You know that song "We Wish You a Merry Christmas?" It's an upbeat song, right? And it gets a little rowdy about halfway through with the carolers demanding figgy pudding and saying they won't leave until they get some--this is a song meant to be shouted as much as sung and is usually delivered by people who are giddy with Christmas spirit, right? That's just the nature of the song.
Isn't this common knowledge? I think so.
So a question: WHO THOUGHT THIS WAS A GOOD IDEA???
I stumbled upon this a few days ago, and my wife and I listened to it until "we won't go until we get some" and just couldn't take it any more.
Showing posts with label Holidays. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Holidays. Show all posts
11 December 2010
27 November 2010
Post 239
So, it's officially Christmastime. The passing of Thanksgiving lifted my wife's moratorium on Christmas music, so I'm listening to lots of it now. I don't know what happened to me last year, but it was the first year since halfway through high school that I wasn't offended by Christmas music being played ridiculously early, and this year I found myself turning on holiday jingles whenever I was driving somewhere without my wife. It's good to wait till after Thanksgiving, though: since there are only, like, 30 or 40 really good Christmas songs in existence, I'd probably get sick of it by mid-December if I listened to it non-stop.
Anyway, the point of this post is to once again demonstrate the awesome breadth of the internet's reach. When I was very young, we got a Christmas basket from a family in the ward, and one of the things in it was a tape of really random Christmas songs. I remember several of them (one called "Santa Got a Cold on Christmas Eve," one with a refrain that began, "We are Santa's reindeer / We've learned to sing this year," one sung in a weird accent about how the kids go nuts at Christmas, a version of "I'm Gettin' Nuttin' for Christmas" that ended with a burglar coming in a Santa suit...), but my favorite of all of them was a song by Mel Blanc. I remember it was by Mel Blank because my eldest brother had to explain to me who Mel Blanc was when he told me who sang the song.
I loved that song as a kid, and the inventions of Google and YouTube have made me try every year to find it online. This year, I finally did (thanks to Google, not to YouTube). I can't embed it here, so just click on this link to listen. (NOTE: my wife wasn't terribly impressed; I think it'll probably appeal to you a lot more if you're, say, 7 years old.)
Merry Christmas!
Anyway, the point of this post is to once again demonstrate the awesome breadth of the internet's reach. When I was very young, we got a Christmas basket from a family in the ward, and one of the things in it was a tape of really random Christmas songs. I remember several of them (one called "Santa Got a Cold on Christmas Eve," one with a refrain that began, "We are Santa's reindeer / We've learned to sing this year," one sung in a weird accent about how the kids go nuts at Christmas, a version of "I'm Gettin' Nuttin' for Christmas" that ended with a burglar coming in a Santa suit...), but my favorite of all of them was a song by Mel Blanc. I remember it was by Mel Blank because my eldest brother had to explain to me who Mel Blanc was when he told me who sang the song.
I loved that song as a kid, and the inventions of Google and YouTube have made me try every year to find it online. This year, I finally did (thanks to Google, not to YouTube). I can't embed it here, so just click on this link to listen. (NOTE: my wife wasn't terribly impressed; I think it'll probably appeal to you a lot more if you're, say, 7 years old.)
Merry Christmas!
06 April 2010
Post 221
It's snowing today here in Provo. Snow on April 6th! A friend texted me this morning to wish me a happy white Christmas. Hahahaha. White Christmas indeed! THAT, my friends, is good, clean, down-to-earth funny, right there. What a kidder.
My apologies to anyone who isn't a Mormon and doesn't get the joke.
My apologies to anyone who isn't a Mormon and doesn't get the joke.
17 March 2010
24 December 2009
Post 219
Christmas is a time when folks who normally wouldn't associate with one another lay down their differences and come together--so we get some pretty odd pairings. For example, Frank Sinatra and Cyndi Lauper:
Stranger yet, Bing Crosby and David Bowie:
What's next--Miss Utah and a stand-up comedian??
Stranger yet, Bing Crosby and David Bowie:
What's next--Miss Utah and a stand-up comedian??
13 December 2008
Post 171
And now for a poem I wrote on my mission. Enjoy!
