the ocean

Hallmark holiday movies are upon us, and I’m reaching my breaking point. This year they started before Halloween. Certainly I’m not against mindless entertainment, having now viewed nearly every season and iteration of Below Deck. But I could do without the following:

— No one ever being cold. People are going to tree lightings in the snow with their coats wide open. Candace Cameron Bure has one set in Alaska where she barely dons a sweater. Let’s splice in some footage of people in Chicago drowning in fifteen layers of underwear, shall we?

— Work being the enemy. Nearly every Hallmark lead “works too much,” though this seems to consist of taking one or two calls during a multi-week holiday vacation. Apparently everyone is supposed be caroling and making cookies instead.  That’s how economies function, right?

— Small towns thriving. Did these people miss the endless analysis of the 2016 election? Rural America is struggling with opioids, not dancing down candy cane lane.

— Young children being highly invested in their parents’ romantic lives. Somehow I find it hard to believe that the average five year old with a recently deceased father is really dying for mom to get her groove on. Where are the children demanding that dad quit eye fucking the urban marketing executive visiting her hometown and watch some Octonauts with them already?

— Characters who are probably Santa. In real life, portly bearded men who hang around children all the time are generally not the best people to share your secret holiday desires with. More often than not, they are one the registry,

— Teen star redux. As much as I admire Melissa Joan Hart’s grounded and realistic work as a woman dating a nutcracker come to life, not every former WB star is on that level. And can we agree that Tia should not be permitted to work without Tamera?

Anyway, I’m crabby. Merry Christmas.