A Titanic Potty Mouth

The kids have recently discovered James Cameron’s epic, Titanic. It’s because of Clooney. He’s into disasters for some reason, and recently he latched onto the Titanic story. He’s checked out the

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same book from the school library for the past six weeks in a row, Explore Titanic combing over its pages almost every night before he goes to sleep. And then, a few weeks ago, the Cameron film was on HBO, so we DVR’d it.

It had been years since I’d seen the movie, which I don’t think is all that, frankly. I mean, technologically it’s awesome. Verbally, not so much. The dialog is downright cheesy at times, and the whole thing with the gun in the end is just unnecessary and preposterous. But the kids like it.

Of course, I didn’t really remember how violent the movie was. At the end, people are falling off the deck and bouncing off the rotors of the propeller. Pretty gruesome stuff. And then — when everybody’s frozen in the water, right before Rose wakes up and realizes she’s alone — pretty creepy. But again, the kids dug it. I kept asking if they wanted me to turn it off, but on the contrary, they were riveted by the film.

And Clooney, with his expert knowledge of the ship, he kept pointing out first class, third class, and at one point, he asked me, “Is that supposed to be Bruce Ismay?” I’m telling you: the kid knows his Titanic shizz.

The other thing I didn’t really remember was the language, which is peppered with gratuitous profanity. I cringed every time one of the characters let an expletive fly, which was not infrequently.

Not that I don’t curse. I’m no sailor or anything, but there have been occasions where I’ve lost control, usually when something has startled me, and a four-letter word has escaped my mouth. I am a human in the 21st Century. I’m not The Big Lebowski over here, nor  do I claim to be one of Mr. Rogers’ neighbors. I live in the real world, and I realize that I cannot shelter my children at all times, especially from my own failings.

So, that takes us to what happened yesterday at the bus stop. As I got out of the car to go stand on the corner with Clooney, I grabbed my coat (because I can’t drive with a coat on — freaky that way). And as the coat came across the front seat, it brushed the top of my XL coffee cup, which proceeded to turn completely over, DUMPING caramel-colored liquid onto my fine (who am I kidding? It’s been dumped on before, but still, I like to think it’s fine, so just indulge me here) leather driver’s seat. So, you know, it just came out. “Shhht!” I really should carry a double roll of Bounty paper towels with me at all times. And some Clorox wipes. And a lint brush. and…

Anyway, Clooney kind of chided me then, and I am still not sure whether or not he did it tongue-in-cheek. “Why do you have to say that?” he smiled slyly. “Who do you think you are? Leonardo DiCaprio?”

That’s right, Jack.

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