---
Christmas comes, and Johnny's sure
To remember what it's for,
So writes his prayer out on a list,
And, just to make sure he's not missed,
He leaves an off'ring for his god
(A greedy being, so it's not odd):
A plate of cookies and some milk,
Then goes to bed wrapped in a quilt.
He stays awake (he cannot sleep)
And so a silent vigil keeps
To see if he can hear a sound
When his god comes roaming 'round.
Then Santa Claus, his Christmas god,
On Johnny's snowy rooftop trods,
Goes down the chimney, to the table,
Eats all the cookies he is able
Then picks up Johnny's little list
And holds it tightly in his fist.
Now if you don't obey the laws
Set up by fat ole Santa Claus
You'll end up like Johnny, who
Got just old coal and nothing new.
I don't believe in Santa Claus;
If you must know why then it's because
He's a false god, and that is bad--
Don't worship him: it makes me sad!
If you love Santa and his bells
More than Jesus, you'll go to hell!
---
I'm not quite that bitter any more, but the sentiment always makes me smile. And whenever I hear that "Grown-up Christmas List" song, I think, "Wow, you really do pray to Santa, don't ya?"
Anyway, I realize I haven't posted very regularly lately, so I thought I'd put something up to say, "Merry Christmas!" and "I'm still kickin'!"
---
Christmas comes, and Johnny's sure
To remember what it's for,
So writes his prayer out on a list,
And, just to make sure he's not missed,
He leaves an off'ring for his god
(A greedy being, so it's not odd):
A plate of cookies and some milk,
Then goes to bed wrapped in a quilt.
He stays awake (he cannot sleep)
And so a silent vigil keeps
To see if he can hear a sound
When his god comes roaming 'round.
Then Santa Claus, his Christmas god,
On Johnny's snowy rooftop trods,
Goes down the chimney, to the table,
Eats all the cookies he is able
Then picks up Johnny's little list
And holds it tightly in his fist.
Now if you don't obey the laws
Set up by fat ole Santa Claus
You'll end up like Johnny, who
Got just old coal and nothing new.
I don't believe in Santa Claus;
If you must know why then it's because
He's a false god, and that is bad--
Don't worship him: it makes me sad!
If you love Santa and his bells
More than Jesus, you'll go to hell!
---
I'm not quite that bitter any more, but the sentiment always makes me smile. And whenever I hear that "Grown-up Christmas List" song, I think, "Wow, you really do pray to Santa, don't ya?"
Anyway, I realize I haven't posted very regularly lately, so I thought I'd put something up to say, "Merry Christmas!" and "I'm still kickin'!"
23 March 2008
Post 105
Some thoughts for Easter:
I am not opposed to Easter, but I've been thinking about it, and I think it's kinda sad that we need Easter. Please don't misunderstand: I don't mean to imply that I think it's sad that we need the Atonement of Jesus Christ; what I mean by saying I'm sad that we need Easter is--well--shouldn't every Sunday be an Easter celebration of sorts? I mean, isn't that kinda the point of assembling as Christians and breaking bread in similitude of the Last Supper, which was itself a symbol of Christ's sacrifice? And shouldn't we ponder daily on the greatness of God's Love and offer prayers of gratitude and praise? If we were really doing what we ought to be doing, how could a yearly holiday possibly add anything to our daily and weekly rituals--except for maybe the obligatory capitalization that we append to all holidays....
Now for a dramatic change in subject:
I think that loneliness is a substantial element of the human condition; it is the ubiquitous (though sometimes imperceptible) white noise of the soul--always there, just sometimes downed out by other emotions. I site the extremely young and the extremely old as my examples: I went to an Alzheimer's ward on Saturday, and it was amazing to me how lonely those folks were. I was there with my parents to visit an uncle, and some old lady walked up and grabbed my mother and I by the hands and started saying something about--I dunno--people with Alzheimer's, I quickly learned, don't make much sense even when you can understand the words they say. As soon as my dad found out what room my uncle was in, my mom pulled away from the old lady and followed my dad down the hall. The old lady clutched my hand tightly, looked into my eyes, and, nearly breaking into sobs, said, "You won't leave me--will you?" I was disarmed, and I let her pull me over to a couch, where I figured I'd sit next to her and listen to her jabber--something I was more than willing to do, given the sincerity of her loneliness--but my mother called me away, so I freed myself and went down the hall.
