Simply Enjoy It, Man...

You know what I hate? Well, besides everything. And everyone. And Celine Dion. Besides those things. Have I given you sufficient time to guess? No? Okay, I'll wait.

Ready? Okay. I hate it oh so much when your enjoyment of something is reduced by someone else's over analyzing it. I'm as guilty of this as anybody, but I'm not talking about my side seat critiquing. I'm talking about when a person has become such an expert in something that they forget what the point of whatever it is IS. Movies. Music. Theatre. Paintings. Hell, even wine these days.

You get these people who bleed all the enjoyment out of entertainment with their insistent need to analyze everything to the microscopic. It's all well and good for you to theorize what's in the infamous briefcase in Pulp Fiction. Pondering, in detail, the dance between Travolta and Thurman? You went too far. Especially when they go on and on about it, and someone pipes up with the relevant info that the director themself envisioned it a certain way, usually quite the straight forward one...and this self-proclaimed auteur poo-poos that notion. That's absurdity. That's pissing in to the wind, eating the yellow snow absurdity. Stick a fork in to a power outlet, tickle a bull's nose insanity. I could go on. I'll spare you, though, because I like you. Not you....you. The one behind that other guy over there. Yeah, that's right.

Okay, now I've gone from eccentric to plain ol' cuckoo. Right the ship...back on track...other travel based metaphorical euphemisms for getting re-focused.

Euphemism. That's a funny word. Kinda sounds like positivity for children...

(We apologize folks, it seems rational Bart has left the building...best queue up the signature and ride off in to the proverbial sunset of cyberspace)