I have a problem, but I’ve already admitted to it. I’m hoping a little public embarrassment of myself might help me further deal with the issue. I like Christmas movies. A lot. I like them way more than anyone my side of 30 should — under any circumstance.
This past weekend (yes, short of Thanksgiving), I sat down and watched a couple, and this is ridiculous. Even I know I shouldn’t have put my Blu-Ray of National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation into the PS3 yet.
But I couldn’t help myself, and I did it anyway.
This has become a real problem in my household. I had to set up a rule that Elf, the delightful Will Ferrell comedy of a wayward Santa helper in yellow tights, can only be viewed between Thanksgiving Day and Christmas Day.
That’s it or else we might watch it 20 times a year, and that just seems excessive.
I might have to do the same with Christmas Vacation. I know most of the lines and still laugh. I disregard all of the plot elements that make the movie, released in 1989, wildly unrelatable to today’s culture.
I don’t care.
Clark Griswold is the last true family man for me, and he’s kind of a hero. To me, at least, Chevy Chase’s character will always resonate, regardless of season.
I’m sure I’ll watch Vacation at least three more times this year (note: possible conservative estimate). There will be others: How the Grinch Stole Christmas (Jim Carrey live action and cartoon original), Elf and other various seasonal specials. I’m a huge Rankin/Bass fan — those old timey, stop motion animations.
You know the ones — as long as you are 30 or older, that is.
I’m already convinced that I need my son to share in my affinity for holiday movies, but that’s going slowly. Cale is just 15 months old at this point, and he hasn’t discovered the distractions of television. This should be a good thing, but I just wanted him to sit down with me Sunday evening and enjoy a movie or two.
Instead, Cale spent the time mostly walking in circles holding his cup of milk or babbling incoherence while Rankin/Bass’ Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer played while he remained mostly oblivious. This was crushing to my ego.
I cared infinitely more for the misfit deer than did my son. Not good.
I’m chalking this one up to youth and indifference. I just know that he’s going to learn to love Christmas movies, perhaps some time on Christmas Eve as I giggle about the leg lamp on A Christmas Story. After all, TBS will have it on for 24 hours straight, and it will be on my TV — or those of my hosts — for about 16 of those.
I need to get this under control.
Ross Martin is publisher of The Citizen. He may be reached via email at email@example.com. Follow him on Twitter: @Citizen_Ross.