Of course, the old lady had Alzheimer's, so I'm sure that she quickly forgot all about it, though she seemed quite distraught at my hurried departure--but I didn't forget, and I found it very difficult to leave her. Now, I realize that, even if I had stayed and chatted with her for several hours, she would have forgotten all about it fairly quickly--I saw her less than an hour later, and she seemed to have no recollection of ever having met me, let alone of begging me to sit next to her on a couch--but the tear-filled eyes of an octogenarian, looking up at me from eyes as full of fear as a child faced with being alone in a dark room--they get to me, those eyes; they really do.
Little kids hate to be alone--hate to be alone. And I think that that is something we never really grow out of. Sure, we manage to bury the fear of solitude deep within ourselves, but I think it's always there. I am one who enjoys some alone time occasionally--indeed, I seek it out almost nightly--but I also realize that hermitizing is a crippling practice. God made us to be--
Wait a minute....
Kay, I was right: I was about to plagiarize a thmusing--unintentionally, but definitely. On 9 March 2008, Thmazing said, "Ever since I made the discovery almost a decade ago that God made us social creatures, I've never stopped riffing on the subject. Because it's true. We were built to need each other."
Right. We are social creatures--it's part of our hardwiring. And I believe that loneliness is a universal ailment. My hope is, of course, that one day I will get married, and my idle fantasy is that, from that day on, loneliness will simply go *POOF!*, but I don't really believe it. In fact, I'm afraid that, because loneliness will be less frequent, it will be far more potent when it hits.
But there is One whom we can always depend upon, One who will never leave us alone. And I imagine that no one in the history of this old world has ever been better acquainted with loneliness than He was--the most misunderstood Man to ever live, One who never had peers, One who was rejected by His own people.
Happy Easter.
I am not opposed to Easter, but I've been thinking about it, and I think it's kinda sad that we need Easter. Please don't misunderstand: I don't mean to imply that I think it's sad that we need the Atonement of Jesus Christ; what I mean by saying I'm sad that we need Easter is--well--shouldn't every Sunday be an Easter celebration of sorts? I mean, isn't that kinda the point of assembling as Christians and breaking bread in similitude of the Last Supper, which was itself a symbol of Christ's sacrifice? And shouldn't we ponder daily on the greatness of God's Love and offer prayers of gratitude and praise? If we were really doing what we ought to be doing, how could a yearly holiday possibly add anything to our daily and weekly rituals--except for maybe the obligatory capitalization that we append to all holidays....
Now for a dramatic change in subject:
I think that loneliness is a substantial element of the human condition; it is the ubiquitous (though sometimes imperceptible) white noise of the soul--always there, just sometimes downed out by other emotions. I site the extremely young and the extremely old as my examples: I went to an Alzheimer's ward on Saturday, and it was amazing to me how lonely those folks were. I was there with my parents to visit an uncle, and some old lady walked up and grabbed my mother and I by the hands and started saying something about--I dunno--people with Alzheimer's, I quickly learned, don't make much sense even when you can understand the words they say. As soon as my dad found out what room my uncle was in, my mom pulled away from the old lady and followed my dad down the hall. The old lady clutched my hand tightly, looked into my eyes, and, nearly breaking into sobs, said, "You won't leave me--will you?" I was disarmed, and I let her pull me over to a couch, where I figured I'd sit next to her and listen to her jabber--something I was more than willing to do, given the sincerity of her loneliness--but my mother called me away, so I freed myself and went down the hall.
Of course, the old lady had Alzheimer's, so I'm sure that she quickly forgot all about it, though she seemed quite distraught at my hurried departure--but I didn't forget, and I found it very difficult to leave her. Now, I realize that, even if I had stayed and chatted with her for several hours, she would have forgotten all about it fairly quickly--I saw her less than an hour later, and she seemed to have no recollection of ever having met me, let alone of begging me to sit next to her on a couch--but the tear-filled eyes of an octogenarian, looking up at me from eyes as full of fear as a child faced with being alone in a dark room--they get to me, those eyes; they really do.
