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Over the past days, we’ve watched A Christmas Story and It’s a Wonderful Life, staples of the holiday. Watching Jimmy Stewart and Lionel Barrymore was different this time, in light of our current economy and the way its woes are connected to housing, and it really got me thinking. Maybe in the past I noticed the romance more, or nostalgia. Not this time. No nostalgia, that’s for sure, given how current it seemed.

Our economic woes were on my mind and particularly the greed and gains of many key players. I swear, most of the people who are to blame got rich in the process. And don’t forget their employees who figuratively push them around in their wheelchairs, watching silently as they steal an uncle’s and nephew’s life.

Though I’ve seen It’s a Wonderful Life many times, I noticed something for the first time yesterday. In the montage where we learn about brother Harry’s war heroism and George’s homefront duties, we see George spit at somebody. From Stewart’s reaction, it’s clear he only spat on himself. What a contrast between the plight of a good soul, and the life of Potter, George Bush, bad mortgage pushers, and so many other people on this planet whose shit don’t stink. Good people spit and they spit on themselves. They wisely abstain from buying that house, they don’t get bailed out by the government but end up bailing out the foolish and the evil. Or, back to the movie, they lose a few thousand dollars and they’re bound for jail, but not so the stealer of those thousands. He’s miserable, but there’s no further ramifications — how much more black can Potter get? None more black. A good way to avoid jail on this planet is to lose/bilk millions or billions, not thousands. Be bad through and through, don’t be a good person who makes a mistake. Same with murder. Kill one person or a handful, go to jail. Be responsible for the deaths of tens of thousands of people, and you’ll never even see a trial. I’m talking to you, Rumsfeld. And McNamara. And so many others.

I stepped out during the time where George goes to throw himself off a bridge. I couldn’t watch the whole thing — which has happened before because it felt too corny, too dated, too hackneyed or some completely different reason. Sure, I know that for me there are no George Baileys, no idyllic towns like Bedford Falls, no guardian angels. But there are plenty of Potters out there, and their wheelchair pushers. And tramps like Vi.

Enough! It’s the holidays, and I’m not letting these things get me down — now that I’ve gotten it off my chest. Thanks for listening. Back to joy, snow, family, food, and many other good things in this life of ours, this life that’s … you know … what’s the word? Exactly.