Skip to main content

TV Diary

 An odd thing happened on Facebook. My town--which is frequently at war with itself--suddenly discovered self-composure. The reason: an intrusive third party.


Someone went on Maplewood Moms, anonymously, and wrote: "I'm thinking of moving to your town, but I have some questions about the public schools. The reputation is iffy. Can you elaborate?"

Almost immediately, a Maplewood resident wrote, "Invader! How dare you try to sow discord? Why do you hide behind the mask of anonymity? Show yourself!" And this resulted in a pile-on. My neighbors often argue about how to get rid of a tattered flag, or how to handle the somewhat disorderly public food pantry, or how to support (or not support) the embattled high-school principal. But we can all get behind our hatred for one (maybe innocuous?) "common enemy."

And so I have fondness, and admiration, for "Lemon of Troy," a classic episode of "The Simpsons." In this one, residents of Shelbyville steal Springfield's famous lemon tree. This could be met with silence; after all, a sense of Springfield pride has been waning, says Lisa, "ever since our lake caught on fire." But Marge stirs up a cauldron of jingoism. And Bart goes on a mission to save the lemon tree.

Are the two towns all that different? Springfield has "Groundskeeper Willie," and Shelbyville has "Groundskeeper Wilhelmina." Also, sometime in the 1600s, the founding fathers of Shelbyville argued that "anyone should have a shot at marrying his (or her) first cousin."

The show subtly endorses the idea of pacifism: When Milhouse sits down and speaks, at length, with his own nemesis, he discovers that he regrets the many weeks of animosity. "This is what it sounds like....when doves cry."

Another brilliant script.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

How to Host a Baby

-You have assumed responsibility for a mewling, puking ball of life, a yellow-lab pup. He will spit his half-digested kibble all over your shoes, all over your hard-cover edition of Jennifer Haigh's novel  Faith . He will eat your tables, your chairs, your "I {Heart] Montessori" magnet, placed too low on the fridge. When you try to watch Bette Davis in  Hush Hush Sweet Charlotte , on your TV, your dog will bark through the murder-prologue, for no apparent reason. He will whimper through Lena Dunham's  Girls , such that you have to rewind several times to catch every nuance of Andrew Rannells's ad-libbing--and, still, you'll have a nagging suspicion you've missed something. Your dog will poop on the kitchen floor, in the hallway, between the tiny bars of his crate. He'll announce his wakefulness at 5 AM, 2 AM, or while you and another human are mid-coitus. All this, and you get outside, and it's: "Don't let him pee on my tulips!" When...

Joshie

  When I was growing up, a class birthday involved Hostess cupcakes. Often, the cupcakes would come in a shoebox, so you could taste a leathery residue (during the party). Times change. You can't bring a treat into a public school, in 2024, because heaven knows what kind of allergies might lurk, in unseen corners, in the classroom. But Joshua's teacher will allow: a dance party, a pajama day, or a guest reader. I chose to bring a story for Joshua's birthday (observed), but I didn't think through the role that anxiety might play in this interaction. We talk, in this house, quite a bit about anxiety; one game-changer, for J, has been a daily list of activities, so that he knows exactly what to expect. He gets a look of profound satisfaction when he sees the agenda; it doesn't really matter what the specific events happen to be. It's just about knowing, "I can anticipate X, Y, and Z." Joshua struggled with his celebration. He wore his nervousness on his f...

Josh at Five

 Joshie's project is "flexibility"; the goal is to see that a plan is just an idea, not a gospel, not a guarantee. This is difficult. Yesterday, we went to a restaurant--billed as "open," with unlocked doors--and the owner informed us of an "error in advertising." But Joshie couldn't accept the word "closed." He threw himself on the floor, then climbed on the furniture. I felt for the owner, until he nervously made a reference to "the glass windows." He imagined that my child might toss himself through a sealed window, like Mary Katherine Gallagher, or like Bruce Willis, in "Die Hard." Then--thank the Lord!--I was able to laugh. The thing that really has therapeutic value for Joshie is: a firetruck. If we are out in public, and he spots a parked truck, he wants to climb on each surface. He breathlessly alludes to the wheels, the door, the windows. If an actual fire station ("fire ocean," in Joshie's parla...