Little kids hate to be alone--hate to be alone. And I think that that is something we never really grow out of. Sure, we manage to bury the fear of solitude deep within ourselves, but I think it's always there. I am one who enjoys some alone time occasionally--indeed, I seek it out almost nightly--but I also realize that hermitizing is a crippling practice. God made us to be--
Wait a minute....
Kay, I was right: I was about to plagiarize a thmusing--unintentionally, but definitely. On 9 March 2008, Thmazing said, "Ever since I made the discovery almost a decade ago that God made us social creatures, I've never stopped riffing on the subject. Because it's true. We were built to need each other."
Right. We are social creatures--it's part of our hardwiring. And I believe that loneliness is a universal ailment. My hope is, of course, that one day I will get married, and my idle fantasy is that, from that day on, loneliness will simply go *POOF!*, but I don't really believe it. In fact, I'm afraid that, because loneliness will be less frequent, it will be far more potent when it hits.
But there is One whom we can always depend upon, One who will never leave us alone. And I imagine that no one in the history of this old world has ever been better acquainted with loneliness than He was--the most misunderstood Man to ever live, One who never had peers, One who was rejected by His own people.
Happy Easter.
14 February 2008
Post 88
Happy Luv Day--I suppose.
It being Valentine's Day, I'm at a loss what to say--not because I can't think of anything but because there are just too many things to choose among! I mean, I could talk about February 14, 2004 when I dressed in drag and did a fan dance at a spaghetti dinner put on by my high school's choir--that might be fun. Or I could whine about how, of all the depraved, capitalistic holidays on our calendar, Valentine's day is the worst because you could buy a girl flowers and chocolates every day day of the year except today and still qualify as a caddish, insensitive prick--today is the day that, if your love isn't backed by presents, it's no sort of love at all. Or I could discourse on how, in my proactively naive opinion, the seeming incompatibility between men and women can be expressed clearly and easily in six little words and how I'm considering writing a book entitled Girls Are Crazy; Guys Are Dumb--it'd have the title printed in huge, flashy lettering on the cover and have nothing but blank pages inside because those six little words say it all.
Hm. Or I guess I could just list off all the things I could talk about and then not talk about any of them. Yeah. I like that idea.
It being Valentine's Day, I'm at a loss what to say--not because I can't think of anything but because there are just too many things to choose among! I mean, I could talk about February 14, 2004 when I dressed in drag and did a fan dance at a spaghetti dinner put on by my high school's choir--that might be fun. Or I could whine about how, of all the depraved, capitalistic holidays on our calendar, Valentine's day is the worst because you could buy a girl flowers and chocolates every day day of the year except today and still qualify as a caddish, insensitive prick--today is the day that, if your love isn't backed by presents, it's no sort of love at all. Or I could discourse on how, in my proactively naive opinion, the seeming incompatibility between men and women can be expressed clearly and easily in six little words and how I'm considering writing a book entitled Girls Are Crazy; Guys Are Dumb--it'd have the title printed in huge, flashy lettering on the cover and have nothing but blank pages inside because those six little words say it all.
Hm. Or I guess I could just list off all the things I could talk about and then not talk about any of them. Yeah. I like that idea.
25 December 2007
Post 61
Hey, merry Christmas everyone! Quick yuletide thought for you presented in less eloquent terms than it probably deserves:
Despite its pagan roots, to me Christmas is about the most beautifully Christian thing I can think of; really, it's an amazing metaphor. Think about it: Christmas started out as this celebration of the winter solstice but has been transformed into a celebration of the birth of our Savior--the holiday is a convert of sorts. Its trees (which originally had something to do with cultist fertility rites, I'd imagine) and candles and gifts and strange traditions glorifying unsavory things have been totally converted to the ways of Christianity, and each element has had Christian symbolism thrust upon it insomuch that its past of wickedness has been totally forgotten--just like when we repent.
