Island of Misfit Toys. Twice in one night.  Coincidence?  Or had Rudolph really hit a nerve?

As I was re-posting my earlier "Island of Misfit Toys" research, I wondered if TeenTuna's generation had any TV shows or characters that would withstand the test of time.  Thirty years from now, will there be conversations on some website about the social and emotional ramifications of Zach and Cody living with their mother in a hotel?  Will they be protective of Spongebob Squarepants and defend his live life on his own terms (even if it's in an underwater pineapple)?  I highly doubt it.  But as I sat down to write tonight, TeenTuna kept yelling at me from the living room.  There was a special tonight that showed all of the Pixar shorts.  And there was the girl in "One Man Band" who was tempted by two musicians to give away her only coin... And there was the enormous bird on the wire who wanted to share it with his friends... And there was the misfit alien that was trying so hard to learn how to use the controls of the ship... And there was the old man playing chess...  And there was the little lamp who was having so much fun playing with his bouncy-ball...

She was so excited.  They were like old friends she hadn't seen in awhile.

So I guess her generation will be OK after all.  They have some pretty special characters of their own that are worthy of love and care and concern.  As long as it isn't Spongebob, I'm alright with it.

Reindeer Games

Sometimes it's interesting, if not amusing and also slightly scary when coincidences start to stack up. Yesterday I wrote about the one plague that Moses didn't have to deal with: Socialites. As usual, I was writing until midnight, and tweaking a bit thereafter. This morning, Maureen Dowd's editorial in the New York Times was about ... Socialites. Now, I know for a fact there is NO WAY we share a brain, and I certainly didn't see the New York Times until well after 8am this morning. Still, it was a bit of an odd and humbling coincidence.

Today when I got home a little after 8pm, I sat down to check life on Facebook, and a friend of mine wondered aloud in her status why the children's Christmas classic Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer was making her cry and was slightly depressing.  Of course, the only answer I could come up with was a smart-ass one, so I said something along the lines of "because Hermey doesn't want to make toys." and I left it at that.  A little later, I decided I should change my own status (the last being from Thanksgiving Day), so I revisited my friend Hermey and wrote: Hermey doesn't want to make toys.  I don't want to do the dishes.  We're even.

And the ball, she started rolling.

Across several Facebook pages various discussions of Rudolph waged on.  On the "Why does Rudolph depress me?" page, opinions varied from my dig at Hermey to someone calling Rudolph's dad a "hater" to someone else wondering if we weren't all misfits.

My page had taken on the highly philosophical question "what exactly is wrong with the doll on the island of misfit toys?  Why is she there?"  I read that comment and thought for a minute.... I guess I didn't know.  She didn't have square wheels like the train, she wasn't misnamed and her speaking voice didn't suffer from permanent puberty woes like Charlie in the Box, and she wasn't pink and polka dotted  like the elephant.  So what WAS wrong with her, anyway?

I vaguely remembered she cried a lot, but aside from that, I really couldn't remember an identifiable "malady."  So, having to know the answer, I turned to the source of all knowledge:  the Internets.  Was there an answer?  Of course there was!  She was sad and unloved (hence the tears).  I shared my mad skillz as a research specialist with my Facebook friends.

After reading all the discussions and dissections of a favorite childhood memory, it was clear that this holiday special held a very special spot in the hearts and memories of 30 and up crowd.  And when you think about it, it makes sense.  Some of the themes of the story speak to an older audience.  Hermey is unhappy being stereotyped as a toy-making elf.  He wants to be a dentist.  Rudolph is in the need of a great deal of therapy.  Rudolph's dad really IS a hater, Yukon Cornelius is a loner with an oral fixation, and the Island of Misfit Toys have enough social and emotional problems to keep Oprah, Maury and Dr. Phil busy for quite some time.  We know these characters.  We are these characters.  We've all taken extended vacations on the Island of Misfit Toys.  Some of us own land and have a time-share there.

With the exception of Charlie Brown (specially designed for optimal heart-string tugging), I can't imagine any other Christmas special gathering the same amount of sympathy.  Would anybody spend any measurable time wondering about emotional psyche of Frosty the Snowman when he keeps yelling HAPPY BIRTHDAY as if it was an audition for the revival of Rainman?  Meanwhile, over at Santa Claus is Coming to Town, sure everybody loves the Burgermeister Meisterburger, but when he breaks his leg and loses control over Sombertown, nobody is really shedding any tears.  We like to see him fall down and fail.  It's funny.

Stuff a sock in it, Frosty.

It's hard to be a tyrant when you have such a cute name and tweakable cheeks.

Sure, there are some characters in Rudolph we don't care much about or have much sympathy for (see: Crankypants Santa).  But Rudolph and those misfit toys, we really feel for.  Even the bad monster Bumble becomes squishy and cute when we find out BUMBLES BOUNCE!  He has fun fur AND he's alliterative!  What's not to love?

A half hour or so after the Rudolph conversation wrapped up on my Facebook page, I was checking statuses again, and, I kid you not, a second person (not privy to the first conversation) wondered why the doll was stuck on the Island of Misfit Toys. Twice in one night.  Coincidence?  Or had Rudolph really hit a nerve?

