Suburbs of Our Discontent

I've been de-wallpapering and painting my house for seven years. It started when we moved into it, and this past weekend I was doing it some more.

I have measured out my life in bottles of Dif and paint rollers. If you don't know what Dif is, congratulations. If you do, my condolences.

I feel like I'm living that "time passes" sequence in "It's A Wonderful Life" where you see George and Mary Bailey's family growing, and Mary just keeps on putting up new wallpaper and brightening up that drafty old house of theirs.

Except she just keeps on smiling and making pot roast.

One of the reasons I love Shakespeare's Moms is that they wouldn't be caught dead smiling through their pain. Oh, no. If they have a righteous bone to pick, they'll pick it right there for everyone to see. I love that Lady Macduff just sticks it right to that "hero" husband of hers for leaving her and the kids unprotected; and that the Duchess stops right in front of Richard III's procession to tell him what a crappy son he's been.

Whatever foibles they may have, you have to hand it to these women: they never would have needed therapy or valium to deal with any unexpressed malaise.

I think it would have been good for Mary to clock George over the head with a wallpaper roll and tell him to get over himself when he started trashing the house because his dreams had turned to dust.

Sure, the movie would only be half as long and not very deep, but I'd still like to see it.