Sure, our Witness friends shout out against holidays started by "ancient, false religions"--a very valid concern, in my mind--but I think that we've all come from "ancient, false" traditions in our own way and are all working toward the truth, and if Christmas can so thoroughly make such a dramatic change, why not us?
Despite its pagan roots, to me Christmas is about the most beautifully Christian thing I can think of; really, it's an amazing metaphor. Think about it: Christmas started out as this celebration of the winter solstice but has been transformed into a celebration of the birth of our Savior--the holiday is a convert of sorts. Its trees (which originally had something to do with cultist fertility rites, I'd imagine) and candles and gifts and strange traditions glorifying unsavory things have been totally converted to the ways of Christianity, and each element has had Christian symbolism thrust upon it insomuch that its past of wickedness has been totally forgotten--just like when we repent.
Sure, our Witness friends shout out against holidays started by "ancient, false religions"--a very valid concern, in my mind--but I think that we've all come from "ancient, false" traditions in our own way and are all working toward the truth, and if Christmas can so thoroughly make such a dramatic change, why not us?
31 October 2007
Post 33
Hello, Halloween; it's been so long--like, a whole year, it seems....
Today I watched The Nightmare before Christmas. That, to me, is a fascinating work of fiction; everything about it--the premise, the story, the characters, the music--everything is so unique, and I love it.
I'm a big fan of Danny Elfman anyway, though; especially since I've seen some of his non-Burton flicks--Meet the Robinsons and the live-action Charlotte's Web--he's very eclectic, very talented, and, in Nightmare, he's at the peak of his form. Nevertheless, the music is only a sidenote in this review, albeit a very important sidenote.
There is a rumor being circulated by some of my friends that I hate Santa Claus. Because this rumor is only a slight exaggeration, I've done everything I can to bolster its credulity, but in reality, I don't really hate Santa Claus; what I hate is the way Christmas has become a celebration of Capitalism (Capitalistmas, I call it) because I feel that that is very wrong.
My birthday is only a couple days before Christmas. On the first day of Christmas break during my senior year of high school, a bunch of my friends kidnapped me and took me to see the third LOTR movie. After that ridiculously long movie ended for the umpteenth time and the credits finally started rolling so I could stand up and regain circulation in my legs, we all went out to Taco Bell.
At the time, one of my closest friends--the person whom I felt understood me best--was a buddy of mine named Dominic, and he was a part of this group. This was back in my days of prolific ranting, and Dom and I did a lot of ranting together, each fueling the other's frenzy. On this particular night, sitting in Taco Bell, we went off like a pair of roman candles, attacking the modern degradation of yuletide holiness. I went home that night and started a short story that ultimately wound up being the most cynical piece I've ever written. I would include it here, but, alas, I have no access to it because the flash drive I put all my works on so I didn't have to move here with a fat stack of CD-Rs died (don't worry; those CD-Rs are safely stashed at my parents' house).
Anyway, from then on I adopted the persona of one with a passionate hatred for the Jolly Old Elf, writing angry songs and stories, slandering every facet of his character I could think of.
I kept this attitude up as a missionary, though usually only in the company of other missionaries, denying any allegations while in polite company. One summer day, after a particularly hot and frustrating round of tracting, I came home for lunch and penned the following:
Today I watched The Nightmare before Christmas. That, to me, is a fascinating work of fiction; everything about it--the premise, the story, the characters, the music--everything is so unique, and I love it.
I'm a big fan of Danny Elfman anyway, though; especially since I've seen some of his non-Burton flicks--Meet the Robinsons and the live-action Charlotte's Web--he's very eclectic, very talented, and, in Nightmare, he's at the peak of his form. Nevertheless, the music is only a sidenote in this review, albeit a very important sidenote.
There is a rumor being circulated by some of my friends that I hate Santa Claus. Because this rumor is only a slight exaggeration, I've done everything I can to bolster its credulity, but in reality, I don't really hate Santa Claus; what I hate is the way Christmas has become a celebration of Capitalism (Capitalistmas, I call it) because I feel that that is very wrong.
