Jane Austen's sillier characters

When your wife is pregnant, movie date nights involves very mild films. This is because pregnancy tends to heighten a woman's emotions, and any film where anything truly bad happens to anyone, particularly if violence is involved, will cause your wife, your unborn child and you not to sleep through the night. This is especially true if, say, an innocent vegetable is hacked to pieces with a kitchen knife and thrown into a salad. A few weeks ago, deciding that HBO's John Adam's miniseries is too violent, we flipped through the channels in search of an alternative. Fortunately, the Disney Channel was showing Aladdin, and the giant-snake cartoon violence at the end was too unrealistic to be a threat.

Last night, instead of risking a non-family friendly rental, we broke out our copy of Sense and Sensibility, the most tolerable Jane Austen film for us men. In Jane Austen films (I'm using this for short-hand - I know Austen wrote the books and that directors and writers, in this case Ang Le and Emma Thompson, adapted it to the screen), the main characters are well developed and multifaceted, but many of the side characters, particularly the comically unpleasant ones, are very one dimmensional. I cannot speak for the books, have never read them (nor do I intend to), of course. The background characters are fools or gossips or greedy villains with no or few redeeming qualities to see, and watching Sense and Sensibility play off all of these familiar characteristics reminded me how easy it is to take the shallow view of someone in the real world.

One particularly despicable character reminded me of an acquaintance, and I was tempted to dismiss this person in my mind again due to the more awful characteristics. I know that there is more to this person, more than a cartoon sketch makes for comfortable categorization. Austen's work put to film would be too tedious if these characters were given more three-dimensional personalities. Of course, I can see myself in the cowardice and indecisiveness of many of Austen's men (though they are fleshed out in more redeeming ways). But it's good to be reminded that our loose characterizations of others - in our art, in our jokes, in our thoughts - don't show the full picture. How easy it would be for those who don't have the time or the space to get to know me assume my quirks, idiosyncrasies and, to put it bluntly, sins, paint the whole picture.

Pimp My Dad

What does the hip father look like?

I've seen him on Capitol Hill, Saturday morning in my favorite coffee shop, or strutting like a aged rooster over Washington's crooked sidewalks. He's over forty, and middle-age chub around the belly notwithstanding, he's a damned fine looking gentlemen. Well cropped hair (though he has a fairly normal haircut, you can tell he does a bit better than the local Hair-Cuttery), with a distinguished gray frost.

But what makes him stand out is his gear, something I would never have noticed before I shopped for baby gear myself. Baby gear reminds me of camping gear. When I spent my summer in Yellowstone telling hippies and foreigners about Jesus, everyone there was separated into the haves and the have-nots of camping gear. I had some modest hiking boots, a decent sleeping bag and a Jansport backpack. The "haves" had an impressive assortment of lightweight, expensive contraptions that made sure they would win any battle with whatever nature had to throw at them. Not only could they sleep in their sleeping bags and 20-below, but I suspect the material would have protected the sleeper through a buffalo-stampede. Grizzly bears couldn't bite through their fleeces.

The hip father wears similar gear, except it's all designed to somehow attached a baby to his person. His stroller would survive a monster-truck rally, and costs as much as a used Nissan. His baby carrier is bullet-proof, and can carry the baby front, back, sideways, up and down. Incidentally, with his smart phone attached to his face and his baby attached to his gut, his hands swing unfettered. The baby sucks on pacifiers and bottles custom-designed for his little mouth in lab somewhere in Nevada. The baby onesies are name-brand and designed in Milan.

My little girl will sleep, play, nap and be changed in her pack-in-play. Our baby-carriers will may give me a bad back, but I'll carry her around proud. Our stroller's just a frame where we can hook a fairly decent car-seat, which is a beautiful bright red. We've been blessed with all sorts of handmedowns for her to wear - and Lord willing we will bless others with our own hand-me-downs. For some reason, baby clothes seem better shared, and some of the stuff we have is cool. She's an infant, not a teenager. She won't care if her dad is not hip.