Post-Halloween Irony

          Have you gobbled up all your Halloween candy, yet? (Note my Thanksgiving reference, now that it’s November.)

          First, I want to wish a Happy Birthday today, to Richie, my eldest son (now older than I am!). Note the shirt he's wearing.  I think it's perfect, because I find a bit of irony in Halloween. 

          For example, we give out “Fun Size” candies, when there is nothing fun at all in miniature versions of candy we love. Fun would be a giant candy bar (and for me, it would be vegan and sugar free! Another irony).  It’s like “Fun Run”—how can those two words be in the same sentence?

          Last week I saw the ad Crest Toothpaste has posted on Youtube and Twitter, telling kids to go ahead and eat candy, because they've got it covered. They gave the kids broccoli and beet-flavored "treats" and the kids were aghast. So this toothpaste company is urging kids to eat sugar.

          Irony is all around, of course, not just on Halloween. Have you ever seen someone post on Facebook that they wish people wouldn’t post such hostile comments, and then they get a stream of hostile responses?

          It’s like when someone says, “No offense,” but you know they mean, “I’m about to say something super offensive but I’m hoping you’ll be too oblivious to get mad about it.”

          I guess if you have to be an “-ic” it’s better to be ironic than moronic. Our dog is rarely ironic. On the other hand, she has the corner on, well, that other thing. But there’s only so much IQ you can cram into the head of a Chihuahua. She’s still lovable. Just saying.

And now that we’re officially in “the holidays” might I suggest my books? There’s something for everyone on your gift list!

When King Kong Meets Hong Kong

          Imagine for a moment that you are a filmmaker and you’ve been hired to go to Hong Kong to make a film promoting Hong Kong tourism.

          Now, I’ve been to Hong Kong, so let me tell you it’s a photographer’s dream.  Beautiful junks on the bay:

Tiantan Buddha:

The Peak:

Ladies Market:

The Clock Tower:

          You film it all.  Even the delicious food:

          And then WHAMMO—a rare Class 10 typhoon hits. The entire city closes down like a ghost town for 24 hours.

          You have the good sense not to tell your mother, and you hope she doesn’t hear about it on the news (Thank you, Cassidy).  But the irony is not lost on you—who goes to a location to show how great it is, and then it nearly gets blown off the map?  Yes, that is the Hilton Irony that our youngest son will experience, probably forever. And this is why every one in our family loves comedy.  Case in point, here's our eldest son wearing a shirt that says, "Irony. The opposite of wrinkly."

Check out my humorous books here, especially Sisters in the Mix.

Irony, Defined

            I recently had a Facebook conversation with my adorable English cousin, Peter.  It was about irony and I had given him some rather lame examples of it.  It’s not because there’s a time difference and I was tired; I simply couldn’t think of better ones than a giant named Tiny, or a fire chief’s house burning down.

            But irony is all around us, and one need only to check emails or turn on the TV for a plethora—that’s right, a plethora—of examples.

We’ve all received the emails of Walmartians in ghastly attire (or the lack thereof) with the heading, “You’ll never again worry about how you look.” 

 And sure enough, one’s jaw drops as photo after photo reveals a hideous getup worn in public. These aren't even the worst ones; those were too inappropriate even to blog about:

 

They make Halloween costumes look like inauguration attire.  Surely they have mirrors, right?  And friends who feign a coughing fit when they show up, so as not to gasp and say, “What on earth are you wearing?”

And it hits me that this is another beautiful example of irony:  People who should have all the confidence in the world second guess themselves and self-criticize, always worried about their appearance.  And then people whose mothers clearly dropped the ball and who should dash home and change clothes, instead go forth into the world without a shred of doubt, fully believing they look fabulous.  Like the dreadful singers on American Idol, they are shocked that anyone finds them other than amazing. 

How does one gain such unbridled confidence in the face of such mistaken evaluation?  Every ultra-talented person I know has moments of insecurity about their abilities.  Every gorgeous or handsome person I know thinks they have all kinds of flaws.  Some of them change outfits four times before they’re content to go anywhere.  Yet hordes of people with every reason to pause before prancing out before their fellowmen do so with absolute abandon, not a worry in their heads. 

 How did their parents instill such unwavering self-assurance? 

 And why do those who should grace us with their vast talents and abilities hang back in the shadows—did their parents encourage them any less?  I can’t imagine that.  It’s simply one of life’s mysteries, undoubtedly as old as humankind.  And that, my dear cousin, is my definition of irony.