As summer turns to fall, Brett Buckner's attention turns to the Star’s third annual HorrorFest, a buckets-of-blood marathon during which he will watch 31 horror movies in 31 days.

The blood was still churning in the water and the bikini-clad, blonde damsel had just barely escaped the jaws of the man-eating (or, in this case, woman-eating) great white shark when my 8-year-old daughter used a handful of buttered popcorn to steal my attention away from the movie screen.

My first concert was Alabama and Juice Newton. Not a lot of cool points in that statement, but I was maybe 8 years old — same age as my daughter.

I’m cutting corners: Netflix, Audible, Amazon Prime, etc. I’m using grocery store apps. I activated all those darn membership cards that have been uselessly eating up space in my wallet like gas station condoms. I even bought generic Febreze. Things are bad.

With one young woman sitting backwards in an office chair — my hands running through her long, dark hair — while another young woman stood behind me, offering guidance like a long-suffering schoolmarm, it was the kind of scene HR narcs dream of.