I haven't posted here since last Sunday, and now here I am posting right around quittin' time on a Friday afternoon. That's what we in the blogging business call "strategery".
No, actually, I was busy with a bunch of stuff, and then I was going to post on Wednesday night, but--wouldn't you know it--Blogger, the host of this and fifty kerjillion other blogs, crapped in its pants and was in "read-only" mode until just a few hours ago.
I did manage to publish a couple other posts on non-Blogger platforms though. For instance, rightcheer, on Aiming low, I wrote about how cooking steaks on a cast iron skillet is every bit as manly as being a medieval blacksmith.
And then, over on Parentables, I wrote about how non-traditional families (e.g., at-home dads/breadwinning moms) are good models for how family labor can be distributed equitably.
Oh yeah, I guess I hadn't mentioned that I would be contributing to TLC's parenting website, "Parentables". When I was at the mommyblogging conference in New Orleans, a nice lady who attended the panel I was a part of came up to me afterwards, and was all, "Hey--you're a dude, right? Take this card and email me later. We need some dudes to write for us." So I did. That's what we in the blogging business call "networking".
Okay. Enough with the links and the boring news updates. Here's the story I wanted to tell:
- Run away! He's a dangerous lunatic!
- Take pictures! Sell them to TMZ!
- Geek out and tell him about how Mad Max and Road Warrior were the most important events of your adolescence.
- Shake your head at him, silently saying You. Disgust. Me. That's what one does to pariahs, right?
- Play it cool--celebrities don't deserve any special treatment.
We stalk Mad Mel for a little while, coincidentally visiting the same exhibits he and his small troop are. I make contact with his crazy eyes again, and decide it's time to go look at the flamingos and then head home.
Nope, didn't get any pictures.
That's a shame.
I know. Um...how much would you have paid?
Oh...a couple hundred bucks.
*kicks self repeatedly*
Later, I tell my wife about it, including the self-kicking over not taking pictures. She, of course, talks sense, tells me that it would not have been worth it to have my iPhone smashed by an angry Hollywood silverback.
But...but...I could have recorded him flipping out and been famous as the SAHD that Mel Gibson attacked at the zoo!
That's really...pathetic, her rolling eyes tell me.
"Plus," she says, "Think of how traumatizing that would have been for the kids."
I agree, and pretend to overcome my regret over the squandered opportunity.
I don't really think the kids would have been scarred for life, though.
And I don't really regret missing the chance to dabble in the twisted celebrity ecosystem, either. I used to have a huge man-crush on Mel, before people ever talked about man-crushes. Mostly because I thought he was actually Mad Max.
But when I saw him at the zoo, he seemed hunted and paranoid, and it made me sad. Even though it seems clear that he's crazy and possibly evil, I had to think about what it must feel like to know that everyone knows who you are, and most of them hate you. And all you want to do is look at gorillas with your kid.