Susan Year Itch

Why I Love Oklahoma!

Fred Zinneman, 1955

It's been a dicey week in Susanville. I started out sort of sick, then I had some horrific recent-break-up fallout, followed by some tension with one of my BFFs (sorry, buddy), which was followed by me having to admit to my entire office that even though we were being reimbursed, I couldn't afford hotel reservations for this conference I don't want to go to in the first place,* and then Netflix not receiving two of my movies that I sent four days ago.

I hope you can see how Netflix figures into this. Because of the puffy eyes and the dried snot on my face leftover from all this trauma, it's not exactly like I can go out and tear up the town. I've been allowing myself to indulge in a little sitting at home in sweatpants eating bags of Doritos and talking online to hot dudes who have no idea that I'm sitting around in sweatpants eating bags of Doritos, and a prime factor in sitting around is DVDs.

On Sunday, before everything really started its downward spiral**, Kelly and I watched Oklahoma! I have one of those "When I was a kid I watched this movie over and over" stories for this, but I'll just skip it. Anyway, it was fun and boisterous and dancy and colorful, and there are a billion songs that are all catchy. It's like a mood elevator that has the added (and incredible) bonus of singing/dancing cowboys.

I immediately remembered that life is awesome, etc.

Then either Netflix or the US Postal Service or some evil conspiracy consisting of both lost Oklahoma! en route to its home base. Those of you who don't use Netflix (yet) know that this means that I just have to sit here (in sweatpants), staring at my rigid Netflix queue, and pleading them to receive Oklahoma! so I can just get another goddamn feel good movie! It wouldn't bother me so much if  the error actually allowed me to keep the movie longer. But as it is, I have 80 Rodgers and Hammerstein songs in my head and no movie with which to sing along. Instead I just have to worry about poor Gordon McRae and Shirley Jones warbling somewhere together in postal oblivion, never getting delivered to the Richmond Netflix shipping center, and never giving them the green light to send me South Pacific!

What's the big deal, you say? Why can't I just throw in a disc from The Office or rewatch Charlies Angels: Full Throttle?

Although I definitely enjoy the antics of both Ricky Gervais and Lucy Liu, there's just something so wholesomely compelling about Zinneman's musical cowboy flick that goes beyond mere escapism. Or, rather, it summons up a realization that at one time in our cultural history, a wide cross-section of society chose to believe that the trials of the Old West weren't any harder than finding the right accessories for your buggy, shootin' knotholes, and picking peaches. They actually didn't find it ridiculous that farmers and cowboys would end a rivalry on the dance floor of an unfinished barn. They really believed that real fights would break out over who bid the highest number of "bits" for a lady's lunch basket. It's the ultimate escape! A visit to a fantasy world - the Fifties - who idealized the pre-state West within an inch of its life until it became even more fantastic.

Either way, my week took a sharp turn in the up direction, and now I want to go out. But maybe Oklahoma! knew that and froze my Netflix distribution on purpose. Curly wants me to go to the box social. He knows that hunnerds of fellas will bid on my li'l ol' basket. And if you see me around, you better be prepared to give me an "Oklahoma hello."

(ok this is from the stage version, but I couldn't resist)

*Joan says we'll have fun.
**Be aware that a good 80% of this is just in my head. Once you buy a ticket for the self-pity train, it's hard to get off.