When I'm feeling cranky and miserable this time of year, I like to put on the one holiday movie that's more cranky and miserable than I am. I am, of course, referring to White Christmas.
This flick, starring Bing Crosby, Danny Kaye, Rosemary Clooney, and Vera Ellen, is surprisingly enough, a musical. (What? Everyone knows Danny Kaye was best known for being a comedian.) This story is about the duo of Bob Wallace (Crosby) and Phil Davis (Kaye), who team up with the Haynes sisters to try and save a Vermont inn (owned by General Waverly, whom Bob and Phil served with in the war.) Talk about a depressing group. Bob and Phil trade barbs from the get-go, and it sometimes seems as if Bob is irritated that Phil saved his life in the war. Because it surely must be a pain in the butt to have to admit that someone saved your life. Yup, that's rough.
Betty Haynes (Clooney) and Bob start bickering as soon as they meet. Clearly, they can't stand each other. Judy Haynes wants to skip town because she owes her landlord money. Phil is still trying to figure out what was so horrible about saving Bob's LIFE in the war. So of course it's just hilarious when all four of them wind up on a train together.
These nut jobs actually start singing about snow on the train ("I'll wash my hair in snow," Clooney warbles, clearly a sign of mental instability) and actually complain when they get off the train to warm weather. It's 65 degrees, in December, in Vermont. Talk about looking a gift horse in the mouth! Though I'm sure they would have griped just as much if they'd gotten off the train in a blizzard, the ingrates.
Once Bob and Phil find out that the struggling inn that the girls are singing in is owned by their old General, they form a plan (at no small cost to themselves) to save it from financial ruin. They pay to have a cast, props, and costumes brought in to put on a huge show. They even arrange to have the event covered by a popular television show. Not only is the General not grateful, he's kind of rotten to them. He insults Bob and Phil's service as privates, and tries to re-enlist in the army. And somehow, Betty gets mad at Bob, and decides to leave town. Because he's being so selfish, trying to save the General's business and encouraging the man to try and enjoy his life as an innkeeper. I can see why she thinks he's such a jerk. (Why does she even care? When she's not smooching with Bob in the kitchen, she acts like she hates him. Then again, the woman washes her hair in snow.)
The show goes on, all of the old army men show up to cheer on their buddies and the General, and the inn is saved. The General immediately insults them all for not wearing ties, looking sloppy, and being undisciplined. (He might have muttered a thank you in there, but I can't remember.) More singing, griping, and smooching ensues, and in the end, it snows. And we all know that one good snowstorm in Vermont could keep you trapped inside until springtime. Careful what you wish for, I always say.
Yes, White Christmas is full of insults, complaints, and two gigantic ingrates (Hey General! They're saving your livelihood! And hey, Bob! Phil saved your LIFE!) So when I sound grumpy and grinchy this time of year, just remember. Someone saves my life, I say thank you.

Merry Christmas!


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Ingrate.
 
 
Warning: You may want to consider not allowing young children to read this post.  Just sayin'.

I found out this week that my husband’s family never believed in Santa Claus growing up. That Jason and his siblings never experienced the magic of believing in an elderly man who broke in to your home in the middle of the night, ate all your cookies and drank all your milk, then left to case out the neighbors’ houses, saddens me. I have many happy memories of my sister and I being huddled together in the pre-dawn hours, wondering if this was the year Santa was going to slit a few throats during his midnight cookie raid. I can’t believe anyone would deprive their children of that!

We didn’t have a fireplace in our house, so I would often wonder how Santa was going to get in. What we did have was a furnace flue, which, if you followed it from the outside in (logically, the way Santa would be traveling) ended in a rather blistering wood stove. It was a mystery to me how Santa would be able to crawl out of that wood stove fast enough to avoid being roasted alive. Mom said it was magic. Dad would just give a hearty “ho-ho-ho, let’s see the fat boy get out of this mess!” and stoke the fire. These are the types of quality holiday scenes that have been with me my whole life, and Jason didn’t have any of that.  It breaks my heart to think of all he missed out on.

And I would be remiss not to mention Santa's eight reindeer, which in our house, calculated out to about 1200 pounds of meat. In the days leading up to Christmas, Dad would turn in to Bubba Blue from Forrest Gump, listing off all of the fantastic recipes he would prepare if he could just get a clean shot on Christmas Eve. Reindeer gumbo, reindeer marsala, reindeer stroganoff, reindeer stew...Dad was a natural chef. This resulted in years of therapy for my sister and I that Jason never had the joy of experiencing, poor kid.

I was one  of those kids who professed to believe in Santa long after my peers did. Sure, I was beaten up at recess quite a bit, and nobody wanted to sit with me at lunch time in high school. But the prospect of not believing was just too scary. By that point, I'd watched such holiday classics as You’d Better Watch Out (1980) and Silent Night, Deadly Night (1984). Clearly, Santa was not someone to mess with, and if it meant that I was pelted with fruitcakes in the hallways every Christmas just because I refused to admit Santa wasn’t real, well, it was worth it. Fruitcake washes out pretty easily. Blood and entrails, not so much. This kind of peer interaction is exactly the kind of thing Jason and his siblings missed out on by not having a healthy fear of Santa in the first place.

Some parents like to scare their kids straight at the holidays by teaching them about Krampus, a vicious satyr who beats wicked children and eats them for dinner if they’ve been particularly naughty. I say, who needs Krampus when you’ve got Santa, master of breaking and entering, immune to the police, and capable of particularly brutal violence should a child stop believing? Sit the kids down for a screening of Santa’s Slay (2005) and you’ll never have yuletide behavioral problems again. Jason, Joy, and Bret missed out on all of that. I feel sorry for them, really.

Happy Holidays, everyone!
Photo courtesy of IMDB.com