1 year
365 days
Okay, not going to trickle down the hours and minutes . . . not really necessary here.
But it's been a long time since I've posted. Much like my experiences with Valentine's Day, I've become a bit peeved with my results on this medium. Which brings me to Charlie Brown.
I never thought Charlie Brown was all that "funny." Charlie Brown was real. Charlie Brown spoke truth. Charlie Brown was me.
Nary a Valentine had I.
I wasn't sure what to expect when I started blogging, but I guess I hoped for SOME feedback. I had no little redheaded girl in mind. But like Charlie Brown, one begins to hope to need a briefcase or three to hold all the 'Valentines' but will settle for one crossed out used Valentine from some guilt laden classmates. Much like my history with Valentine's Day, I got no comments. After posting on Facebook, I found "Likes" few and far between.
"If wishes were horses, Beggars would ride"
Self promotion is not something that comes easily to me. However apparently that is what 89% of the internet/Facebook, is about. Deep in my psyche is ingrained the idea that one doesn't make waves. A lady's name should appear in the paper only at birth, marriage and death. Not a very convenient mental subtext in this day and age. However it comes to mind constantly - as a counterpoint, when I see the famous-for-no-reasons (Kardashians, Hilton, etc.) of the world and try to make sense of their so-called "success."
When posting on Facebook, I am far more likely to post some musing about what happened at the Emmys or something that struck me as funny or nostalgic than any real life event, whether jubilant or traumatic. Nothing that would strike too close to home.
It is then, that I find refuge in things like Downton Abbey, where Lady Edith goes out on a limb when she decides to write for a London paper. Her grandmother, the Dowager Countess of Grantham disapproves of course, but unlike her father, is resigned to how times have changed. She sighs and changes the subject as any proper lady does.
There are lots of things that proper ladies do, that I was also taught to do. My mother tried the best she could, but rarely sighed and changed the subject when disappointed in one of my missteps. Points on humor was a frequent issue. Ladies should not respond to coarse or vulgar humor - if told an off-color joke, she is to respond as if she did not understand the joke.
I never pulled this off very well. It's hard to make people believe you don't understand a joke if you are laughing out loud. It's even worse when you respond with another, worse joke. The saddest thing is that I knew how bad I was being, but when it came to humor, I was helpless.
Today, I understand that most of my humor is rooted in my love of language, and visual "puns." Much like Temple Grandin, I "think in pictures." I also think in song, and rhyme. Really, I thought everyone thought like me - why shouldn't I? I can't look at anything without connecting it to something else.
Hence, my Borderline Comedy Disorder: comedy that just blurts out at odd times (insert here a few bars from, Girl Can't Help It by Little Richard).
So, I guess I'll take a cue from Lady Edith and Charlie Brown, and go ahead and write - despite the response.
