MONDO EXTRAS

Now that Rob Lowe has driven off, either so that he can get to his soul-crushing law job on time or to head over to the local animal shelter to taunt puppies, we have some more time to get to know Kimberly Williams, who plays Maggie Williams. Apparently, the only reason Maggie hasn't been granted sainthood just yet is that Rome is behind on its paperwork -- she's a doting mother, a loving and supportive wife, a hell of pancake-maker, and not the sort of person who would ever, ever miss her kid's school concert or drive a German car. "Are we poor?" Maggie's tousle-haired offspring demands to know after his parents hem and haw on his request for a puppy. "No, we just don't have a lot of money," Maggie replies cheerily. "We've got everything we need," her husband Jack adds. See, people -- these folks are the salt of the earth. No, not just the salt -- the cumin and the smoked paprika and other good, sensible seasonings as well. Compared to the morass of unrequited covetousness and unspoken resentments that comprises Rob Lowe's marriage, clearly the Andrews family represents the gold standard to which we should all aspire. Man, it would be a shame if any one of these people got struck down with a dread disease by the third act of tonight's performance. I'm sure Maggie is just gasping for air as she walks her husband to his pick-up truck because she's winded after that football game with her son from a scene or two ago.

By this point, you are probably thinking, "Yes, yes, I get it. The Rob Lowe character is a soulless, materialistic yuppie who needs a good dose of Christmas what-for, while the Andrews are simple yet noble folk who make do with what the Good Lord done give 'em." But the Christmas Shoes producers want you to know that you don't get it -- you don't get it at all, man -- because they tack on a scene where Jack shows up at the mechanics shop he owns and makes some idle chit-chat with his grease-monkey flunky about putting in a cappuccino machine to maybe draw in new customers. The flunky nods blankly. "Carl, do you know what a cappuccino is?" Jack asks. "An Italian sports car," Carl says with certainty. Take that, cynical left-coast elitists -- normal folk don't need your fancy-pants queer Eyetie beverages. Real Americans drink real coffee -- thick and sludgy and hot enough to burn the roof of your mouth. With a cream and two sugars.