June 19, 2009

Summer Friday: A Real Tear-Jerker

Every Friday between Memorial Day and Labor Day I'm going to be featuring "guest bloggers" as a part of my "Summer Fridays" series. This week's entry comes from NYC-based comedian and blogger Clint Osterholz who is a giant cry baby.

I have a hitherto unacknowledged problem, and I am now on Pat’s blog to confess it. I would have said something sooner, but I was worried that my friends would judge me. It’s not the sort of thing you want to tell people about anyway, because then they’ll shun you. Well, in the spirit of being open and honest with everyone, here goes.

I cry at every movie.

Some of my closest friends may have already picked up on this, as they have actually come along with me, but I’ve gotten quite good over the years at hiding little sniffles here and there. Oftentimes claiming sinuses, an errant popcorn kernel, or even Coca-Cola allergies, I have dodged the issue with lesser friends and acquaintances for far too long.

Ah, but there were rumblings of a problem when I started to socialize more and it was harder to hide. I barely ducked into a bucket of popcorn while watching the touching end to Saw 3 with my friend Zach, and faked a sneezing fit with my friend Kotero while watching Silent Hill.

Lest you think I am a horror movie homo or something, I have cried at far worse. I got misty during Semi-Pro. I choked up at Transformers—yes, during Optimus Prime’s speech. I got quite verklempt at Crossroads. And—Lord spare me—I even sputtered at Glitter.

Maybe I’ve got an excellent suspension of disbelief. Frankly, leaving the movie theater after something as good as The Shawshank Redemption or something as bad as Madea Goes to Jail is something of a shock, where I am back in reality and the lighting is bad, the casting is poor, and the dialogue is subpar at best. I often have to spend time convincing myself that I can’t just go pod racing with Anakin or that I’m safe from Samara’s wrath or that Satine didn’t really die of consumption after that smash show. Likely, that irritating little kid whined about getting desert dust in his eyes, that angry ghost girl’s makeup took 5 hours for her to get into, and Nicole Kidman more than likely let Ewan McGregor give it to her nice and sweet since Tom Cruise was embarking on his journey into West Crazy Bastardtown on the Insane Train making local stops in Weirdoville and Nutsberg.

I guess I have to make peace with it. That which makes me weird also makes me creative. Despite crying at Toy Story, Ocean’s Eleven, and Freddy Got Fingered, I’m able to write creative and original ideas without much effort. I guess there’s balance in nature.

Does anyone else have problems like me? I hope not. But if you do, I’ve got some Kleenex.

You can catch him acting a little more serious at PlanBliss.com... and if you'd like to write about something just email me and you might be the next Summer Friday blogger!

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