Posted by : Stephanie | December 12, 2015
It’s the holidays and we’re celebrating the season with the mighty fine hashtag #tisthesundae! But enough about us, let’s talk Grinch. That ol’ green so-and-so gets a bad rap, if you ask me. What does the hallowed tale tell us?
Well we start off high on some kind of Alpine mountaintop, a lofty presidential suite where one Grinch, esquire, lives with his faithful canine. All is well in this high rent neighborhood, a gated Swiss chalet for one, when suddenly, the damn neighbors…
Down in the valley, those infernal Whos are making all kinds of racket! That’s the tension of our story. The Grinch doesn’t have strong feelings about Christmas one way or another; it’s the noise that drives him crazy. I feel for this guy! First of all hashtag avalanche. Noise is dangerous at these snowy peaks. Plus also neighbors. They can be so annoying!
For, tomorrow, I know all the Who girls and boys
Will wake bright and early. They’ll rush for their toys!
And then! Oh, the noise! Oh, the noise! Noise! Noise! Noise!
There’s one thing I hate! All the NOISE! NOISE! NOISE! NOISE! (TV Show Script)
At my mom’s place, the walls are so thin that you can hear the kids next door practicing piano. Beethoven, they ain’t. One time I lived upstairs from a guy who sat around all day chainsmoking in his apartment. That totally sucked. Then there was the elderly lady who left her gas stove on overnight and almost killed us all. Not to mention the coffee addicts I’ve lived among who roasted raw beans in their unit. I don’t know if you’ve ever been oppressed by the relentless smell of burning arabica, nicotine or natural gas additives infiltrating every square inch of your sanity, lingering for hours on end until you get to the point where you want to take away an entire town’s whole holiday?
Honey, I’ve been there.
And they’ll shriek squeaks and squeals, racing ’round on their wheels.
They’ll dance with jingtinglers tied onto their heels.
They’ll blow their floofloovers. They’ll bang their tartookas.
They’ll blow their whohoopers. They’ll bang their gardookas.
They’ll spin their trumtookas. They’ll slam their slooslunkas.
They’ll beat their blumbloopas. They’ll wham their whowonkas.
And they’ll play noisy games like zoozittacarzay,
A roller-skate type of lacrosse and croquet!
And then they’ll make ear-splitting noises galooks
On their great big electro whocarnio flocks! (TV Show Script)
Enter long-suffering penthouse Grinch perched atop Mount Crumpit Heights trying to enjoy the view he paid top dollar for, when suddenly a cacophony compliments of those Whos. I’m sure he’s sent them notes, run into them at the grocery store and explained his predicament, left bottles of wine on their doors with friendly notes begging for auditory mercy. Ah, but to no avail. Where was the neighborhood association? It’s like the jilted millionaire who bought a house right next to his ex wife’s and erected a huge middle finger statue facing her house that he floodlights at night lol. You can’t control people!
The more the Grinch thought, “I must stop this whole thing!”
“Why, for fifty-three years I’ve put up with it now!”
“I MUST stop this Christmas from coming! But HOW?” (Original Book Text)
He’s at his wintry wit’s end. Who wouldn’t be after fifty-three years??? Yet he’s painted as the villain in this story, a villain in need of redemption. As if! In our story’s dramatic conclusion, half mad with ignored noise complaints, the Grinch realizes he has no choice but to surrender, to reorganize his entire life around these tiny spring breakers with their loud music and fast cars and whoozles and whatsits.
Then the Whos down in Whoville will all cry BooHoo!”
“That’s a noise,” grinned the Grinch, “That I simply MUST hear!”
So he paused. And the Grinch put his hand to his ear.
And he did hear a sound rising over the snow.
It started in low. Then it started to grow.
But the sound wasn’t sad! Why, this sound sounded merry!
It couldn’t be so! But it WAS merry! VERY! (Original Book Text)
This is no story of triumph, folks, it’s a cautionary tale of city life at its most irksome. How disappointed I am that our dear Grinch gave up his legal protections under local noise ordinances! But his eternal harmony requires quietude, no matter the cost. He must have felt as trapped as that roast beast they let him carve. Sure his heart grew that day: It’s called cardiomyopathy! Brought on by stress! Poor sweet Grinchy…