Every year around this time, my social calender takes a hit. My friends tend to wonder why I drop off the face of the earth. At 8 p.m. every night, the world stops. Why?
It’s Shark Week.
Shark Week is my Comic-Con. It’s my Star Trek convention. It’s my chance to sit on the couch, drown out the world, and completely geek out. It’s seven days of pure shark glory.
Every year it’s the same thing. I make sure I have nowhere to go. I make dinner before showtime, and sit comfortably on my couch. People can come over, but they can only talk during commercials. I soak in every detail I can.
The resulting knowledge allows me to go through aquariums without wasting time on those silly plaques. It also enables me to point out inaccuracies in shark movies and has taught me swimming habits that protect me from shark attacks.
I know all of the places not to swim. I am a beach-going professional and can also identify sharks that fisherman catch locally.
Does it help me in the long run? Unless I plan to quit journalism and become a marine biologist, it does not. Does it make me a more interesting person? I would like to think so, but the answer is once again a no.
What it does make me is more tolerant of friends and family who geek out on their own events. My best friend calls me monthly to read me Dr. Seuss books, an action she says not only makes her smile but lightens her heart a little. I only chuckled a little when one of my colleagues braved “Harry Potter” crowds to see “Winnie the Pooh” on opening day. I have patiently waited in lines and stayed up until midnight to go to see the first showing of three comic book movies with my boyfriend.
The point is that all people have that one thing that they completely go bananas for. For me, it’s sharks. Their power completely mystifies me. I can watch them forever. Luckily, this week only, I will be able to.
Contact Corianne Egan, a
Paducah Sun staff writer, at