What? More Elliott Smith? Deal with it. It was either this or Katy Perry.
“All Cleaned Out” / Elliott Smith (2007)
It takes a very special sort of person to watch television with me. I fidget, I gasp, I sometimes weep uncontrollably and I get real close to the screen when something exciting is happening. In short, I’m fucking annoying.
[Tangent: Weirdly enough, though, I don’t usually talk to the television. The program I’m watching has to be very bad (read: not holding my interest) for me to start trying to engage with the people on the screen. Otherwise, I’m silent. Except for the gasping and weeping and fidgeting, of course. End tangent]
Last night, I watched the Hallmark Hall of Fame made-for-TV movie November Christmas – by myself, with no one else in the room. This turned out to be a good thing. Oh, jeez.
Here’s the plot: there’s a little girl with cancer living in a small town. In effort to give his daughter as many holidays as possible before, well, you know, her Daddy speeds up the calendar (Halloween in August, etc;). A local Christmas tree farmer whose own son died many years ago as a young boy joins the cause. Near-intolerable gut-wrenching emotions ensue. Holy moly.
I started out sniffling and occasionally dabbing at my eyes with my sleeves. When I realized that the cuffs of my shirt were basically sopping wet, I got up for tissues. Again. And again. Finally I brought the entire box into the room with me. And moved the trash can next to me. Seriously, I should have been better prepared for the Weepy Waterfall, because this happens to me all. the. time.
At first, I thought that these incredibly visceral reactions were a sign of great film-making. But then I started to get choked up at a Kodak film commercial once and realized that I’m just a sap. I mean, I can’t watch Extreme Makeover Home Edition without at least four boxes of tissues at my side. It’s ridiculous. And holding it in makes it that much worse. The first time I saw The Notebook I was at a friend’s house with a large group of people. Not wanting to be “that girl,” I tried to hold it in and ended up kind of gasping and shuddering on the couch as if I was having some kind of fit. Until I realized everyone else was trying to do the same.
Maybe I’m not so weird after all?