The Cheese Monkeys by Chris Kidd
Posted: 15 Aug 2009, 08:03
Long ago I came to the conclusion that the opinions of professional critics cannot be trusted. They seem, with all their pontificating, to despise art created by anyone but themselves and their current “pets”. Which is why I never read their reviews until after I have read, watched or listened to whatever it is they have dissected.
In the case of “The Cheese Monkeys” I am glad. Some of the ‘critiques’ I read went after this book like Redneck Satanists at a virgin sacrifice.
To make a long story short – it had been one of the worst weeks I have had in a long, long time. Horrid birthday, BAD day at work, emergency room trip (200 miles away), lost finger (not mine, my son’s), lost money (mine), emotionally raw, home by 2:00am – ect . . . On my day off, I needed to distress and my method is to go to the gym and hurl myself at all the equipment until I am baptized in sweat and utterly exhausted.
I needed a “gym” book. I found a paperback copy of Chris Kidd’s book buried in my book shelf. I grabbed it. It almost killed me. I haven’t laughed like that in a long time. You cannot listen to Rammstein on a cardio machine going about MOC 5 and read this book at the same time. The second time I lost my balance, nearly falling off, I had to put the book on the floor. I devoured it when I got home. Things happen in this book that will be with me forever. I howled. I laughed until I cried. I know my eyelids must have been strained from bugging open.
By the time I closed it, it felt as if everything in my world balanced and I could go on. (I love how a book can do that.)
In the case of “The Cheese Monkeys” I am glad. Some of the ‘critiques’ I read went after this book like Redneck Satanists at a virgin sacrifice.
To make a long story short – it had been one of the worst weeks I have had in a long, long time. Horrid birthday, BAD day at work, emergency room trip (200 miles away), lost finger (not mine, my son’s), lost money (mine), emotionally raw, home by 2:00am – ect . . . On my day off, I needed to distress and my method is to go to the gym and hurl myself at all the equipment until I am baptized in sweat and utterly exhausted.
I needed a “gym” book. I found a paperback copy of Chris Kidd’s book buried in my book shelf. I grabbed it. It almost killed me. I haven’t laughed like that in a long time. You cannot listen to Rammstein on a cardio machine going about MOC 5 and read this book at the same time. The second time I lost my balance, nearly falling off, I had to put the book on the floor. I devoured it when I got home. Things happen in this book that will be with me forever. I howled. I laughed until I cried. I know my eyelids must have been strained from bugging open.
By the time I closed it, it felt as if everything in my world balanced and I could go on. (I love how a book can do that.)