My birthday is only a couple days before Christmas. On the first day of Christmas break during my senior year of high school, a bunch of my friends kidnapped me and took me to see the third LOTR movie. After that ridiculously long movie ended for the umpteenth time and the credits finally started rolling so I could stand up and regain circulation in my legs, we all went out to Taco Bell.
At the time, one of my closest friends--the person whom I felt understood me best--was a buddy of mine named Dominic, and he was a part of this group. This was back in my days of prolific ranting, and Dom and I did a lot of ranting together, each fueling the other's frenzy. On this particular night, sitting in Taco Bell, we went off like a pair of roman candles, attacking the modern degradation of yuletide holiness. I went home that night and started a short story that ultimately wound up being the most cynical piece I've ever written. I would include it here, but, alas, I have no access to it because the flash drive I put all my works on so I didn't have to move here with a fat stack of CD-Rs died (don't worry; those CD-Rs are safely stashed at my parents' house).
Anyway, from then on I adopted the persona of one with a passionate hatred for the Jolly Old Elf, writing angry songs and stories, slandering every facet of his character I could think of.
I kept this attitude up as a missionary, though usually only in the company of other missionaries, denying any allegations while in polite company. One summer day, after a particularly hot and frustrating round of tracting, I came home for lunch and penned the following:
Humbuggery
Christmas Sentiments for the Not-so-Jolly
by Elder Jepson
Christmas comes and Johnny's sure
To remember what it's for
So writes his prayer out on a list,
And just to make sure he's no missed,
He leaves and offering to his god
(A greedy being, so it's not odd):
A plate of cookies and some milk
Then goes to bed wrapped in a quilt.
He stays awake (he cannot sleep)
And so a silent vigil keeps
To see if he can hear a sound
When his god comes roaming 'round.
Then Santa Claus, his Christmas god,
On Johnny's snowy rooftop trods,
Goes down the chimney, to the table,
Eats all the cookies he is able,
Then downs the milk and grabs the list
And holds it tightly in his fist.
Now, if you break the stringent laws
Set up by fat ole Santa Claus
He'll leave you coal instead of goods,
So you must do just what you should
Lest you end up like Johnny, who
Got just old coal and nothing new.
I don't believe in Santa Claus
And, if you must know, it's because
He's a false god, and that's bad;
Don't worship him, it makes me sad.
That's not the point of Christmastime
(Since you forgot, let me remind);
Christmas should be about Christ
Now go your way and get it right!
If you love Santa and his bells
More than Jesus, you'll go to hell!
Christmas Sentiments for the Not-so-Jolly
by Elder Jepson
Christmas comes and Johnny's sure
To remember what it's for
So writes his prayer out on a list,
And just to make sure he's no missed,
He leaves and offering to his god
(A greedy being, so it's not odd):
A plate of cookies and some milk
Then goes to bed wrapped in a quilt.
He stays awake (he cannot sleep)
And so a silent vigil keeps
To see if he can hear a sound
When his god comes roaming 'round.
Then Santa Claus, his Christmas god,
On Johnny's snowy rooftop trods,
Goes down the chimney, to the table,
Eats all the cookies he is able,
Then downs the milk and grabs the list
And holds it tightly in his fist.
Now, if you break the stringent laws
Set up by fat ole Santa Claus
He'll leave you coal instead of goods,
So you must do just what you should
Lest you end up like Johnny, who
Got just old coal and nothing new.
I don't believe in Santa Claus
And, if you must know, it's because
He's a false god, and that's bad;
Don't worship him, it makes me sad.
That's not the point of Christmastime
(Since you forgot, let me remind);
Christmas should be about Christ
Now go your way and get it right!
If you love Santa and his bells
More than Jesus, you'll go to hell!
One of the missionaries I was living with at the time I wrote the above had been the lead singer in a death metal band at one point. After I finished my first recitation of it, he looked at me with wide-eyed wonderment and told me that I was the first person to ever scare him, then he looked away and muttered, "You think you know a guy...."
A while later, that missionary revealed to me that he had a copy of the soundtrack to The Nightmare before Christmas hidden away. He revealed that to me by one p-day blasting "Kidnap the Santy Claus" out of his portable CD player.
