Now get this...

Last Sunday night Sonya and I had just gotten home from Cincinnati. We were lounging around the living room when James called. I answered the phone.

We talked back and forth and in the course of the conversation James told me that he and Jen had just seen Saving Private Ryan. He gushed about the movie for a little while, and towards the end of the review he said, "it was really disturbing. I'm not sure you could take it."

I merely rolled my eyes heavenward and continued the conversation. This was a minor piece of dickswinging for James. He spent a couple of years in the army in Kentucky (mowing yards and guarding gold, according to him) and then a couple more years in Korea, which is apparently one hard-ass place to do time in the military.

Korea is not without its humorous side, however. The other night at dinner James told us about a fried chicken joint near where he was stationed called (I kid you not) Donkey Fried Chicken. Those Koreans, huh? Funny.

Anyway, James has a habit of making badass comments every once in a while, and I assume it's left over from his time in service. I know he's not really denigrating my manhood or anything like that.

So then Tuesday night Jen is at our house waiting for James to get home so we can go to the aforementioned dinner. She was telling Sonya about Saving Private Ryan and the gist of her final comments was something along the lines of "it might be too much for you."

Huh?

Two comments, from two of our best friends, directed to each of us individually.

Is there some image the Williams family is projecting here that we should know about? Do Sonya and I come across as a couple of pantywaists, limp-wristedly sipping our tea off lace doilies and decrying the horror of media-inflicted violence?

No.

At least I don't think so.

So last night Sonya's reading and I'm watching TV (or vice versa) and I told her that it bugged me that we'd been told we couldn't handle this particular movie.

Today before lunch Sonya calls me and says, "I've been thinking about what you said last night. Why don't we go see the movie tonight?"

I love that woman.

So I went and picked her up for a quick lunch at the Arcade. We agreed this is a very Seinfeldian situation, like the time the Maestro had his villa in Italy (that he insisted was unattainable) so Jerry had to get one too.

Before all this I had a mild urge to see the movie - I'm sure it's fine and all, but war movies have always seemed draggy and sort of monotonous to me (with the possible exceptions of Platoon and Full Metal Jacket) so it was fairly far down my list of must-see's this summer. Now though, I must see it for the sake of my manhood.

And remain absolutely unmoved.

I need to doze off, if I can manage it.

I can hear my review now...

"Oh, it was okay...you know Spielberg, he makes good stuff. It was kind of loud, though. Of course Tom Hanks is a fine actor, but you know...I really wish I'd gone to see Sack Lunch instead."

[Note To James and Jen: Hi kids! I know you're both out there, somewhere, reading this - sooner or later, anyway. So I say in the words of ESPN's Staurt Scott, "I ain't mad atcha!" But come on guys, get real. It's just a movie. If Leonardo DiCaprio's not in it how can you possibly expect me to cry?]

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