Women ain’t funny, even if they make you laugh

Christopher Hitchens is a writer I really respect and even, dare I say, love. He has no fear of getting right up your nose and twitching the short & straighties. He’ll even give a yank, hold up one of those snotty pieces of dead keratin, and say, look at what came out of you! Tsk tsk.

I won’t say I always agree with him, because I don’t, but we generally find ourselves on the same side of the primordial fence. Slightly left of center, slightly more on the side of the little guy, slightly mistrustful of authority, and more than slightly pissed off at the way that power not only corrupts but that that corruption is apparently the only thing that follows the supposed law of trickle-down economics.

But, man oh man, Chris-baby. On this point you are so wrong, and I don’t even know how to begin.

A progressive in many ways, Hitchens seems determined that, in the field of sexual politics, we are incapable of behaving in anything but the most stereotypical and base ways.

Take a look at this Vanity Fair article from 2007, in which he propounds his theory that men are funny because they are supposed to impress women, and women aren’t because we were merely put on this earth to laugh at men’s jokes.

It would be laughable, except I don’t want to encourage him in thinking I find HIM funny…

The corollary to this intellectually insulting supposition is that women appeal to men enough just by our existence, and therefore need do nothing more than be objects to get a man.

Can I stop right here; are you laughing enough?

I won’t just trot out a list of very funny women in the entertainment biz (or for that matter in my own life). That kind of argument is the easiest to counter. What, for example, if he has never found Megan Mullally the least bit amusing, or figures that Sandra Bullock is a comic actress and not a comedian, so it doesn’t really count?

Hitchens, who has a well-deserved rep for seeing through the bullshit to what’s really going on seems to, when it comes to women at least, see only what he wants to.

For example, when he is forced to admit that women have been successful in comedy or comic writings (and no journalist can really dismiss Dorothy Parker as unfunny, or else burn in a special hell fired by Press Club brandy), he is quick to state that it’s no wonder some women are celebrated as wits: after all, men are stupid and will laugh at anything.

What a fine double-edged sword. If they make us laugh, it is a triumph, because we are coldly intelligent and look down our fine long noses at the ape-like man who must impress us with his humor because we are not naturally inclined to sexuality otherwise. And if we make them laugh, it’s because they can’t tell a pun from a fart-joke, and find both equally amusing, and by the way, do that think where the milk comes out your nose again.

Maybe Hitchens is not so far off his view of man as dumb ape?

Maybe Hitchens not so far off in view of man as dumb ape?

Underlying it all seems to be the premise that Hitchens just thinks humor is unladylike, while laughing politely is not.

Hitchens nails the seedy core of his own argument when he states that “…Precisely because humor is a sign of intelligence (and many women believe, or were taught by their mothers, that they become threatening to men if they appear too bright), it could be that in some way men do not want women to be funny. They want them as an audience, not as rivals.”

He goes on to talk about the “huge, brimming reservoir of male unease, which it would be too easy for women to exploit.”

Well, duh. Chris, baby. What you’re really saying is that you’re not ready for the same kind of exploitation used ON you that has typically been the province of people LIKE you.

Welcome to an egalitarian world.

I thought this was what you wanted, a world in which Western values of freedom and democracy could apply to everyone, where religious pluralism and universal emancipation as envisioned by Thomas Jefferson could be a global phenomena.

Or do you share Jefferson’s opinion that husband, hearth and children was a woman’s natural lot, and we should leave the big stuff to the men?

The men, who in your estimation, are less intelligent, unable to overcome either their prejudices or their sexual urges?

Damn, it’s enough to make a girl lose her sense of humor altogether. And then where will you be, Chris?


LINKS

WILDsound Film Festival

jen frankel dot com

If You Build It, They Will Complain

When I was six or seven, I thought the best business idea in the world would be to make some cookies and a Thermos of hot chocolate, and take ‘em down to sell at construction sites.

Not to the workers, mind. The unexploited gold mine my seething little brain pinpointed, even at that young age, was all them guys who like to watch construction workers at work.

I like big trucks and earth movers too. You can catch me peeping through gaps in chipboard barriers around big holes in the ground. I have a fetish for cranes too. Big! Strong! Powerful! What’s not to love?

It’s not supposed to be in girl-DNA to be a truckist, but my little niece always seemed to be more attracted to zoom-zooms than stuffed animals – at least until someone introduced her to Dora the Explorer, and I mean, who can blame her for jumping the proverbial ship? Besides, Dora’s always on the go. Emma can have her Spanish lessons, her girl power, and her love of vehicles all in one.

Construction also means hassle, if your place is the one under construction. Take, well, me for example.

Last year was one big hot, dusty noisy, uncertain hell. Our landlord needed to replace the balconies on our 300 apartment building, and it was the work of about 14 months of pounding, bad smells, and loud shouting in foreign languages at seven in the morning.

I get the necessity, and the impossibility that major construction can happen without any loss of quality of life. But what I learned most over the extended war zone around what I had trouble thinking of as “Home Sweet Home” was that people, faced with construction of their own, lose their fascination and love to gripe.

Not that it’s not warranted to be put out when your home becomes a no-man’s-land of rubble and dead grass. Or when the carpenters move in all the tools to your kitchen, and promptly vanish. Or when you’ve paid in full for the replacement furnace that still hasn’t arrived, and you’re still, well, freezing.

It’s all part of the ebb and flow of benefit and responsibility that we are afforded so many lessons on during the course of our lives, I guess. Yes, it’s terrific to avoid the responsibility of mortgage payments in favor of renting — but that means that any repairs are done on someone else’s schedule. It’s terrific and freeing to have the privacy of your own home — but when the water mains break, it’s all down to you.

I can imagine that when a contractor gets a straight-ahead demolition, there’s a certain sense of relief. Before you even start, you get to rid the property of all those pesky, complaining humans that will never look on the bright side of inconvenience. Provided you don’t let the building fall on anyone else’s, you can pretty much do your job and go home.

It must be the same when you’re putting up a building from square one, unless of course you have a lot of over-anxious condo-buyers breathing down your neck to meet the completion date.

And instead of the complainers who are waiting to get their homes back, you’ll see just the usual complement of onlookers who are standing by the construction site not to complain, but to marvel at your grown-up toys and the majesty of walls coming tumbling down or going up.

You may even see me out there, with my little cart and my carafe of hot beverages and oatmeal cookies. If I haven’t franchised the business out.

For a true horror story of a landlord/tenant relationship, check out:

The Devil Is A Landlord