Instagram is spying on my love life

I have recently decided to join the twenty-first century and dabble in Instagram, and quite honestly, I wish I had never started. I rarely share personal information or pictures on Facebook or IG. I only signed on to hopefully expand the readership of my blog, BoomerBroadcast and covertly snoop on other people. Instagram and Facebook have now become my prime sources of fashion inspiration since all my favourite and not-favourite mags have ceased publishing or more accurately, ceased publishing anything relevant to me, but there is a dark downside to Instagram. It is highly addictive and somehow my seemingly innocent fashion snooping has yielded unexpected results.

Gerard Butler is always welcome on my Instagram feed.

I am now subjected to all kinds of unsolicited cute baby and toddler videos, too many wildlife shots, lots of enticing streetscapes of European cities, endless videos and photos of cute kittens, Yorkies and Maltese (which, obviously I love and linger on), and somehow, regular and tantalizing pictures of Scottish actor Gerard Butler keep appearing. How Instagram ever learned of my secret crush on Gerard Butler is an absolute mystery to me.  I do not ever recall clicking “Like” on any kind of picture of him and other than my girlfriends, no one else knows of my secret crush.

The first time I saw Gerard Butler was on Britain’s The Graham Norton Show when Butler told the story about being a groomsman at his sister’s wedding in Scotland. During the bible reading midway through the service, the groomsmen were sitting on chairs on a raised dais at the front of the church . . . in kilts. Butler’s mother was among the front-row guests. She kept shooting him looks and folding her hands together which he misinterpreted that he should be praying, before realizing she was signalling him to stop “manspreading” to the delight of the entire congregation. That story marked the moment when I fell in love with Gerard Butler, before I had ever seen one of his movies.

In his prime, there was no one sexier than Elvis.

We all have celebrity crushes. My love for Elvis has waned over the years. In fact, I could safely say it pretty much stopped after his magnificent 1968 television special when he wore the hot black leather suit and he was in his prime. Elvis has now been replaced by younger, more contemporary heart-throbs.

I’ve written previously in BoomerBroadcast about my feelings for Jason Bateman (A love letter to Jason Bateman), star of Ozark, Arrested Development and Identity Thief. No one wears jeans better. On that same note, once I saw Liam Neeson wearing a kilt (do you see a pattern here?) in the 1995 movie Rob Roy, my heart was forever smitten. Swinging that big sword as his kilt swirled around him is a sight this old boomer has never gotten over. Whoooo-wee!

If only I were forty years younger, I’m sure Alan Richter’s Jack Reacher would want to dance with me to Patsy Cline.

The unexplained intrusions into my dream love life by Instagram, however, have me concerned. What else do they know about my amorous preferences? Do they know that I’m a sucker for brains, blue eyes and nice teeth?

Are my girlfriends being indiscreet and sharing the stories I’ve told them about my reaction to seeing Alan Ritchson, the 6’5″ actor who portrays the new version (NOT the diminutive Tom Cruise casting) of retired military police officer Jack Reacher from the best-selling novels by Lee Childs? Check out Ritchson’s character in the second episode of Reacher on Prime TV slow dancing to Patsy Cline’s Crazy, in a sleazy bar with lady cop Roscoe Conklin. Lordy, lordy!!

Boomer broads may be old, but we’re not dead!

Instagram is regularly shooting me no end of crap I have no interest in . . . but I can’t seem to turn it off. I’ve started deleting and blocking but they always manage to stay ahead of my efforts to keep the traffic to a minimum. My compromise is to allow the pictures of Gerard Butler to filter through and if they happen to find out about my crush on Alan Ritchson’s Jack Reacher, then I’ll let that one pass too. I am generous that way.

Somehow, Instagram has intruded into my phantom love life and I’m not happy about it. I can blame it on unfathomable, high-tech algorithms that are beyond the ken of the average human brain. I suppose I could put stop to this intrusion into my phantom love life and pull the plug on Instagram but I need it to spy on other people. I need to know who else loves dancing to Patsy Cline’s “Crazy” with Jack Reacher.


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