Memories of Christmas Past (or, Why Modern Technology Has Taken the "Special" out of the "Christmas Special")

I got home today from work, excited that "A Charlie Brown Christmas" was airing tonight. No matter how many times I've see them, all those holiday shows like "Rudolph," "Frosty," and "The Grinch" have that same transportive power -- they all take me back to the mid- to late-70s, popping (or, most likely, burning) the shake it 'til you break your arm Jiffy Pop popcorn, sitting on the plaid sofa with my brother and parents under the multicolor yarn-scrap afghan knitted by my Cioci Elizabeth, waiting for that super-cool CBS SPECIAL bumper to introduce each show.

You know the one, that starts with this acid-trip graphic:









That turns into this:










In the Pownall house, countdowns always need to happen before something actually happens. So at 7pm, I told the boys that we would be going up for showers at 7:30, so we could watch Charlie Brown at 8. All was running smoothly until I told our older son, Jake, that we'd all be watching TV together until the show was over at 9, and then it would be bed time.

To which he responded, "But mom, I really wanted to get on the computer tonight. Can't we DVR Charlie Brown and watch it another night? What if I just watch the first half? Can I go on the computer at 8:30?"

Watch HALF of Charlie Brown? But you'll miss seeing the kids dancing those silly dances during rehearsal. Miss hearing Linus's speech about the real meaning of Christmas. Miss Charlie Brown smiling as the Peanuts gang sings "Hark the Herald Angels Sing" over the end credits? Is all of THIS worth missing for round 4,301 of Angry Birds? Isn't family time more important than gaming? Isn't tonight the very definition of special?? AREN'T WE MAKING MEMORIES FOR A LIFETIME, GODDAMN IT??

And what I realized is that, sadly, Charlie Brown isn't special to my son's generation. Neither is Frosty, Rudolph, or any of those other "classics" of the season. And it's not their fault. When I was growing up, these cartoons only came on once a year. If you were being punished that night or (God forbid!) your school was so unfortunate as to have scheduled their annual Christmas pageant (back when you could call it a Christmas pageant) on the same night, you were out of luck for another 365 days.

It makes me wonder what will be the "Christmas classics" of my sons' generation, when you can watch Hoopes and YoYo Save Christmas or Christmas in Bikini Bottom hundreds of times each season if you wanted to.

Given today's overreliance on instant electronic gratification, kids can't understand that there was a time (not that long ago) when destination television was exactly that -- you caught it when it was on, or you were SOL for another year. These days, a show can re-air multiple times throughout the Christmas season (considering it now runs from November 1st until January 1st). And even if you miss these reruns, you can always hulu it, youtube it, upload it, buy it on Blu-Ray at Target for $12.99, or get a bootleg copy for $7 on a folding table at 41st and Market.

And so the war waged in my head tonight: do I kick tradition to the curb and keep the peace in my house by letting my son play on the computer, or do I dig in and force him to enjoy my holiday traditions.

I'm happy to report that we all dug in. Not only did we make it through A Charlie Brown Christmas, but we also watched the newer Peanuts Christmas shorts that came afterwards. And everyone had a smile on the face, at least most of the time, anyway.

Charlie Brown: 1; Angry Birds: 0

Way to go, old Chuck!!

C is for Cookie...And That's Really F---ing Annoying!

Yesterday, I went out at lunch with a coworker. We decided to treat ourselves to something yummy at DiBruno Bros on Chestnut Street (or is it Walnut Street? I can never tell them apart unless I'm driving).

I approach the pastry case, I immediately eye up the cranberry gingerbread bar with cream cheese frosting. I am a sucker for these at Starbucks during the Christmas season, and although there are two Starbucks, each one block away from where I work, I hardly ever indulge at work (mostly because I am always running late for work and I hate waiting in the long Starbucks lines downtown).

I decide to give the DiBruno Bros. version a try, confident that theirs will be yummier, fresher, and more satisfying than whatever has been mass-produced in the Starbucks case two blocks down the street. The only thing separating me from immediate powdered sugar and cream cheese euphoria --- the well-coifed Rittenhouse Square wife ahead of me in line.


In the pastry case, there are six classic holiday options: a gingerbread man, an ice skate, a mitten, a wreath, a snowflake, and some undefinable shape with white frosting and red and green squiggly lines on it. I'm thinking that I probably have about 2 minutes until sugar satisfaction.


Wifey starts her order. It goes something like this:

"I'll have one skate, one wreath. Hmmm...I guess...I guess one snowflake."

{Pause, as she scans the case}

"And one gingerbread man."

"A blue mitten." (Perhaps worth noting that blue is the only color that the mittens come in)

"How much does that weigh?"

The guy behind the counter takes the box to the scale. "A little less than a pound, miss. You can probably get one more cookie in there."

I snarkily think to myself that this woman hasn't chronologically been a "miss" in about a decade, but whatever. I HATE being called "m'am", and I'm pretty sure that the young DiBruno Bros. workers are instructed to ALWAYS refer to women of a certain age by "miss," just to keep the clientele happy.

Back at the cookie case, she scans the trays again and asks the guy, "Can you show me what that white frosted one looks like outside the case?"

Outside the case? The case is clear glass, so I'm not sure how different it's going to look outside the case as opposed to inside it. The counter guy obliges and lifts the cookie off the tray and into the air for her approval. He doesn't appear to be phased by this request, so I assume that this type of interaction with high-maintenance, overprivliged women (whose husbands work 80-hours a week, and who pay someone to clean their house and nanny their children so "mommy" can get some well deserved "me time"), is standard operating procedure in the Rittenhouse Square area.

