almost okay

Dear Lyzako,

There's steady drizzle this morning with more rain expected in the next two days and highs surpassing forty degrees. At that rate the springlike weather will all but erase last weekend's snowfall and leave the prospects for a white Christmas in serious jeopardy.

Speaking of a 'White Christmas', just last night I was watching the Bing Crosby/Danny Kaye classic on channel 20, my rabbit ears unable to snag anything else of interest besides pro wrestling and both (that's right both!) of those shows where contestants have to remember the lyrics to songs. (By the way, what genius of media programming decided to pit 'The Singing Bee' and 'Don't Forget The Lyrics' head-to-head in the very same time slot? Suppose those viewers who like one of them also like the other? It would have been like putting 'The Addams Family' on opposite 'The Munsters' way back in the day. Unthinkable.) Since I find both of the singing shows unwatchable and wrestling has become such a ridiculously dramatic, over-choreographed parade of oiled-up, shaved-down steroid users, I had little choice other than 'White Christmas' short of popping in a tape from my own collection, which sheer laziness prevented me from doing.

It had been years since I'd seen anything more than a snippet of the movie. And, while it is far from gripping in subject matter and storyline, I was impressed by how easily I made it to the end, got sucked up in the somewhat smarmy plot and sub-plot, all the while substituting my usual cans of Blue for the more traditional Christmas cheer of eggnog and hot toddies.

Typically I detest the movie musical, but I managed to sit through the entire two hours with little or no distraction, found myself longing for the 1950s, when a person could feel 'gay' and just say it. Bing Crosby and Danny Kaye both felt 'gay' in the flick. So did Rosemary Clooney. They said so without shame. Sometimes that's just how a person feels - especially around holiday time, and it troubles me that telling someone I feel 'gay' in 2007 would automatically cause them to assume that I'm speaking in terms of sexual orientation, and not just describing the carefree, happy and light feeling that the term was originally meant to express.

Even if you told your best buddy you felt 'gay', I bet he'd assume that you were eying his package. You might even experience injury when the testosterone kicks in and he decides to overcompensate for his own latent homosexual leanings by punching you in your 'pretty little faggot mouth'. And you and I both know that just isn't right.

But I did feel 'gay' watching the movie. Bing Crosby 'gay'. Gay Nineties 'gay'. Not rainbow bumper sticker 'gay'. Not Gay Pride 'gay'. Just light and happy. Yes, I'm sure of it. And yes, that's all.

Aside from feeling 'gay', one of the other things that struck me was how somebody sitting at a ski resort in Vermont could have absolutely no clue as to if or when it would ever snow again, as was the case in the story. I had to remind myself that in 1954 there weren't hundreds of satellites orbiting the planet, taking photos and video and relaying all sorts of useful information back to earth, some of it used to predict weather patterns. Weather satellites wouldn't become a regular part of our world for nearly a decade, and nowadays - over a half-century later, when it comes to snowfall we generally know timing and total accumulation as much as forty-eight hours prior to the actual event. Plus or minus a reasonable margin of error, of course.

Anyway, I caught myself humming along at the end of the movie, mimicking Bing when I actually knew the lyrics. I was feeling 'gay' alright - carefree, happy and light, and not just from the beer. I also felt safe and warm against the weather in my basement, remembered how I felt just a week ago when the snow was piling up and there was still some question as to how much we would get. I imagined I was actually living in 1954, imagined that I had looked to the sky earlier and figured it looked like snow, imagined I was watching the only channel available to me via rabbit ears.

I closed my eyes and the decades slipped away.

Two hours later I woke up with my chin on my chest, an aching neck and a half-empty can of Blue still in my hand. Guess what. I'd been dreaming about a 'white Christmas'! Talk about feeling 'gay'!

Holiday Well Wishes,
Santa Sherman