I can't really explain what happened to me then because I don't really understand it myself, but I was in a very--uh--odd mood after that--and that's all I really care to say about the incident.
FLASHFORWARD approx. 1 year:
Last Sunday at Church, a friend of mine spoke in in sacrament meeting and at one point used The Nightmare before Christmas as a beautiful analogy that really struck me--not just because it was a solid analogy, but because I was shocked that a movie with a soundtrack that could put a missionary in a reckless mood could be used for such edification.
I've been avoiding that movie for years, even since before my conversation with Dom, worried what it would do to me. I saw it once when it was fairly new, but I don't think I've ever seen it all the way through since then, and I've seen parts of it on only two or three occasions. After that talk, though, I decided perhaps I ought to give it another chance.
Today I had no substitute teaching to do, and so last night I found myself dreading a long and lonely Halloween. The above mentioned friend texted me and asked me whether I had any plans, so I texted her and told her I didn't, that I wasn't even working, that I had no idea what I was gonna do; she said she would be home most of the day (she lives in my apartment complex), that she would be studying most of the day but might be able to pencil me in so we could watch a movie or something.
A copy of The Nightmare before Christmas lives here in my apartment; it belongs to one of my roommates. As I was making myself some french toast for breakfast this morning, that realization dawned on me, so this afternoon my friend and I watched it.
[I don't know how I feel about bloggers making pseudonyms for friends and family members, but the fact that they all seem to makes me wonder whether it's actually taboo to name names; that's why I'm avoiding that. Just thought you should know. Refering to someone over and over as "my friend" seems awkward--wait a minute--I named Dom's name--hmmmmmm...].
Anyway, so Sarah and I watched Nightmare today, and I really enjoyed it. Better yet, it left me feeling really--I dunno--not creepy, which was a relief since there was a girl in the room. I must admit, I did start twitching a bit during "Kidnap the Santy Claus," but I think that was mostly an act of will, to be honest.
One thing that impacted me most in the movie was the whole trying-to-be-someone-else motif thing; ya know, Jack trying to make himself and those around him become something they weren't. I think we all--well, I won't make that generalization, I guess--I know I have that tendency; I see someone who's good at something and start wishing that I was as good at that something as that someone is, even though I have my own talents and ability's. Jack was the Pumpkin King--no small position--and very good at what he did; why should he want to be Santa Claus?
On the flip side of that, though, there's the whole concept of just how hard it is to change, to become better--especially when those around you just don't understand. Furthermore, I found it very insightful that Jack's fatal mistake was when he started catering the truth of Christmas Town to the mindset of Halloween Town citizens. That's something I do occasionally: bend the truth until it conforms to the status quo in some small way. It's a terrible habit, really; luckily (or perhaps unfortunately), I have yet to be "blown to smithereens" because of it.
The most poignant moment for me, though, was when Jack was sitting in his room, pouring over his books and experiments, scientifically trying to figure out the concept of joy, singing mournfully his frustration that, despite memorizing stories and carols, he could not make sense of any of it. I, too, have done that--do that--regularly. I often--
Um. Slight tangent, here:
I'm a man of very few secrets. I'm very open about who I am and where I'm coming from--or try to be, at least. I've never been able to understand how people can be so touchy about things that they don't want to talk about them. I have a few painful memories that I don't enjoy dwelling on, but I really have no problem talking about them one-on-one in a serious moment. I think some of them are very pertinent to who and what I am, so if someone is making an effort to get to know me, and if they're the sort of person I want to get to know, I have no problem sharing this or that tidbit that many other people would keep carefully guarded. It's just all about timing and relevance.
But, because I have no control over who reads this and no way of knowing what sort of mood readers are in, there are certain things that I don't feel comfortable blogging about, so I hereby terminate the foregoing train of thought.
--end of tangent--
I guess what I'm trying to say here is that The Nightmare before Christmas is a top-notch sort of movie that I would highly recommend to most anyone.
And, because The Corpse Bride resides in this apartment as well, I hope to love it soon, too.
A while later, that missionary revealed to me that he had a copy of the soundtrack to The Nightmare before Christmas hidden away. He revealed that to me by one p-day blasting "Kidnap the Santy Claus" out of his portable CD player.