"Well, I don't know what that is, but I guess I'll take that one, too."

Depending on how fast you read, it probably seems like this interaction took all of about two minutes. But trust me when I tell you that it went on for five minutes.

With the addition of the unidentifiable cookie shape, her order is complete. Heavenly cream cheese goodness can't be long now.

"I think I'll get another box. A pound this time."

My heart sinks. And the cycle repeats:

"One mitten."

"One, no make that two, skates. I guess a gingerbread man."

"A white thing. And one wreath."

That's six cookies. Five minutes ago, six cookies equaled a half-pound, so we're halfway there.

"Can you weigh that, please?"

The counter guy obliges. Hey, at least she said "please."

"Almost a half-pound."

At this rate, I'm thinking that the math is kinda like a word problem that most third graders could probably figure out:

QUESTION: A woman goes into a bakery. If there are six cookies in a half-pound, how many cookies does the lady need to order to equal a full pound?

Seemingly perplexed, the woman scans the case again. You can tell by her careful deliberation that these types of ornamental decisions are the only ones that this woman ever makes.

"Oh, I don't know."

"Two more wreaths and a gingerbread man. How many is that?"

"Nine, miss. You can probably get about four more."

"A skate, and a mitten."

"And two snowflakes. Can you weigh it again?"

"A little over a pound, miss. Is that OK?" I detect a slight air of desperation from the counter guy.

At this point, I'm thinking, "Please God, don't let her ask to do something like snap the blade off the skate to bring the weight to an even pound." I know most people would never ask something like that, but with this woman, anything (And I mean ANYTHING) is possible.

"That's fine."

Amen!! A true Christmas miracle! After almost ten minutes in line, I can order my dessert. After I pay, I find my coworker, who apparently sampled a fine array of gourmet cheeses from around the world while I was in line. So jealous! And so exasperated that I couldn't even eat my cranberry bar, so great was my need to vent to her immediately on our walk back to the office.

Meanwhile, back at the office, I had my cranberry gingerbread bar. And, damn it if it didn't taste anywhere near as yummy as Starbucks'.

Courtney Love's doll parts are, once again, on display (yes, again)

Browsing my AOL news feed yesterday, I saw that Courtney Love was up to her typical "pay attention to me" highjinx that usually precedes a stint in rehab for undisclosed substance abuse (ahem...heroin) or a botched cosmetic surgery. While onstage in Brazil, Mrs. Cobain took the opportunity to curse out audience members for holding up pictures of her deceased husband/legend, call the Foo Fighters "gay," take off her shirt, and parade around like carnivale.

Because I am still (although, barely) in my 30s, I'm trying to understand what 47-year-old woman thinks that anyone wants to see her boobs (see, perhaps: heroin), especially under unflattering strobe lighting and without the benefit of some serious underwire. But let's face it, Courtney's doll parts have already been on display in various movies, pictorials, fashion ads, and concerts over the last two decades.

Of course, the reality is that no one at the show (or on youtube) saw anything they hadn't seen before, and probably better, back in Courtney's trashed babydoll mid-90s heyday, which is probably when her last bit of musical relevance expired.

But it got me thinking. Last week, I overheard Joan Jett's awesome ode to loving her body: "Do You Wanna Touch?" Honestly, this song sounds as wonderful today as it did 25 (!!) years ago. And it got me thinking about how Joan owned her sexuality not by playing concerts that disintegrated into tacky peep shows and leveling insults about the sexuality of other, more successful musicians in the industry, but by strumming her guitar, giving the rock boys' club the extended middle finger, and putting on an awesome show in tight black leather.


Oh, to wonder what Kurt Cobain thinks of his shambles of a soulmate, who apparently has nothing to do now but strive to be the exhibitionist face of Girls Gone Wild, Post-Menopause edition. Where is Joe Francis when you need him?

Two parents, two kids, two dogs, too tired

Inspired by my literate coworker, Karen, I've decided to get back to blogging. It has been so long since I blogged that I completely forgot my password and had to have everything reset. But considering that I forget my Yahoo/Snapfish/Beneficial Saving Bank/PayPal/etc username and/or password at least once every six months, I guess the amnesia was bound to happen after a two-year absence.

Life has changed a lot since I last blogged in 2009. Facebook came along, which basically rendered blogging unnecessary for me -- although the character limits placed on status updates often yielded seriously truncated musings on important topics like, "Counting down to Duran Duran concert," "I just saved $62 thanks to coupons!," and "Pumpkin spice lattes are so yummy!"




We are now a family of four, thanks to the adoption of our son, Ayden. This has also rendered my screenname ("mommy2jake") sort of inaccurate, since I am now a mommy to two. For those who think it's funny to ask if we'll be trying for a girl, I bluntly offer, "No. We are done. Two parents, two kids, two dogs, too tired."

Our sons, who are now 7 and 5, are doing things like math, reading, and practicing death-defying (and mommy stress-inducing) wrestling moves in the hopes of being picked up by Vince McMahon for some sort of Jr. WWE circuit. They also alternate between telling us they love us and wishing that they lived in other houses. I guess this is the circle of life that Mufasa missed out on with young Simba. God bless Scar!

There is so much to write, but so little time, since I'm actually doing this on the work clock. Anyway, glad to be back in the digital world. Hope to interface with you all soon!