DREAMING DOESN'T MAKE IT SO...
THE CRABBY CRITIC
Why can’t life be more like the movies?
- Debbie in El Paso
Dear Celluloid Dreamer:
Well, I suppose the shortest answer is, because you’re no Sophia Loren.
But seriously, movies are art.
Contrary to popular belief, art does not imitate life. Rather, it’s the barometer of measurement for the chasm between the two.
All entertainment is a form of illusion. But you – you’re the real thing. Recognize that and move on.
I’ll recall for you that one summer while I was still an impoverished student my television went on the fritz and then died. After a twenty-four hour period of withdrawal from the barrage of mindless junk from the boob tube I actually began to realize something very special – that the ability to amuse myself came not from that external box of reconstituted claptrap but from within. I became more in tune with what my needs (rather than my wants) were and I recognized that people in life are more to my speed than the images I was trying (and expected to) live up to.
To say that my newly acquired self reliance and acceptance was an epiphany is perhaps stretching the moment a bit too far, but suffice it to state that I realized just how intellectually sideswiped I had been by my complicity indoctrination into pop culture. That was 1991. I have yet to return to television to ‘find’ myself.
Want my advice – stop comparing your life to the movies.
It will inevitably come up short and depress you. Remember that what you see on the screen is NOT reality but a preprocessed version of life as most would like it to be. Like the perfect dream or total wish fulfillment, movies serve the basic human need to pretend. But be wary that the pretend does not consume rather than console you.
Finally, movies do not represent a world that you can go out and find. They suggest a world that is total creation. Hollywood does not make you aware of all the backstage nonsense that goes into making that creation seem real – it merely draws your attention to the creation itself and asks you to believe in it as fact.
Don’t be fooled but continue – at least at some level – to daydream. We all need our escapism.
The crabby critic
How do I know you’re not an internet stalker? I can’t believe all the people who open up to you without knowing anything about you. You could be an axe murderer or a child predator. You scare me.
Lynn in Monroe
Dear Easily Spooked:
I think you have this blog confused with someone’s ‘My Space’ account who’s soliciting underage boys for beer and sex parties at his cabin in the Ozarks.
So, to set the record straight – I don’t solicit anything:
NOT EVEN YOUR QUESTIONS!
People write in and I publish my solutions to their inquiries. Depending on your point of view, the fact that some people choose to confide about all sorts of behavior and allow me that special glimpse into their lives might be a reflection of how lonely and isolated a society we’ve become.
But I choose to believe that some people are just more willing to share thoughts and ideas with others.
Consider this: all human relationships begin as strangers.
After a sufficient amount of time has passed those relations either develop into friendships or dissipate into vague acquaintances. Either way, once you’ve touched base with another you cannot continue to count that person as a stranger.
As for being an internet stalker…unless you can prove that I’ve sent you this reply a million times via the same email that you employed to contact me…I’d have to suggest to you that your paranoid concerns hold little – if any – validity in real time.
Stop peeking through the key hole of life, Lynn.
Get out and mingle with the beautiful people.
Hell – just get out and mingle!
The crabby critic
I’m going to kill my brother if he doesn’t stop following me around. Everywhere I turn, he’s there. He’s cramping my style. How do I get him to leave me alone?
George in Wyoming
Dear Sibling Twit-head:
Have you stopped to consider that your brother looks up to you for guidance, friendship and above all else as a template of how to be a popular man about town?
You’re in a very flattering position to make a significant difference in this young boy’s life.
Instead of trying to shed him like excess fat around your midsection why not embrace the fact that your brother thinks far more highly of you than you do of him.
Okay, so you need your space, as it were. You want time out from your brother. I can respect that. Doesn’t he have any friends of his own that he hangs out with? If so, maybe you could suggest to him that he spend more time with them.
Don’t just say something like “Get lost, midget.”
Instead, angle your reply. Say to your brother, “Hey, I know you were hanging out with (insert friend’s name here) the other day. Why don’t you call him and see if he wants to do something today? Maybe you two can go to the movies, ride your bikes, go swimming, play tag, find a lost puppy and name it Snooky…whatever.”
You might also try having a legitimate heart to heart with your brother about the age difference that separates the two of you. Inform him that while you’ll always be there for him as a sounding board, he needs to cultivate time away from you so that your experiences will be varied. Then the two of you will have different things to talk about whenever you decide to spend time together.
Finally, I don’t think you realize how fortunate you are. Many siblings hate one another with a passion.
Personally, I’d rather have a brother for my best friend than an enemy…wouldn’t you?
As for the prospect of killing the one person who looks up to you as a God – my advice: don’t do it. Because then we’ll all have to look down on you as vermin!
The crabby critic
My wife and I have a fairly active sex life but she always needs to be coaxed into trying new things. It took me a year to get her to experiment with her first anal experience and now I want to introduce chocolate syrup and raspberries into our foreplay – something my wife absolutely refuses to do. How can I get my wife to recognize the benefits of food play in the boudoir?
Dale in Jacksonville
Dear Chocolate Covered Weirdo:
The whole food/sex fetish scenario is one that has always been lost on me. By my estimation, things get sticky enough during the act of procreation without the aid of various and sundry food additives poured across the flesh. Besides, who does laundry at your house?
Obviously NOT you!
…and just think of all those starving children in Africa who can’t afford chocolate syrup and raspberries for the purpose they were originally intended.
If I wanted to be cynical I could classify your fetish as just another North American misguided stupidity where seemingly normal individuals waste perfectly good time, energy, money and resources on an abuse of their rights and freedoms as ascribed by the constitution.
Trust me on this one – Thomas Jefferson and Ben Franklin weren’t thinking of your situation when they coined the term ‘pursuit of happiness.’
I must admit however, that in the grand scheme of things as laid out by you I cannot fathom a woman who would allow anyone to insert their banana into a cavity God did not intend, but emphatically refuses to try a bit of squeezed Nestle Quik across her ta-ta’s.
‘Bizarre’ doesn’t begin to describe that one! Tell me, after you’ve broken down this barrier what’s next; whips, chains, asphyxiation, blood letting, or some other juvenile pursuit from the outtakes of Fear Factor?
I suppose your twisted self won’t rest. You’ll keep prodding your wife to accept your terms until one day she caves in.
So here’s a thought: compromise.
Tell your wife that you’d be willing to partake in her secret sex fantasy if she’ll rub Mazola all over her body and do the ‘slip n’ slide’ with you. But be forewarned: if Wifey Dear’s warped idea of erotica includes you, a strap-on and some prison bitch named Louie No-Thumbs you’re in for a hell of a night. Is chocolate syrup and raspberries really worth it? Maybe it would just be more prudent and safe of you to offer to do the laundry.
Now, isn’t that sexy?
The crabby critic
@ The Crabby Critic 2006 (all rights reserved).