Folks were upset that I didn’t care for Trevor Noah. Big deal.
Damn, the drama. I try to be honest with you, open my heart, and you go all crazy over my confessed dislike for Trevor Noah.
Do you know how risky/difficult it is to admit you don’t like something days? I could’ve just held back, but I’m trying to establish some credibility.
The reason I don’t like Trevor Noah is because he’s a smug and unfunny pretty boy, of which there are so many these days, though I hear his book is quite good.
Do smug pretty boys write worthwhile books? Not so I can tell.
“You hate Trevor Noah & Idina Menzel?” wrote one follower. “As my elderly Italian aunt use to say, ‘Whatza matter with you?’”
How much time you got?
“Hate Trevor Noah?” writes JoAnn Burciaga. “I now see a ding in your shining armor.”
First of all, JoAnne, that’s not shining armor; it’s an old marching band uniform I bought at a yard sale. I only wear it on first dates or to the opera.
Second, I really go out of my way each week to show you my imperfect parts, to reveal my weaknesses, and the appetites that threaten to consume me…my neediness and the giant gaps in my Drake/Duke education,
As I share my path toward adulthood, a coming-of-age saga now spanning seven decades, let’s show a little kindness, OK?
Folks were upset that I didn’t care for Trevor Noah. So? Whatza matter with that? Nothing personal, I just can’t stand the impish idiot. Or John Oliver either, another impish idiot.
It’s not political in any way. I’m a subversive at heart too. Anarchy can be so entertaining. I mean, you should see our house.
I admit I’m a little put off by cheeky transplants who bash the place. In Oliver’s case, he can go back to that inbred little isle he’s from, which is England, a scruffy, out-of-fashion curio you might find hidden away in your grandmother’s attic.
But enough about me. I want to talk about you a moment.
In reaction to my last post, Stephanie Lee confesses that her mother has no Tupperware. I’m not sure the significance of that, other than I noted what a lousy place Tupperware bins were for making love, though certainly better than no place at all.
But what kind of mother doesn’t have Tupperware? Moms usually collect Tupperware as if there were some global shortage. Posh filled the garage.
Facebook follower Risa Slavin is more reasonable, threatening to get me “all ginned up and hear what/who else I can’t stand.”
Honestly, that sounds fun, Risa. Ticking off the things that bother us is healthy and honest, and best happens in the company of your closest friends, which is how I consider all of you.
Other dislikes: intermittent dieting, Brendan Fraser movies and the Bee-Gees.
And I don’t like those little sweaters people put on dogs. Or plastic plants. Or models who shave their heads half way up the side.
And I don’t like all the red lights you get when you’re late to the airport.
Or spray-on tans…I really hate spray-on tans. And artificial turf, mail-order steaks and most diet drinks. Most of all, I hate people who can’t take a joke.
Whew, I feel so much better now, doc. Thanks for listening. Is our time up?
No worries, because Risa is about to get me “all ginned up.”
And fortunately, I balance my likes and dislikes.
I like what humidity does to curly hair. I like the slow, earnest way young kids tie their shoes.
I like Miles Davis at midnight, Joni Mitchell at Christmas and Roberta Flack every time she opens her amazing mouth #ChrisErskineLA #trevornoahTweet
I like Miles Davis at midnight, Joni Mitchell at Christmas and Roberta Flack every time she opens her amazing mouth.
I like church choirs, short skirts and tall drinks in very icy glasses, so that they look crammed with jewelry.
I like vintage MGs, the smell of fresh-cut lumber, Roman candles, really old denim and what butter does to shrimp.
By the way, what butter does to shrimp is what you do to me. Just add a splash of wine. Or a lot of wine.
As I always say: Wine flies when you’re having fun.
Look, I am prone to off-beat reflections. I am often a little silly, a little barbaric and occasionally melancholy, the kind of goof who plays Sinatra songs on an old horn in a way that peels the paint.
Every day can’t be Mardi Gras, no matter how upbeat your outlook.
I was thinking the other day how I am tired of hollow relationships that are minus revelation or any other form of sustenance – humor, nuance, honesty, insight or even wry resignation.
Life’s too short and the nights too long.
That’s why I’m lucky to have cool friends. And uncool friends, who more resemble me, quite frankly — a semi-grown man in a marching band uniform.
So go ahead. Pour that gin.
Big news, really big news. Our new book, “Lavender in Your Lemonade,” is now available on Kindle. For those of you who prefer fresh-cut lumber, actual books are due out any day. A Newsletter is coming next week, and the hiking club is poised to begin. Prediction: Fall will be better than summer.