The Nutcracker Theory
First, a very special welcome to Benjamin Biechler, a hefty young man who can look forward to a life of being cheated out of really terrific birthday presents, thank you Santa Claus. Lil' Ben was born on Saturday to my sister-in-law and brother-in-law, Kelly and Jim. I'm told the labor was long and not without incident, but, hey. The kid's out, right?
Seriously, congratulations and here's wishing a speedy recovery to poor Kelly. This is child number four, which is enough to leave any tough-as-nails woman pooped.
So, I guess I'm an uncle. Again. (I always feel a little guilty saying that, though. I love these kids to death, but I can't help but feel as if marrying into unclehood is a pretty sneaky way to do it. In fact, whenever Leah, Luke and Hannah refer to me as "Uncle Jeremy", there's a tiny part of me that wants to assure them that they don't have to call me that if they don't want to. Just "Jeremy" is fine. Or "Jer". Or "dude". Or "lame-o". Or "my Aunt Carey settled for you? What, are you kidding?")
...
A week or so ago, Carey and I were driving past the Long Beach Convention center and we noticed an advertisement to the various performances of The Nutcracker. "Oh," said Carey. "The Nutcracker."
"Yeah," I said.
"Hm."
"Maybe we should go see it," I said. "After all, it's Christmas."
"...Yeah..."
"Ah, screw it. Who cares about the friggin' Nutcracker? Actually, you know, now that I think about it? I don't think ANYONE really likes The Nutcracker. I mean, do you?"
"Well, it's... not really."
And it's true.
Everybody thinks, 'oh, it's Christmas, I've gotta go out and do something that makes me feel Christmassy and cultured. How about The Nutcracker?' Meanwhile, it's drudgery. NOBODY'S having as good a time as the dancers. You're sitting there for an hour, listening to all this music that you thought you'd remember but nothing's ringing a bell. You thinking, 'when are the Sugarplum Fairies coming out? Give me something, here!' Then, the Sugarplum Fairies eventually do come out and they're an enormous disappointment. Then another hour of praying for this thing to end. The only upside to this wretched production is being able to tell people you went to see it, proving you're some kid-at-heart intellectual. And, of course, you're obligated to tell everyone it's wonderful.
I told Chad my theory and he said, "I don't know. I think women like it."
"They do?"
"Well... they say they do..."
Seriously, congratulations and here's wishing a speedy recovery to poor Kelly. This is child number four, which is enough to leave any tough-as-nails woman pooped.
So, I guess I'm an uncle. Again. (I always feel a little guilty saying that, though. I love these kids to death, but I can't help but feel as if marrying into unclehood is a pretty sneaky way to do it. In fact, whenever Leah, Luke and Hannah refer to me as "Uncle Jeremy", there's a tiny part of me that wants to assure them that they don't have to call me that if they don't want to. Just "Jeremy" is fine. Or "Jer". Or "dude". Or "lame-o". Or "my Aunt Carey settled for you? What, are you kidding?")
...
A week or so ago, Carey and I were driving past the Long Beach Convention center and we noticed an advertisement to the various performances of The Nutcracker. "Oh," said Carey. "The Nutcracker."
"Yeah," I said.
"Hm."
"Maybe we should go see it," I said. "After all, it's Christmas."
"...Yeah..."
"Ah, screw it. Who cares about the friggin' Nutcracker? Actually, you know, now that I think about it? I don't think ANYONE really likes The Nutcracker. I mean, do you?"
"Well, it's... not really."
And it's true.
Everybody thinks, 'oh, it's Christmas, I've gotta go out and do something that makes me feel Christmassy and cultured. How about The Nutcracker?' Meanwhile, it's drudgery. NOBODY'S having as good a time as the dancers. You're sitting there for an hour, listening to all this music that you thought you'd remember but nothing's ringing a bell. You thinking, 'when are the Sugarplum Fairies coming out? Give me something, here!' Then, the Sugarplum Fairies eventually do come out and they're an enormous disappointment. Then another hour of praying for this thing to end. The only upside to this wretched production is being able to tell people you went to see it, proving you're some kid-at-heart intellectual. And, of course, you're obligated to tell everyone it's wonderful.
I told Chad my theory and he said, "I don't know. I think women like it."
"They do?"
"Well... they say they do..."
posted by Jeremy Bear at
4:27 PM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home