Christmas

Christmas seems different this year. That's a good thing, and I'll try to explain why.

We all know or have an idea of what Christmas is about. We also know that it can be about many things to many people all at once. And we know that Christmas, as with many holidays, can have a sad side. That side can be the heightened awareness of the things that, during less festive times, we put into neat little cubbyholes so we can carry on.

My own little Christmas Carol - Christmas of 2001

2001 was an exceptional year for me. What should have been the start of a personal triumph, returning to school, somehow got marred by some minor technical difficulties. In chronological order those would be my wife wanting a divorce, the death of my precious and wonderful grandmother, the theft and vandalizing of my car, having to pay nearly $300 to an impound lot to get the car back, and the theft of thousands of dollar's worth of tools from said automobile. Good times, good times.

Against that backdrop I decided that, although it was a stretch for my budget, I was going to drive from Florida to Virginia for Christmas to be with my family, and then to Long Island to spend New Years day with some old and very dear friends.

I had barely been on the road for an hour when, as I approached an overpass, I made eye contact with a seagull who seemed just as worried about seeing me as I was about seeing him. He tried to swerve. I tried to swerve. Physics and aerodynamics foiled his plan. A tractor-trailer foiled mine. I don't know if that bird survived, but I do know that he lost a lot of feathers and he was not going to have to go to the bathroom for a very long time. The gull rolled from my right headlight all the way along the hood, up the windshield, and hopefully took flight -- I didn't see him land. My new car now had a festive and grossly sticky white feather boa along the hood for the trip to New York. I continued driving, heart in throat, remembering the Ancient Mariner and the albatross...

Actually, the vacation went well. Christmas with the family was wonderful. On New Years day I was up in New York and met my old friends as well as some new ones. The day after that I got an early start and was pleased to find virtually no traffic -- even through the city. I considered surprising my family by stopping by again, but the radio warned of a snow storm coming from the northwest, so I pressed on. By southern Virginia I found myself riding the leading edge of that storm, impressed by the way my little car handled the snow, and noticing that the only accidents along I-95 were single car accidents involving SUV's. Ironic? Not really, but disturbing to see.

The snow kept me fairly occupied, but something kept poking at my heart. The vacation had been wonderful, but now it seemed bittersweet. I almost had too good a time. I was missing those people as I thought of the empty apartment waiting for me. I tucked it back into its cubbyhole and concentrated on driving.

My plan was to get as far south as I could -- out of reach of the snow storm. I had no real equipment to deal with being snowed in. What I didn't expect was having to drive from Suffolk County, NY, to southern Georgia in one shift. I found a place in a nice little town of which I'll never remember the name, but it had no snow, and I was exhausted from adrenalin driving. That night, alone with HBO, that cubbyhole just couldn't hold in the bitter part of the bittersweet. It was a cold, dark night, and sleep was a mercy.

I felt little better in the morning, but the shower was nice and hot, the news-people were patting me on the back for not getting caught in a freak snow storm that hit unusually far south (I later heard that many areas were snowed under for three days), and there was a free continental breakfast! Nobody knew from which continent it was, but it didn't matter.

I went back to my room and started loading my car when I heard the familiar sound of a car that didn't want to get up in the morning. A few minutes later I was all packed and ready to go, but that sleepy Crown Victoria was still there, though almost all the other cars were gone. An elderly woman walked from a room to the elderly man in the driver's seat, and I walked over, too. It seems they had driven as I had, determined to stay out of the storm, but with one minor hitch -- they were on empty when they pulled in the night before and, not surprisingly, were still on empty.

"No problem! I always carry a gas can and there's a station over by the highway. I'll be right back!" Then, as I walked to my car, I realized I was an idiot for not checking on them earlier -- my luggage was neatly stacked on top of the gas can and my toolbox. Sooooo, I loaded my stuff back into the room, hopped over to the station and back. Before the gentleman started to crank the engine I stopped him and hooked up my jumper cables since it was going to take a bit to get the gas to the injectors and I'd already heard the battery getting weak. Soon the engine started up, I put the cables and gas can in my trunk, turned around and suddenly that little old lady was hugging me. She was trembling and crying. Her husband had a Teddy Roosevelt smile going. I hugged her back and said, "Hey, not to worry. Lots of people run out of gas."

She looked up and said, "You don't understand. Nobody would help us! Everybody said they were sorry but couldn't help. They were in too much of a hurry!"

I told her I couldn't believe that -- we were in Georgia. Everybody is friendly and helpful in Georgia! She said that doesn't seem to apply to passersby, and then she tried to give me twenty dollars.

"I'm afraid I'm in too much of a hurry to take that," I said with a smile as I backed away. "It's nothing, really. Besides, you better get going. That was barely a gallon we put in there!"

