Ever since I can remember, I’ve lived a very different life. Not too off the wall, mind you, just different in a good way. You might even call it weird and why not? As a teenager, my father dubbed me “Captain Weird” and, of all people, I suppose my parents would know. As teenagers developing into young people, unwittingly shedding our childhood ways as we plunge headfirst into the abyss of individuality, I guess we’re all pretty weird.
Maybe it’s a bit late for me to be reflecting on my youth now but why not? It’s all part of being weird, I guess. I’m probably not the only one who’s ever done so. In fact, right this very minute, one of my weird old high school buddies might be thinking the same thing.
Why is this even important, though? Well, I guess it isn’t. I’m just killing some time while I work through a spell of insomnia. I tend to do some of my best weird thinking at such times, and it just occurred to me that I might put some of my thoughts down for posterity this time. Maybe next time I have insomnia I’ll want something to read and, bingo!, here this will be. And to think people have told me I haven’t much foresight
Which, of course, brings me to the subject of predictive text. A moment ago, in the final sentence of the previous paragraph, as I typed in the word “foresight” my smartphone, in a moment of inspired confusion I guess, offered up the word “foreskin” instead. Maybe it’s because I dropped my phone one too many times, I don’t know, but who ever uses that word in anything but a medical report?
Uncircumcised (that word came up as intended and I’ve probably never used it before) men who don’t have a cell phone with a built-in camera so, in lieu of an actual “dick pic” they’re reduced to writing about their genitalia, maybe? No, seriously, I’m asking you.
That’s definitely weird, and something only my local Republican state representative who probably votes against sensitive issues like family planning and abortion (but is really a closet Democrat) could contrive. If that’s the case, that’s fine by me, provided I’m not required to read it. Hell, as a Democratic voter, I might consider voting for the guy in the next erection, er, election. Damn predictive text again. No, it really wasn’t-just me making a bad joke, though my predictive voice text might’ve come up with that gem.
But, not to be too repetitive, I’m probably as likely to talk about foreskin (this time that word didn’t come up as “predictive” at all) as I am my local congressperson.
How Jewish might I have to be for that to happen, you might (but probably aren’t) thinking? Well, I can think of at least one time that the subject of a newborn Jewish boy came up in a movie that led me to laugh a little too loud. In fact, it roused Sophie from a deep sleep and earned me the stinkeye for a good five minutes. Then, of course, she fell back asleep and forgot all about it:
The movie I’m speaking of is about the trials of a young man faces in introducing his future wife’s family to his own. Though I frequently borrow lines from this movie because I’m too lazy or too tired ( probably after having insomnia the night before) to think of something clever on my own, I cannot remember one from another.
I believe the movie to which I’m referring is called Meet The Fockers. As it happens, Focker is the young man’s surname. And, besides being a name my predictive voice therapy has a field day with, he happens to be, yes, Jewish. In the movie his father, (Dustin Hoffman) is incredibly proud of his family name which, of course, is something the son is somewhat ambivalent about. Maybe frightened is a better word, though.
It’s actually not his name that embarrasses the son so much as the fact his mother (Barbara Streisand, of course) tends to speak of her son as if he’s still a grade school kid. Only it’s worse, given the awkwardness of meeting one’s future in-laws in the first place.
One scene, which involves all of them looking over the young man’s past accomplishments and photos is worthy of particular mention. A few moments after the girl’s stoically protective yet hilariously funny father (Robert DeNiro) looks at an award and observes “I didn’t know they made sixth place ribbons, Greg” the next shot is of all of them.
They’re crowded next to each other, looking over the women as they flip through a photo album. The fiancé then turns a page, and a little something falls (Blip!) onto the table. The girl reaches down and picks it up and, of course, Mrs. Focker proudly proclaims “...and that’s our little darling baby Greg’s foreskin.”
At which time the daughter flips it back into the air where it plops into the guacamole or some such side dish. I could be wrong but I think the next scene is of them eating Chinese food instead.
So, there you go, that’s it. I’ve never used the word foreskin in my writing before and now I’ve gone and done so four times now. It’s proven to be enough for the predictive text to bring up the word now, so that next time I intend to type “foresight” I’ll be reminded of this one, weird, insomnia-driven blurb.
Pretty clever, eh? Clever enough to finally leave me tired enough to go back to sleep. Zzzzz…..
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