As I was re-posting my earlier "Island of Misfit Toys" research, I wondered if TeenTuna's generation had any TV shows or characters that would withstand the test of time.  Thirty years from now, will there be conversations on some website about the social and emotional ramifications of Zach and Cody living with their mother in a hotel?  Will they be protective of Spongebob Squarepants and defend his live life on his own terms (even if it's in an underwater pineapple)?  I highly doubt it.  But as I sat down to write tonight, TeenTuna kept yelling at me from the living room.  There was a special tonight that showed all of the Pixar shorts.  And there was the girl in "One Man Band" who was tempted by two musicians to give away her only coin... And there was the enormous bird on the wire who wanted to share it with his friends... And there was the misfit alien that was trying so hard to learn how to use the controls of the ship... And there was the old man playing chess...  And there was the little lamp who was having so much fun playing with his bouncy-ball...

She was so excited.  They were like old friends she hadn't seen in awhile.

So I guess her generation will be OK after all.  They have some pretty special characters of their own that are worthy of love and care and concern.  As long as it isn't Spongebob, I'm alright with it.

Social Disease

Socialite
a person who is or seeks to be prominent in fashionable society

Here is something I have never, ever, ever aspired to be.  I can't even imagine the life of a socialite.  The best I can do is equate it to those drama-filled days of high school, where the entire teenage social caste system valued some more than others, and everyone worked so hard to be included in the club, be it sports, cheer-leading, music or drama.  I think in high school, just about everybody is Socialite.  How successful they are, however, is another story entirely.

If you go back and look carefully at the definition of Socialite there is a key phrase:  seeks to be.  This opens up a whole can of worms.  According to the definition, if one merely seeks to be prominent, then socialite standing has been achieved.  This is fantastic news for the all the wannabes, but doesn't it make you wonder just a little bit about the alreadybes?  Do they know their ranks are being infiltrated by novices?

Setting that dilemma aside, here is another question.  What does a socialite do?  Is it a job?  Can you list it on a resume, or annual tax forms?  If the goal is being prominent in fashionable society, I have to imagine all a socialite does is run around making sure others in fashionable society (or merely looking in on fashionable society) know they are here.  Prominently.  So a socialite stands in the front of all the pictures (in a prominent manner), and generally makes a LOOK-AT-MEEEEE scene wherever they go. 

To those who are or who seek to be prominent by being pushy, or by being a jerk, or by having a pretty face and pouty lips, the socialite world is both the goal and reward.  But at what price?  Sure, you get lots of pictures and lots of press and lots of attention.  But you also get..... lots of pictures and lots of press and lots of attention.  The only difference is you no longer control when the LOOK-AT-MEEEEE scene happens.  Because let's face it, if you aren't doing it often enough, they'll simply do it for you.  And sometimes, it isn't pretty.

But what do you suppose would happen if nobody cared?  What if, despite the existence of a fashionable society, those of us not among its real or imaginary ranks simply Did. Not. Care.  Would it cease to exist?  Could we redefine the definition of fashionable?  If we as a world community worked to end hunger, poverty, war and disease; if we strove daily for peace, equal rights, and protecting the increasingly fragile planet we call home, would we give a second thought to White House Party Crashers, Reality Show Jerks or professional poseurs? I think not.  At least, I hope not.

Here's to redefining the social order and working towards a truly fashionable, loving and caring society

where we all should seek to be socialites.

Social Disease

Socialite
a person who is or seeks to be prominent in fashionable society

Here is something I have never, ever, ever aspired to be.  I can't even imagine the life of a socialite.  The best I can do is equate it to those drama-filled days of high school, where the entire teenage social caste system valued some more than others, and everyone worked so hard to be included in the club, be it sports, cheer-leading, music or drama.  I think in high school, just about everybody is Socialite.  How successful they are, however, is another story entirely.

If you go back and look carefully at the definition of Socialite there is a key phrase:  seeks to be.  This opens up a whole can of worms.  According to the definition, if one merely seeks to be prominent, then socialite standing has been achieved.  This is fantastic news for the all the wannabes, but doesn't it make you wonder just a little bit about the alreadybes?  Do they know their ranks are being infiltrated by novices?

Setting that dilemma aside, here is another question.  What does a socialite do?  Is it a job?  Can you list it on a resume, or annual tax forms?  If the goal is being prominent in fashionable society, I have to imagine all a socialite does is run around making sure others in fashionable society (or merely looking in on fashionable society) know they are here.  Prominently.  So a socialite stands in the front of all the pictures (in a prominent manner), and generally makes a LOOK-AT-MEEEEE scene wherever they go. 

To those who are or who seek to be prominent by being pushy, or by being a jerk, or by having a pretty face and pouty lips, the socialite world is both the goal and reward.  But at what price?  Sure, you get lots of pictures and lots of press and lots of attention.  But you also get..... lots of pictures and lots of press and lots of attention.  The only difference is you no longer control when the LOOK-AT-MEEEEE scene happens.  Because let's face it, if you aren't doing it often enough, they'll simply do it for you.  And sometimes, it isn't pretty.

But what do you suppose would happen if nobody cared?  What if, despite the existence of a fashionable society, those of us not among its real or imaginary ranks simply Did. Not. Care.  Would it cease to exist?  Could we redefine the definition of fashionable?  If we as a world community worked to end hunger, poverty, war and disease; if we strove daily for peace, equal rights, and protecting the increasingly fragile planet we call home, would we give a second thought to White House Party Crashers, Reality Show Jerks or professional poseurs? I think not.  At least, I hope not.

Here's to redefining the social order and working towards a truly fashionable, loving and caring society

where we all should seek to be socialites.