There are a Million Things to Be

Last November, just before all the holidays kicked in, I made the reluctant decision to get cable TV (which then expanded into the internet/phone/tv bundle -- you know, to save money). I must admit that having been without cable TV for two years (as a conscious decision, rather than out of necessity), I had completely forgotten what I was missing. In fact, I didn't realize I was missing anything since I was able to watch my favorite television programs online at a variety of sites including cable and network websites. I still catch missed episodes on sites such as surfthechannel.com and alluc.org. And, of course, I HAVE to watch the new episodes of Doctor Who when they air in the UK rather than wait a whole year for them to cross the pond. (I think my nerdiness in that area is well-established.)

One of the things that I missed the most about having access to a wide range of useless programming was the comfort it brings me when I am home sick. Sadly, just after Thanksgiving, I was able to realize this benefit. I'm not exactly sure where the comfort lies. It could be the sheer distraction of a Comedy Central movie that doesn't require much (if any) thought. Perhaps it is the engrossment in the National Geographic channel programming about the solar system or our own planet (not to mention Cesar Millan, The Dog Whisperer -- my new obsession even though I will probably never own a dog). It may be the nostalgia of watching Match Game or M*A*S*H. Whatever it is, I am glad to have it back. Of course, this has lead me into some very bad habits even when I am NOT recovering from a nasty gastrointestinal bug. Take today for instance. It snowed. A lot. Not so much that the world (or even my county) came to a screeching halt, but enough that once I saw it I decided to hibernate. Yes, all day in front of the TV. To be fair, this plays out in reality as the TV being on and me running up and down the stairs through the house doing chores or small projects. (One benefit of having arthritis is the physical inability to sit in one place for any length of time.) Still, I managed to watch two movies that got me both nostalgic and hopeful in regards to my love life. (Yes, I know. WHAT love life?)

The first movie I watched was Marty with Ernest Borgnine. If you've never seen this movie, add it to your Netflix queue straight away. It's the story of a thirty-five year old unmarried Italian butcher living in New York City with his mother. Everyone (especially his mother) is nagging him about finding a girl and, after a particularly disappointing brush-off from a woman, he figures he'll just be a bachelor his whole life (remind you of anyone?--Thank you Craig Ferguson). I won't spoil the movie for anyone. I'm not one of those types of people who will say "Hey, is this the movie where the father dies in the end?" However, I am also not naive enough to think that my readers can't figure out the classic Hollywood formula all on your own. (And there is one reader in particular who I am certain knows the ending.) Suffice it to say, the best line in the movie is "You know, us dogs aren't really so much of the dogs that we think we are."

The other movie I watched today is one of my all-time favorite movies: Harold & Maude. I think that there are movies and characters that I (and probably most people) internalize and keep as part of what makes me who I am to the world. This movie is one of those for me (as is "Philadelphia Story" with Katherine Hepburn, Cary Grant and Jimmy Stewart). I haven't decided whether this trait makes me less of myself or more; but I suppose, like with anything else, it is simply just another part of who I am. The fact that the part comes from somewhere outside of me, rather than some internal revelation, shouldn't make a difference. If you're reading this and you know me very well, you may think I identify with Bud Cort's character who is all doom and gloom and turning away from life (and I wouldn't blame you); but, in fact, it's Ruth Gordon's character I keep inside of me. She will be turning 80 years old and meets Harold who is just a young man of twenty. They develop a deep friendship in which she imparts her unique perspective on life to him. That perspective includes (among so many other things) her stealing cars in part to remind people not to get so attached to things. She enjoys living life and wants Harold to enjoy it as well. I can't give you my favorite quote from the movie since it will spoil the ending. But, I can end with the song from the movie written by the former Cat Stevens: If You Want to Sing Out, Sing Out.