I waved as they pulled away, loaded my junk back into the car, checked out and had a really nice drive down to South Florida.

It was a minor episode, but I was reminded of it recently when my pastor said, "You can't feel sorry for yourself while you're busy helping others."

Why does Christmas seem different this year? Because I've just been blessed with getting reacquainted with some old friends and making some new ones, too.

Why am I writing about this now, on Christmas Eve? To point out a simple, obvious, yet often forgotten truth. I hope you'll share it the next time you hear someone wishing it could be Christmas every day of the year (and this works for Hanuka, or Kwanzaa -- whatever day your beliefs hold sacred). Tell them it can be. Tell them all they have to do is give -- every day of the year.

Love and Peace to All

Australia

Hugh Jackman Flexes His Muscles After a Rough Day of Filming

Yesterday I went to see the movie named Australia. Some friends wanted me to let them know how it was before they spent four hundred dollars to take the family to see a movie. Let me start by saying that I am not a movie critic. I did not attend movie critic school, did not get a movie critic degree, and I am not, nor have I ever been, a member of the movie critic party. That said, I can safely write that Australia is one of those movies that I hate myself for liking.

Why the hate? Someone on TV said that this movie was like “Gone with the Wind”, only set in Australia. That person needs to be left stranded in the outback with nothing but a rabid dingo, a bottle of cheap rum, and a copy of Margaret Mitchell's novel. “Australia” is to “Gone with the Wind” as “Scooby-Doo” is to “Call of the Wild”. Had I not heard such a ridiculous comparison I might have been better able to accept the many elements that I found so disagreeable, such as:

The movie is narrated by and revolves around an aboriginal young boy who is so cute and pretty that, just as you cannot say “bomb” in an airport, it’s a federal crime to say, “Michael Jackson” during this movie. Is this a children’s movie? Well, it has the feel of it - at first...

The first half hour or so has so many instances of Nicole Kidman’s character acting appalled/outraged/offended/mortified that you’re not sure if this is supposed to be a comedy - for children.

(Spoiler Warning - some story details from the movie)

Getting back to the children’s movie conspiracy theory, once you're charmed by the child, he comes face to face with a freshly murdered white man, complete with protruding spear tip. Later the child and his mother hide in a water tank and his mother drowns (never mind that the mother had no reason to hide and did not join him on previous such occasions). A friend is shown before, during, and after he is killed by stampeding cattle. But things lighten up considerably when Japan attacks Australia, one woman is killed by bombs, another friend is shot by the Japanese, and the antagonist, who is actually the boy’s father, shoots at the boy with a rifle. There’s more, but why spread too much good cheer around before the holidays? So, while it has elements your child will find enchanting, you might ask if these other scenes are what you want your child to see.

Clichés and the overused plot devices/twists abound like swarms of Japanese airplanes.

Aborigine magic works and doesn’t work according to when it suits the script.

Reality checks bounce. And bounce. And bounce. Examples? A Chinese family cook in a country and time where Asians were prohibited. The Japanese on land can see a very dark aboriginal man running on the beach and take him down with one shot at night, yet they don’t notice the big white sailboat behind him on which everybody else is escaping. A child under Hugh Jackman’s arm mysteriously turns into a rifle, which also disappears and reappears several times. Japanese planes drop bombs on ships and torpedoes over buildings -- probably just continuity/editing gaffs, but this could explain how the Allies beat the Japanese. In fact, the Japanese never landed on any territory during the raid (unless you count the two to four Japanese aircraft shot down), and didn’t use any torpedoes at all.

So, why did I like it? In my defense I can only point my finger at the cast and say, “THEY started it!” Nicole Kidman is lovely. She’s also quite lovely. And then there’s the fact that Nicole Kidman is lovely. Hugh Jackman is engaging and inspires us to work out -- he now looks like he could kick Wolverine’s butt. In fact, if he’s not careful, Hugh Jackman’s accent is going to switch from Australian to Austrian. Most of all, you want these two crazy kids to get together.

There are some other nice touches, such as Bryan Brown, in exile since “Cocktail”, as the not-entirely-bad bad guy and several other cast members that you know from somewhere but you’re not quite sure from what show. Oh! There’s a member of the Fellowship of the Ring, David Wenham! It’s good - they saved a lot of money in “Australia” by using Australian actors. Of course, there’s the terminally cute little boy, Brandon Walters. No painter, no cartoonist, no anime/animation artist could possibly create such an adorable, sympathetic character. Diabetics beware – your sugar levels will skyrocket. Mothers, bring Ritalin.

So, though I felt emotionally manipulated, the audience actually applauded (Do the projectionists take a bow up there in that little booth when people applaud?). Then everyone rushed for the bathrooms – the movie is two and three-quarter hours long.