December 17: Why Don't You Stop Annoying People?

Oh, why don't you stop annoying people?

George Bailey says this to Freddie Othello (Carl Dean Switzer of Little Rascals fame) when George starts to dance with Mary, his future wife, at a high school graduation celebration.  Freddie, of course, has his own ideas about Donna Reed.  Who wouldn't?  But George just swoops right in and trounces Freddie/Alfalfa's dreams.  Freddie keeps talking, and George and Mary dance away.  Of course, Freddie gets back at George by sending him into the pool for an unexpected swim, but Freddie never does get his dance with Mary.

In my lines of work (adjunct English professor and registration person at a medical office), I deal with a lot of people.  Different people, with varying levels of annoying/endearing qualities.  Some days, I can muster up a lot of tolerance for student/patient idiosyncrasies.  Other days, I want to be like George Bailey talking to Freddie Othello.  I know it's not a very Christian attitude to have, but I sometimes want to tell people to just sit down and shut up.  In the last few weeks, with the end of the semester crunch and Christmas fast approaching, I've had a very difficult time controlling my naturally sarcastic tendencies.  If you've been reading my blog for a while, you may have noticed my penchant for biting humor.  This character trait could get me in a great deal of trouble professionally if I don't control it.  Plus, it's just not very attractive.

I'm trying, in the waning days before Christmas Eve, to be more positive, less George Carlinesque.  I genuinely like most people, and I genuinely want most people to like me.  Therefore, to all the Carl Dean Switzers of the world, I vow, as part of my Christmas duty, to try to treat you nicer.  I vow to not point out your annoying habits.  I vow to tolerate your stupidity with a grin and a nod.

Just try not to piss Saint Marty off too much.  Please.

Here's a new cartoon for you:

Confessions of Saint Marty

December 16: Clarence's Inscription

The inscription above is from Clarence Odbody, the angel who comes down to Earth to help George Bailey on Christmas Eve.  Clarence has been trying for over 300 years to earn his wings, and George is his last chance.  At the end of the film, George finds a copy of Tom Sawyer by his Christmas tree.  It's from Clarence, who has a fondness for Mark Twain.  Those words are written in the book.  It pretty much sums up the entire message of the film.

I have a a new disciple on Saint Marty.  Actually, she may be new to the blog, but she's one of my oldest friends (I don't mean that in a chronological way, either).  Her name is Jody, and we have known each other for close to 20 years.  She currently resides in Georgia, and we see each other when the weather gets warm in the Upper Peninsula of Michigan and she decides to come for a visit.  The last time we saw each other, we sat down and started talking like we'd just seen each other the previous day, even though we hadn't laid eyes on each other in three or four years.  She's that kind of friend, and I miss her a great deal every day.  Therefore, I'm sending a big hug and kiss and blessing to Jody, lucky disciple number 13.

I wasn't really planning on posting again today, but seeing Jody's name reminded me of this quote from Clarence the angel.  Friends are people who can surprise you and make you smile at the same time.  Jody just did that for me.  Friends are people who, when you think of their names, make you feel good about yourself.  Jody's always done that for me.  Friends are people who will listen to you cry on the phone and cry with you.  Jody has done that with me, on several occasions.  Clarence is right.  No man is a failure who has even one person like that in their lives.

I'm not a failure, because I have Jody as a friend.  OK, I have a lot of other friends, too, but Jody has always been, well, special.  So allow me to get a little sentimental.  It's almost Christmas time, for Christ's sake.  Cut me some slack.

Jody, you are my Clarence Odbody tonight, reminding me that I'm not a failure.  That I have a friend like you.

And that makes Saint Marty pretty rich.

December 16: No Gin Tonight, Son!

No gin tonight, son!


Looks like everybody's having a little gin to me

 Peter Bailey, played by actor Samuel S. Hinds, says this to his younger son, Harry, as he's headed out the door to go to his graduation party.  At this point in the movie, the time period is around 1926 or 1927, a couple years before the Great Depression hits.  The Jazz Age is in full swing, and gin is pretty easy to get a hold of.  It's always struck me as a little funny that Mr. Bailey adds that word "tonight" in his admonition.  Obviously, it's alright for Harry to go out and get blasted on other occasion, but not when he's wearing and tuxedo and has just graduated from high school.

