I am not particularly fond of most Christmas movies. I have long enjoyed How The Grinch Stole Christmas (the cartoon version), but my hands-down favorite is National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation, much to Janie’s chagrin. I watch it every year, mostly to punish her for that time her family made me watch Jesus Christ Superstar and I didn’t know them well enough to be comfortable leaving in the middle of What’s The Buzz to go sit in the car, puffing on some smokes while listening to Marilyn Manson until it was over. There is a tie for my least favorite Christmas movie between It’s A Wonderful Life, which should be retitled as It’s a Tragic Waste of Two Hours of Your Life, and A Christmas Story, which should be retitled I’d Rather Shoot My Eye Out Than Watch This Movie One More Time.
Janie’s family loves the movies I hate and hates the movies I love. This is the fundamental flaw in our relationship. Couple this with my distaste for all things Jimmy Stewart and you’ll probably understand why they only want to see us twice a year. The pain is just too much – to sit across the table from their daughter and her partner who has bad taste in movies. You see, Janie’s dad is a movie critic, and he spends his days watching film after film, pining for the days when poop humor was nearly illegal.
Last night Janie and I watched Knocked Up because we’d heard from nearly everyone we knew that it was hilarious. We sat in complete silence for the first 30 minutes and finally decided to turn it off because, oh my good lord, that was a bad movie. And maybe, suddenly, for the very first time, I understood what Janie’s parents will go through when they come over this afternoon and I make them watch The Oh in Ohio.