Maturity

Let me ask my readers a question: At what age will I cease to laugh at dick and fart jokes? I’m sure it should happen sometime in the near future. I mean, I’m almost thirty years old, so I’m pretty sure I shouldn’t be laughing at things which I thought were funny when I was ten.

I feel inclined to hide the fact that I would rather watch “Spaceballs” than “Citizen Kane,” or spend an hour watching back to back episodes of “Beavis and Butthead” instead of “60 Minutes.”

It worries me that I think that this link represents one of the greatest lines uttered in any movie (one use of the f-word by Kevin Kline so turn down your speakers.) But I shouldn’t, should I? Surely I should feel that way about a serious line in a serious movie?

Dammit, why do I suddenly have the urge to say “Don’t call me Shirley?”

Similarly, when should I begin worrying about my lack of maturity as far as music goes? As a well-educated and cultured man I’m reasonably sure I should like music of incredible and multi-layered complexity, and not gravitate towards songs with guitar solos, power ballads, and lyrics about drinking and partying all night.

I guess I should accept it; I’m a product of low-culture, pure and simple. Sure, you can take Zucker, Abraham, and Zucker away from the boy but you’ll never take the influence of Zucker, Abraham, and Zucker out of the boy.

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