I know that when you think of Chris Johnson, you say, "Man, that is one macho manly dude! I'm so glad he's playing third base for the Braves".
Then your buddy says, "Oh, that Chris Johnson! For a minute I thought you meant that girly man from the newspaper!"
Cue hysterical laughing.
True, I'm not manly in every single way. Sure, I still live and breathe sports. On a good week, I can produce more methane than a dairy farm. And I have constructed a shrine to Waylon Jennings in my walk-in closet -- otherwise known as the man cave or as close as I may get to one in this lifetime.
But I've also got a handful of non-manly characteristics. When you say "twin-turbo 3.6-liter with 410 horsepower and 369 pounds of torque," I don't know whether you're talking about a Cadillac or the Millennium Falcon. I cannot burp on demand. And I think poker is about as much fun as owning a dead pet rock.
When my unmanliness truly rears its ugly -- or I guess pretty -- head is when my wife decides we should watch a movie. No, the unmanliness is not that my wife gets to make the decision. The unmanliness comes when we start sorting through the titles.
My wife gets excited over the movies with a lot of explosions and people falling from 10-story buildings, landing on a car and walking away like it's no big deal. You know, movies like "Mission Impossible 12" and "Fast and Furious Nursing Home Turbo Wheelchair: the Race for Applesauce." Yep, guy movies.
And I'm arguing for movies like "Sideways" and "What Women Want." Yep, chick flicks. Although, I contend that not every movie lacking explosions and clever lines like "I have had it with these @#$%&! snakes on this @#$%&! plane!" automatically qualifies as a chick flick.
Don't get me wrong -- I like my fair share of guy movies. I can't ever turn away from "Fletch" and I probably can't count how many times I've watched all or portions of "Cool Hand Luke" and "Smokey and the Bandit." But today's guy movies just seem to lack anything to hold my attention. It seems the more amazing and expensive the stunts, the more
hype a film gets as an ultimate guy movie. I just see it as a red flag that I'm going to fall asleep only to be occasionally awakened by massive explosions.
Because I am the man of the house, I put my foot down the other night and reminded my wife that it was my turn to pick a movie because she had picked the previous three and it was my turn to pick one before she picked another eight in a row. I thought I could win her over with "Breakfast at Tiffany's."
It's a classic movie from a classic novel with an unbelievable performance by a legendary actress, Audrey Hepburn (along with an amazingly racist performance by Mickey Rooney, but no movie's perfect). And the woman had the nerve to badmouth the film and ask me questions like "Is anything ever gonna happen?" before she fell asleep and allowed me to watch the movie in peace. It was brilliant.
Of course, she asked me how it ended -- just in case she wants to watch the second half someday. And I think she might -- especially after I explained how the Brazilian millionaire gets blown up in a fighter jet while trying to shoot the fast-moving zombies who take over Manhattan just before Holly Golightly gets bitten by Paul Varjak, who turns out to be a vampire.
Or maybe that was "Breakfast at Tiffany's 2: Revenge of Cat."
Connect with Chris Johnson at Facebook.com/KudzuKidWriting or firstname.lastname@example.org.