My wife and I are having some friends over tonight for dinner.  We're making some of our favorite dishes and appetizers.  I baked a pecan pie last night.  We hardly ever entertain or have dinner guests.  Most of the time, we eat dinner in the living room, watching TV or reading.  We are actually clearing off the dining room table and breaking out the good china.  When I spoke to my friend, he asked if he could bring anything.  I told him to bring a bottle of wine.  He was cool with that.  I also plan on picking up a bottle of Bailey's Irish Cream (no relation to George) to mix in some hot chocolate, as well.

I'm excited to have our friends over.  They're a great couple, around our ages.  Matt was just hired this fall at the university to teach creative non-fiction.  Louisa, his wife, is just plain wonderful.  They had us to their house for dinner around Halloween, so it's our turn now.  Of course, Matt is a food person.  He worked in the restaurant industry for quite a few years.  That's makes me a little nervous.  However, I keep telling myself that they are not coming to our house for the food.  They're coming to spend time with us.  The food's incidental.

There will be quite a bit of "gin" consumed this evening.  We killed a couple bottles of wine when we were at their house in October.  So, Mr. Bailey's warning is not going to work too well at our house tonight.  Then again, none of us are 18-year-olds fresh out of high school.

Peter Bailey has a stroke a few hours after giving his sage advice to his son, Peter.  He dies broken and tired, with great dreams and lots of unfulfilled desires, I would imagine.

Saint Marty intends to have some gin tonight.  Maybe some zinfandel or pinot noir, as well.

December 16: Bread...That This House May Never Know Hunger

Bread...that this house may never know hunger.

Mary and her loaf

Mary Bailey says this at the dedication of Mr. Martini's house, which was financed by her husband, George.  Mr. Martini is an Italian immigrant, and he and his wife have a good, Catholic brood of children, plus a goat.  Through George, Mr. Martini is living the American dream.  A house.  A family.  A job.  Food on the table.  Mary's gift of a loaf of bread symbolizes one of every parents' greatest fears:  no being able to feed their children.

Yesterday, I went to my daughter's Christmas program at school.  It was wonderful, full of Christmas carols and kids in cheesy costumes.  My daughter was a flower dancer in The Nutcracker.  We had a great time.

After the program was over, we picked up our daughter at her classroom to take her home.  As we were walking down the hallway toward the exit, she pointed out something posted on the wall.  It was a Christmas project in which she listed what she wished she could give to her family and school and the world for Christmas.  She pointed at what she wrote about our family and smiled.

She wrote that she would give her mommy and daddy more money so that we could move from our small house to a bigger house.  She also said that she would give us money to buy food that we like.

It was a sobering moment for me, the fact that my daughter realizes that money is really tight for our family.  I know I've said to her on a couple of occasions recently, "No, we can't buy that.  We don't have the money."  I don't even remember what she wanted me to purchase.  Obviously, my words made a big impression on her.

Don't get me wrong.  My wife and I aren't on the doorstep of poverty.  However, money is tight and getting tighter.  From week to week, I worry about paying the bills.  If my wife doesn't get a job soon (she's in the running for a permanent job as an aide for a Headstart classroom), we're going to have to make some difficult decisions.  I know that my daughter is picking up on my fears about the future.

We will never starve.  I know that.  We will never be without a roof over our heads.  I know that, too.  Clothing.  Heat.  Those are pretty much a given, also.  I just don't know where we'll be living or what we'll be eating.

That scene in front of Mr. Martini's new home in It's A Wonderful Life always manages to get me choked up.  It's because it's about a good man getting his dream.  And his dream is so simple:  a decent house, a job, a family, and food to feed his family.  Bread.  Security.

I need to let my daughter know, somehow, that we'll always have a home and bread.  I need to let her know that our house will never know hunger.

Just call me Saint Mr. Martini.