Wednesday, June 15, 2011

Ode to the Inappropriate

So, I keep bursting out in laughter this evening, because the chant "Knife or Banana?  Knife or Banana?" is going through my head.  Endlessly.  Thanks to my husband chanting it all day long after watching a rerun of Tosh.0 last night.

I keep giggling because I can't believe that something so hopelessly inane is stuck in my mind.  I suppose someone more intellectually-minded could find some kind of Freudian interpretation of why I keep laughing because "Knife or Banana?" is stuck in my head.

And so, because I have a blog with which to post, I began to reflect on my personal enjoyment of male-oriented humor that is inappropriate fare at the dinner table at Thanksgiving.  In fact, I think my enjoyment of this kind of humor is a good part of the reason why I married my husband.  He never stops.  If an image, scrap of conversation or song lyric can be interpreted or completely rewritten to include a double entendre, or an outright mention of boobs or male genetalia, he will be on it like white on rice.

One secret that will not surprise those who know me is that, although I was always incredibly intimidated by the stoner types in junior high and high school, I was always incredibly entertained by the hilarious stoner types.   The ones who gave the teachers just a little bit of shit-- not enough to be completely disrespectful and embarrassing, but the ones who kept up an ongoing banter that just slightly subverted the educational process.  You know, the ones who, when a teacher was sitting on the corner of his desk with his hands in his pocket, would ask the teacher if he liked to shoot pool, or play ball. 

Is it possible that my affinity for such cinematic classics as Joe Dirt, Wayne's World, and Superbad are a sort of internal psychological feminist backlash?  Or does it make life just a little easier to broadly paint all men as perpetual self-absorbed and body-part-oriented teenagers?  Perhaps it is something more passive than that.  A complete intellectual abandon that allows me to laugh my ass off even though I know better.  The question I often ask myself is:  is it okay to be a (highly entertained) consumer of these cultural products if I do know better?  If not, well, then let my indulgences be our little secret and I'll keep on laughing.

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