It's a joke nobody knows

My head is full. Sometimes I feel that if I think anymore, I'll explode. But then of course, I can't afford not to think. I've been thinking about politics, award season, theatre, recycling, religious abstention, my imminent return to Chicago on Sunday, and of course, the ever-childish feeling of being left out.

Last year, I went to school in Washington, D.C. before transferring to school in Chicago this year. Some of my closest friends are, predictably, still there. And thanks to the strange and addictive networking tool that is Facebook, I've been bombarded with endless tales of their Inauguration adventures. It's hard to be happy for them when you're standing just outside the circle. I'd like to stop being human, just for a moment, and be able to jump for joy with them, but I can't.

I've been thinking about the new administration and the faith I have in them. The game is on now. I've been thinking about the film industry and its annual tradition of shameless self-congratulation. It's amazing how I managed to get so wrapped up in it. I'm thinking about the integrity of the struggling theatre scene, the show I'll be seeing in New York this weekend, and the shows I'm planning to see in Chicago as soon as I return. And I've been thinking about how much I can't afford it, and how little I care. [Incidentally, I've also been thinking that more people need to come to Chicago because it's incredible. And there's my obligatory Chi-town plug.]

I go to a pretty eco-friendly school, but I've been thinking about ways I can enhance that. I hate being just one person. Then again, that's all it takes. I've been re-reading The God Delusion for the third time, and thinking about minorities and being one. I've been thinking about school, and whether I could be successful in my chosen field without it.

And most importantly, I've been thinking that LOST will finally be on in three hours, and I can escape for a little while. Oh, entertainment. How I rely on you so unreasonably.

Two Humourous Shores, One Pond

I was raised on the BBC. This is in part because my mother preferred to pretend she was British. Although this was true in heritage, she was born in Boston and therefore not of the directly British persuasion. When I was younger, I watched Casualty instead of E.R. I lived on Absolutely Fabulous, The Vicar of Dibley, Keeping Up Appearances, As Time Goes By, and more. French & Saunders was my life. American humor, at the time, was virtually lost on me. Unless of course you count Rugrats and Doug, and the occasional Kenan & Kel.

Last night, late in the evening when sleep was an elusive beast, I decided to have myself an Ab Fab marathon, beginning from the premiere episode of season one. It occurred to me as I was watching - and feel free to refute this statement if you disagree - that British comedy is just flat out funnier than American comedy.

I've been trying to discern why, both for my own knowledge and the benefit of this post, but it's still a little unclear. Maybe it's simply by default. Maybe British people think American comedy is funnier, who knows? Hell, maybe it's the accent.

Although I think it's possible that the British style is humor is a bit less crass. As Americans, we're so focused on being funny, in finding humor in odd places, while the British just seem to find humor wherever they go. Would Monty Python be as funny if it were done by Americans? Probably not. Would a show as brilliantly funny as Keeping Up Appearances be a success in the U.S.? Doubtful.

If you notice, Britcoms are exceedingly simple in terms of plot. An wildly immature mother and her stern daughter, a female vicar, an inexplicably haughty old woman and her classless sisters, a couple who reunites after forty years of leading separate lives. Simple, brilliant, and shockingly hilarious. Most episodes of Ab Fab don't have much going on in them. Often there are ten minute scenes of Edina and Saffron having an extended exchange in the kitchen, about nothing. And it's utterly hilarious. In the U.S., we don't laugh unless Jack McFarland puts on a gay spelling bee or Tracy Jordan dresses up like Thomas Jefferson. We laugh at what people do rather than what they say.

And then of course you have movies like This Is Spinal Tap, made by Americans about British people, that completely cast my theory to the wind. Damnit. Back to the drawing board.