I always think it's funny when my parents read my blog. They get the sense of humor, but I can never tell if they really appreciate it. Hell, I'm not even sure if I appreciate it most of the time. I often think the point I'm trying to make gets lost in its scope, and winds up being mistaken for glib reactionary nonsense.
I find that a little disappointing. I try to craft the things I say in a very deliberate fashion. I don't pull punches, and I try very hard to make it an imperative to mean the things I write. Make no mistake; these words are the creed I believe, and the gospel that I preach. (But in much less grandiose terms… Think a whole lot less than messianic in nature, but a whole lot more than the credentials that penned "Friends.")
However, I do see the folly in it. To some, this blog is just another in a string of pseudo political psychobabble op Eds. (Say that 10 times fast… I double dog dare you…) to most who read my stuff, I'm just some schmo with an opinion. Still even there are some who read this would even go as far to accuse me of being the village idiot, and I'm okay with that. Disagreement I never take issue with. I like the challenge that can arise from it. To be clear though, I mostly am the village idiot, but I have the balls to say what I think. I am a simpleton of conviction. That's got to be good for something right? (That and 35 cents will get you a phone call… if you can actually find a pay phone.)
As with most writers and even more so with comedians, I have a nearly overbearing need to be understood. It's a little self-serving, but then again, if there were no reader or audience, I would be out of a job. That would suck. (To put it mildly.) The only real trap I set for myself, is that I expect my reader to be as curious, or angry, or confused as I am. When that's not the case, I find myself let down. It deflates me, and makes me wonder if I am alone. I feel alone a lot.
Today though, when I talked to the folks, it all got a little clearer for me. Dad said my posts usually make him laugh, (no small feat to be sure… He's a tough nut to crack.) even though he finds it a bit strange sometimes. My Mom on the other hand, thought it was funny that I started my own cult, and that really the only criteria for joining is to pony up some dough. (And well to drink the Kool Aid…) Happily their opinions mean more to me than just about anyone else's. To say I found it inspiring would be an understatement of galactic proportions.
Curiously though, they both noticed that I have a tendency to use subtext sparingly, which is true for the most part. I have always figured that beating around the bush never gets you anywhere.
Generally sarcasm and allegory have been the tools of my trade, (Not forgetting that sweet mistress irony, which to me is like sweet creamy chocolate, or the scent of Jasmine in the air on a warm summer night.) because they drive the point home. I'm a fan of using railway spikes, when a simple nail would do. (The true irony being that we live in times where railway spikes seem to be the only effective way after all, no matter how hard nail salesmen would tell you otherwise.)
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