Is Christmas the one where you’re thankful? I might be getting this confused with some other holiday, as I am old and confused though still largely continent. No, I’ll bet that’s “Thanksgiving”, because of the “thank” part. So what is it we do on this one? Do we wear something? Is this the one with the hats? No, wait, that’s “Hat Day.” Ha ha ha ha ha ha!
Of course, Christmas is always whoops! -sorry an occasion of much good-natured merriment here at Kelp Manor, where the dwarves are even hungrier than usual this time of year, for they know jolly old St. Nickisonhiswhoa. Christmas is wicked intense, don’t you think?
Anyway, thanks SO MUCH for coming to our swingin’ Christmas soiree (I believe that “soiree” is French for something you’d eat in France), where we’ll no doubt be partyin’ down groovily until the wee, wee hours. Won’t you join us? Not actually, but in the sense of reading about it later? Wow! Cooool!!!
Hey, isn’t that my wife, the cruel, devastating, yet kinda young, kinda wow Mrs. Kelp? Hi, honey! (Look, she’s waving!) What? Oh, sure! Would you like to go and briefly meet my wife, the disastrously lovely and enchanting object of my ne’er flaccid zeal, da wif, Mrs. Kelp? She’s certainly been asking about you...
Honey! Oh honey! This is those people I’ve been telling you about, the Readers? The very same! (She always used to kid that you never existed.) You must’ve scared her out of her skin! I know! I am! Really? They’re taller than I pictured, too! Me, too! She says, you guys are so tall! Ha!!! Bye!
Isn’t she wonderful? Now, let’s go over to the kitchen and see what Yolanda, our Lithuanian houth girl and tragic chef, has cooked up for this merry occasion. Ooops! Well, nothing edible, obviously! Sorry Yolanda! We’ll come back later when she’s feeling better.
Ah, you’ve noticed the dogs! More than eighteen roving, medium-to-giant size dense black dogs acting really personable and affectionate, all at once, and forming a giant, writhing mass of coursing, roiling fur! Down! Down! No! No no no!
That little one’s Checkers. Look, he’s got different color toes; what a fine canine! He’s all excited about Santa. Aren’t you, little fella? Aren’t cha? Aren’t cha? Oh, yoouuu! Aren’t they precious?
For all those of you who may have the urge to hit the author in the head with a large mallet at this point, I’d remind you that that’s not exactly the spirit of Christmas, as entirely intended by our Lord and Savior, da Nazz. The spirit of Christmas would be more along the lines of: this person is a feeb, and certainly doesn’t have the wind to sustain this for more than a page, what the hell, we’ll leave right after. It’s a time to ignore your neighbor, as he would ignore you if he even noticed you in the first place.
For even as Joseph gave unto Mary a shawl, probably (or something), at Christmas; not wrapped, because they had no money for wrapping paper, but licked clean, for Joseph wath alwayth a funny guy at holiday time. They swaddled the Babe, who hit many a long ball, as if to say, Merry Christmas to all, batting for Tidwell, and whoa! watch out for that huge, rumbling, galloping cat! A cat so insane the dogs actually seem to respect it, a cat who could and would crush you like a pancake under her thundering hooves; our only cat (even I have my boundaries); dear Bill the Cat.
But I digress...
What I really meant to say, before I so rudely interrupted myself, is that supposing Christmas was the one where you’re thankful, (which I don’t think it is), then I would be thankful for the Sopranos. I know this sounds idiotic, because I always hate to hear people talking, or worse, writing, about TV shows (in part because, usually, I’ve never seen them); but this show has gotten awfully close to my heart. It’s the first TV show I can remember that absolutely could wipe the floor with any movie released the same year. (Bad year, maybe, relatively, but still...)
The acting and the writing are both as good as it gets, and it always manages to be completely unpredictable yet somehow strangely evocative of real life. The whole cast is flawless (save Miami Steve, who looks and talks like a “Dick Tracy” villain), but James Gandolfini and Edie Falco are beyond wonderful. Folks who can’t get beyond the violence and obscenities are missing a real, nasty, funny, soulful, brutal heartbreaker.
So if Christmas is a time to be thankful for all the wonderful things we have (which it isn’t), then, well, there, “The Sopranos” is something I’m really thankful for (along with the wonderful Italian dinner we frequently get with it, from our neighbor across the street, the Grand Duchess of Garden Lane and Keeper of Tiny E, who Sticks Her Butt Way Up in the Air When You Pet Her (whooo, boy, now there’s a good sounding Indian name!) (Oof! Excuse me!)
Man, this eggnog is totally happening! Oh, jeese, now I’m getting really mushy.
OK, you guys gotta go. Yeah, yeah, merry Christmas.
No comments:
Post a Comment