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Supporting A Hypothesis A re-blog from Ann Althouse regarding satire. Watch the video. I got it right away. Did you?

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I posted on the Althouse about humor being equal to rejection, which raised some eyebrows. I then launched into a rambling explanation of what I meant, but I'm not sure I was very clear, or even that I expressed it properly. Here are some points I was using to highlight the idea: When children single another child out to laugh at, they're rejecting him. We instinctively know that and that's the whole basis of the "at" and "with" consolation. (I'm actually not sure that this is humor, but I think it's related to the concept of laughter and rejection.) Q: How can you tell an elephant's been in your refrigerator? A: From the footprints in the butter. Humor there comes from the rejection of the notion that, of all the ways you might be able to detect an elephant, sleuthing out butter cubes is at the top. We reject that notion. Or non-joke jokes: Q: Why do firemen wear red suspenders? A: To keep their pants up. Very meta. We laugh because there's nothing there to reject. It's a perfectly sensible answer to the question. In this case, we're rejecting the joke itself, or our expectation of something clever. Times change of course. 1940 movie house audiences were in stitches when Bugs Bunny first said, "What's up, doc?" They rejected the notion that a rabbit would react that way to a hunter. Nowadays, the out-of-place reaction to danger by a woodland creature is so common as to be tired. We no longer laugh uproariously at wisecracking rodentslagomorphs. OK, let's flip to some other kinds of comedy. Charlie Chaplin, eating his shoe: Audiences doubtless related to the hunger, but they rejected the notion (as we do, though far less profoundly) of eating one's shoe as though it were a gourmet meal. Buster Keaton, running The General. He's fleeing for his life in the steam train. His girl is throwing wood into the engine and as she picks up the wood, she evaluates it for suitableness, in one case throwing out a large piece because it has a small hole in it. We reject that rejection. Heh. The Marx Brothers were steeped in odd behavior that was totally inappropriate for the situation, and surrounded by people whose reactions were impossibly indulgent. A lot of modern comic writers, especially Woody Allen, give us neurotic characters. Always, of course, a little too neurotic. We reject their exaggerated responses, and at some level probably reject the idea that neuroses are just wacky fun. How about puns? A pun--should it make us laugh or groan--is a rejection of the use of a word. A lot of physical comedy is based on social propriety, which may be one of the reasons that physical comedy is much harder to do effectively these days. Pie in the face? Seltzer down your pants? Hell, it's a rare day one of my co-workers doesn't come in with pie on their face and seltzer down their pants. In fact, life in general may be less humorous because it's not polite to reject people any more. Not all laughter is humorous, of course. One can laugh out of joy or exhilaration. Or out of meanness. Similarly, not all rejection is humorous. I've often thought that black humor (like, Network) is relatively unpopular because it gives very faint signals that it is to be rejected. Black humor, ultimately, is a rejection of mortality, or at least the significance of mortality, as well as other Very Serious Things. But again, times change. One of the great Richard Brooks' last movies was the muddled Wrong Is Right. I was sort of amused and sort of befuddled right up until some people started blowing themselves up--that was my cue that this was all meant as over-the-top satire. Audiences today might interpret that signal completely differently. But I've rambled on enough for now. I hope that clarifies. (NOTE: I originally typed this up last June and never posted--at least I can't seem to find it on the blog anywhere. I'm not sure why I didn't post it, but here it is now.)

Went to see The Boy in the Striped Pajamas tonight and it was sold out! Second week in a row, they said. (Well, not exactly sold out, but they said the only seats were front row and The Boy likes to sit in the back. In the corner. Go figger.) Also recovering from some kind of food poisoning. It happens every few years with something that a normal person would throw up. I don't throw up so a temporary discomfort turns into several days of that not-quite-right feeling. It's weird because it often feels like I'm hungry but sorta not, then I'll get a fever for a few hours, then it closes out with stiffness in my neck and shoulders. The intestinal discomfort moves lower and lower, but usually disappears before, em, the end of the line. I'd think it was flu, except for not really having the symptoms, and it never spreads. I actually don't get sick very much. I went from April of 1997 to December of 2005 without so much as a sniffle. Then in 2006 I got three colds in eight months. And I haven't been sick since. But all three of those colds went from me to the kids. They crawl all over me. They're not sanitary in the least. They also do it when they're sick and I'm not, but I scoff at their puny child germs. WebMD's symptom checker--and isn't that a little bit of awesomeness, especially for hypochondriacs--says I may have gastritis or indigestion (both of which I'd probably classify in my non-doctorial way as "food poisoning") but there's also this little gem called Giardia. Dovetails nicely with the parasite discussion over at Althouse. But if I'm going to have parasites, I want these.