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I Have Room Here In My Handbasket

The other morning I walked in on Jackson watching this:

Me: “WHAT IN HELL ARE YOU WATCHING?”

Jackson: “South Park.”

Me: “WHO SAID YOU COULD WATCH SOUTH PARK?”

Jackson: “Dad.”

Me: “OH MY GOD TURN IT OFF! TURNITOFFTURNITOFFTURNITOFF.”

My son, who simply could not fathom what my problem was, calmly paused the TV. So not only were we able to enjoy looking at the image even longer, but the more time I spent with it there in the room, the more I felt magically compelled to talk about it.

Me: “That is horrible, I can’t believe . . . do you know what that is?”

Jackson: “It’s Steve Jobs.”

Me: “No, the . . . the human centipede.”

Jackson: “Wait, it’s a real thing?!”

Me: “Oh, God help us all, no, it’s a movie.”

Jackson: (politely) “Would you tell me more about it?”

This, as we know, is my curse. The curse of explaining things to my child — movie plots, specifically — that scar him for life. Fortunately, I’ve been doing some brain training, part of which involves impulse control, so I was pretty happy that for once I managed to restrain myself. Are you relieved that this won’t be a post about explaining the human centipede movie to my son?

Instead, I managed to convince him that I needed to get him out of the house and take him to the movies in order to write something decent folk would want to read. I suggested The Big Year, as it seemed gentle and PG and friendly, but yet another Owen Wilson movie wasn’t enough to get Jackson out of bed on a Sunday afternoon. Real Steel, however, was.

I hadn’t considered wanting to see a movie about boxing robots until I checked the listings and realized Hugh Jackman was in it. I am somewhat confused by the existence of Hugh Jackman, in the same way that deer are confused by powerful, fast-moving cars with bright headlights driving straight toward them. Fortunately, one of my Twitter friends was able to straighten me out.

(Here’s that bit.lypAk214 link.)

I don’t go in for a lot of celebrity crushes, but in the past year I’ve come up with a short list. I will share it with you now, because I trust you and can be vulnerable around you.

  1. Hugh Jackman
  2. Dax Shepard in Parenthood, but I liked him in Baby Mama, too (who doesn’t want to win arena football tickets?)
  3. Tilda Swinton in I Am Love — I’m not sure whether I want to be her or just gaze at her in wonder

And that’s it. My affections are efficient, if not broad. Actually, I will also admit to having a small thing for Jason Bateman, but only when he’s wearing a suit. And oh my lord, Terence Howard, stop it. Just stop.

I’m afraid this post has nothing to do with Real Steel, which I recommend seeing with a ten-year-old boy, if at all possible. Not mine, but maybe you can borrow someone else’s.

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