I am not embarrassed to admit that I saw National Treasure 2: Book of Secrets in the movie theater.
Okay, I am slightly embarrassed. I saw it with Mike, his brother Paul, and their mother Lexi at the Litchfield movie theater and enjoyed it more than I probably should have. As we left the theater, Paul said, “Well, it was okay. But it wasn’t as realistic as the first one.”
You know, the original National Treasure. Where there are Masonic secrets written on the back of the Declaration of Independence, which the hero steals. Where the hero is Nicolas Cage, for crying out loud. Realism is not on the menu. It’s not even in the building.
The National Treasure movies are not (I can’t stop myself) national treasures. They are just silly. And what in the world is wrong with that?
As you may know, I am reading all of Agatha Christie’s novels in chronological order. (That’s just the kind of crazy life I lead.) I’m currently in the late 1920s, and I am frequently tempted to put down a book because it is just so silly. Global criminal organizations led by one “subtle oriental mind”. Diamonds. Fictional Balkan nations. Disguises upon disguises. Headquarters built into the base of a mountain. You get the idea.
But you know what? The more I read, the more I realize that there is nothing wrong with silly. And my goodness, do I ever want to know the secret of Chimneys / identity of the man in the brown suit / fate of the Big Four!
So whether your silly thing is Nicolas Cage movies (I recommend Next, for sure), Agatha Christie novels, or something else entirely, embrace it and do not be ashamed.
What do you love in spite of (or because of) its silliness?