This has been a frustrating summer for those of us who enjoy going to the movies. I see interesting trailers and get gassed by the blurbs assuring greatness -- “Adrenaline-Fueled Thrill Ride!” -- and am inevitably letdown when I parse the source.
The blurb authors are more often than not anonymous little bloggers frustrated by their inability to score a larger readership.
Of course, who am I to cast aspersions? And who’s to say their opinion is unworthy?
Social media rules. We live in truly democratic times. All voices are equal and have an opportunity to resonate.
People are always talking about each of us and posting comments in various places where we voluntarily leave our intellectual footprints.
I thought I’d post some of the things people are saying about me so you, the reader, can decide if I am a movie you’d want to see.
• “Chris, you’ll always be COOL to us and a work of ART!” -- How sweet is that? This was from an e-mail exchange I was having with one of the wonderful folks who helped set up my recent Philadelphia visit. They’d read some of my blog posts about Philadelphia including this one where I talk about the coolest I’ve ever been. Of course, they were exaggerating, but they’ve always been nice to me so I choose to believe there was some truth to the gushy sentiment.
• “Oh, yeah, you’re really, really cool.” -- This was from my 10-year-old daughter. It’s essentially the same thing as the Philly folks said but it was dripping with sarcasm. She doesn’t think I’m cool at all (She’s wrong. I’m really, really cool).
• “Reading your collection of tweets is the perfect way to start a day!” -- This is flattering, but I think I’d have to go with sex. That’s the perfect way to start the day. But check out my twitticisms @8days2amish, have some sex, and compare for yourself. Maybe I’m wrong!
• “You’re stressing me out!” -- This was Josie. She said it as she ran screaming into her room after I’d detailed some of the tasks at which she was failing. Later when she emerged composed from her room, I knelt down and put my arms on her shoulders and told she was confused. Stress, I said, isn’t doing household tasks. Stress is not having a real job, having a wife who’s legitimately concerned about money, and two daughters who want things I can’t afford and do not help out around the house. “You see,” I said, “10-year-old girls don’t have stress. They cause it.”
• “I absolutely loved this post!” -- Author Greg Olear has written a book called “fathermucker” about the joys and tribulations of being a Dad. As part of the strong roll-out for the book’s October 4 release, he’s asked for contributions to the dandy blog of the same name and he took one of mine. That's a reader comment. You can check it out here. I’m happy to contribute and hope Spielberg gets so fed up over the bickering between Di Caprio and Pitt over who gets the to play the “fathermucker” lead he asks Greg to do it himself.
• “He’s not weird. He’s good.” -- This was from Lucy who was 4 last year when one of Josie’s friends observed, “Your Dad’s really weird.” It was so endearing my heart still flutters when I think about it and it is a soulful balm all these days when she indicates she’s completely reversed her opinion. In fact, it would be overwhelming to try and detail the number of times she and her sister daily declare, “You’re so weird!”
• “Profound AND funny!” -- This comment was in reaction to my tweet: “Honesty without tact is like brain surgery without anesthesia. The operation could cure, but the complications can kill.” I agree and again wonder if it’s about time I seek a job writing the notes they put inside the fortune cookies.
• “Man, are you drunk!” -- Note the punctuation: it’s not a concerned, “Man, are you drunk?” Nope, it was an emphatic declaration. This was from the golf weekend up with my cousin’s husband when I severely overestimated my competency to consume massive quantities of Jack Daniel’s. I had a hell of a good time.
• “I can’t believe you’re not hungover!” -- Any regard I lost the previous evening by my drunken antics was overcome the next morning when my new friends observed me up and at ‘em right at reveille. They were impressed I could golf, eat, joke and resume drinking with what should have been a horse-killing hangover.
• “You think you’re so funny.” -- Again, Josie, and, yeah, I suppose I do. I know I’m not ambitious, wise, mechanical, handsome, punctual, fit, sober, well-rested, solvent or serious. I guess that just leaves funny.
• “He cried the whole time!” -- This was Josie’s observation of me after the outstanding “Freedom Rising” show at the National Constitution Center in Philadelphia. It rings all the bells of why I love this big, flawed and exuberant country. I told her I wasn’t crying. I was merely eye-oozing patriotic poignancy.
• “It would be fun to see you surprise the girls with a really close-cropped look!” -- That was Val’s way of saying, “You’ve looked really stupid for the past year trying to grow hippie hair when you have so little of it left.” She was right and I was grateful for her tact.
• “You look like a #@&% idiot.” -- My bar friends who make up in directness for all they lack in tact.
• “This is the worst idea for a blog post ever!” -- This is from one of the many voices I hear in my head.
• “People are gonna really love this one!” -- This is from a different one.
I’d better stop now. I’m beginning to sense the girls are right.
Maybe I am really weird.