I can't really explain what happened to me then because I don't really understand it myself, but I was in a very--uh--odd mood after that--and that's all I really care to say about the incident.
FLASHFORWARD approx. 1 year:
Last Sunday at Church, a friend of mine spoke in in sacrament meeting and at one point used The Nightmare before Christmas as a beautiful analogy that really struck me--not just because it was a solid analogy, but because I was shocked that a movie with a soundtrack that could put a missionary in a reckless mood could be used for such edification.
I've been avoiding that movie for years, even since before my conversation with Dom, worried what it would do to me. I saw it once when it was fairly new, but I don't think I've ever seen it all the way through since then, and I've seen parts of it on only two or three occasions. After that talk, though, I decided perhaps I ought to give it another chance.
Today I had no substitute teaching to do, and so last night I found myself dreading a long and lonely Halloween. The above mentioned friend texted me and asked me whether I had any plans, so I texted her and told her I didn't, that I wasn't even working, that I had no idea what I was gonna do; she said she would be home most of the day (she lives in my apartment complex), that she would be studying most of the day but might be able to pencil me in so we could watch a movie or something.
A copy of The Nightmare before Christmas lives here in my apartment; it belongs to one of my roommates. As I was making myself some french toast for breakfast this morning, that realization dawned on me, so this afternoon my friend and I watched it.
[I don't know how I feel about bloggers making pseudonyms for friends and family members, but the fact that they all seem to makes me wonder whether it's actually taboo to name names; that's why I'm avoiding that. Just thought you should know. Refering to someone over and over as "my friend" seems awkward--wait a minute--I named Dom's name--hmmmmmm...].
Anyway, so Sarah and I watched Nightmare today, and I really enjoyed it. Better yet, it left me feeling really--I dunno--not creepy, which was a relief since there was a girl in the room. I must admit, I did start twitching a bit during "Kidnap the Santy Claus," but I think that was mostly an act of will, to be honest.
One thing that impacted me most in the movie was the whole trying-to-be-someone-else motif thing; ya know, Jack trying to make himself and those around him become something they weren't. I think we all--well, I won't make that generalization, I guess--I know I have that tendency; I see someone who's good at something and start wishing that I was as good at that something as that someone is, even though I have my own talents and ability's. Jack was the Pumpkin King--no small position--and very good at what he did; why should he want to be Santa Claus?
On the flip side of that, though, there's the whole concept of just how hard it is to change, to become better--especially when those around you just don't understand. Furthermore, I found it very insightful that Jack's fatal mistake was when he started catering the truth of Christmas Town to the mindset of Halloween Town citizens. That's something I do occasionally: bend the truth until it conforms to the status quo in some small way. It's a terrible habit, really; luckily (or perhaps unfortunately), I have yet to be "blown to smithereens" because of it.
The most poignant moment for me, though, was when Jack was sitting in his room, pouring over his books and experiments, scientifically trying to figure out the concept of joy, singing mournfully his frustration that, despite memorizing stories and carols, he could not make sense of any of it. I, too, have done that--do that--regularly. I often--
Um. Slight tangent, here:
I'm a man of very few secrets. I'm very open about who I am and where I'm coming from--or try to be, at least. I've never been able to understand how people can be so touchy about things that they don't want to talk about them. I have a few painful memories that I don't enjoy dwelling on, but I really have no problem talking about them one-on-one in a serious moment. I think some of them are very pertinent to who and what I am, so if someone is making an effort to get to know me, and if they're the sort of person I want to get to know, I have no problem sharing this or that tidbit that many other people would keep carefully guarded. It's just all about timing and relevance.
But, because I have no control over who reads this and no way of knowing what sort of mood readers are in, there are certain things that I don't feel comfortable blogging about, so I hereby terminate the foregoing train of thought.
--end of tangent--
I guess what I'm trying to say here is that The Nightmare before Christmas is a top-notch sort of movie that I would highly recommend to most anyone.
And, because The Corpse Bride resides in this apartment as well, I hope to love it soon, too.
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