Skyfall

So how was your VD?

Meanwhile, over at Russia...

The sky is falling.

More to the point, a meteorite has reportedly been intercepted by Russian air defense forces, who supposedly blew it up while it was still 20 km in the air.

A series of explosions in the skies of Russia’s Urals region, reportedly caused by a meteorite shower, has sparked panic in three major cities. Witnesses said that houses shuddered, windows were blown out and cellphones have stopped working.

According to unconfirmed reports, the meteorite was intercepted by an air defense unit at the Urzhumka settlement near Chelyabinsk. A missile salvo reportedly blew the meteorite to pieces at an altitude of 20 kilometers.

Did we not learn anything from repeated viewings of Armageddon, Deep Impact, or Independence Day, children?

Blowing up a large incoming object runs the risk of shattering it into smaller objects that may hit even more targets. As the ensuing meteor showers below show:

Interestingly, it's tonight that an asteroid is actually scheduled to be doing a near-Earth fly by.

O,hai!

As per this Slate article:

On Friday, Feb. 15, the Earth is going to get a veryclose shave by an asteroid^*. Called 2012 DA14, this 50 meter (160 foot) rock will pass just over 27,000 kilometers (17,000 miles) from the Earth’s surface. This is closer than our geosynchronous satellites, so this really is a close pass!

But, to be very clear: This asteroid poses no threat to us right now, nor in the foreseeable future. Friday’s miss is just that: a miss. And, in fact, this is a good thing, since any time an asteroid gets close (but misses), we learn a lot, including how to find them, how to track them, and even how to talk about them to the public.

Oh, a miss, eh?


Well, it's not like government agencies never lie to us or anything.

And from what I've read:

At its closest point, 2012 DA14 will be above Sumatra, Indonesia at 2:24 PM EST (19:24 GMT).

Well, howdy, neighbor.

And one more for the road:

Smile!

Interesting how that flash at 0:13 could be the last thing you'll ever see.


Dun dun dun dunnnnnn!

Culture Vulture

Music soothes the savage beast.

Or does it?

Misquoting William Congreve's famous line* like the rest of us, so begins a particularly memorable episode of The Electric Company's "The Adventures of Letterman." Attending a classical concert, the villainous Spellbinder - no doubt entranced by the music - turns a bassoon into a...a baboon! Hilarity, of course, ensues, until Letterman saves the day by taking a double "L" from his chest and transforms the non-music loving simian into a less-disruptive balloon - which floats quietly out of sight.

Early evidence that I was a young troll.

What's this piece of childhood trivia got to do with anything, you ask?

Nothing, except that I've been going on an Arts & Culture bender of late, and I know deep down inside I'm just Spellbinder hoping to either create chaos or soothe the savage beast within.

Hopefully both.

Because I am given to obsessions - not all of them magnificent - I could not rest until I kept my promise to Brendan, my ex-protége. And thanks to the constrictions of his indentured servitude and the ensuing resetting of our momentous date, I ended up seeing Phantom of the Opera twice as a result.

Satisfying that sophomore - and sophomoric - craving for attention ironically did not slake my thirst for the limelight. Instead, it reawakened an ancient lusting so much so that as naturally as Claudia wanted to suck blood in Interview With A Vampire, I, too, wanted more.

Encore, encore, s'il vous plait, encore.

Soooooooooo.......


I ended up watching King and I twice, as well, this time escorting Mara - yet another "lady friend" - laden with faux bijoux up and down Newport's casinos, causing the eyes of the tai tais to narrow even further. Had I been more of a gambling man, I'd have played baccarat like Bond and she'd have moved like Harlow in Monte Carlo while waiting for the house to open. 

But alas, I have other ways of losing money - like watching musicals at least twice with different transvestite dates on my arm.

And because musicals are but a gateway drug, thanks to Gibbs Cadiz' helpfully-informative blog, we just barely managed to catch the tail end of Lisa Macuja's Swan Song Series performances : Giselle once with Mara, and in an encore reminiscent of Brendan's original failure to keep a date, I ended up watching Carmen twice: the first night with Mara, the next with Ayen. But a happy occasion, that, because we were privileged to witness a bonus dance from the prima ballerina as well as a song from her sister, in celebration of their parents' Golden Anniversary that last night. 

In between those, there's the ongoing National Theater Festival at the CCP. Mara and I had a grand old time watching Nonie and Shamaine Buencamino, Mae Bayot, Jenine Desiderio, and the rest of the spirited cast of Mario O'Hara's Stageshow - both as a gesture of support for the theater couple as well as my own nostalgic interest in bodabil.

Annoying Orange's mom was a more cultured kind of citrus.

Next stop : mighty Europe! The rainbow's gonna tour, dressed up, somewhere to go! We'll put on a show!

Oh, wait - I channeled Señora Peron there for a nanosecond.

Must've been all the jewels.

At any rate, our cultural calendar will take us to a whole new world on November 16th at the Meralco Theater, which, unfortunately, means I would be missing Joey Reyes' Sayaw nf mga SENIORita  in its debut run at the CCP that very same night. I'd love to see how closely it hews to its inspiration The Boys In The Band, but I'm not too keen on battling EDSA traffic to catch its succeeding performances at the AFP Theater. 

Nevertheless, should we fail to catch it at all, we are ready to console ourselves with Ballet Philippines' Dragon Song/Rama Hari back at the CCP on the 30th.

I always need a Statler to my Waldorf.

Lest I come off as a braggart and a snob, let me confess that these cultural excursions are hugely an elaborate - and expensive - exercise in social trolling born out of boredom. Be that as it may, I do have a genuine - if selective - interest in watching live performances, aside from those given by myself and my lovely accomplices. I still lament learning too late that Wicked had a short run in Singapore earlier this year, and would watch Evita every week if they ever bother re-staging it here. 



But why the trolling, you might ask? Isn't attending artistic performances sufficient in and of itself? 



Well, for better or worse, every gay man craves some drama in his life. And no drama is larger than life than when it is within the context of an opera, soap or musical. Speaking of which, the last musical opera I remember watching locally was a tragicomic staging of the already-tragic La Traviata. A theatrical - if well-meaning - travesty held at either the CCP or the Met, such was the trauma that I can't recall exactly. But I do remember its come-on was that it was an "experimental" version that "enhanced" the music of Verdi by altering the libretto with a smattering of Tagalog lyrics by none other than Rolando Tinio, if memory serves. 

Mal canto Tinio?

Opera is already inherently given to caricature as it is, but hearing Violetta singing that she was repairing to fucking NOVALICHES for her health could only send even the most solicitous of Filipino audiences into uncontrollable tittering. 

Be that as it may, I would still gladly sleep through Wagner at the Met - if we ever manage to convince any touring opera companies to grace our karaoke-infested shores.

(EDIT: In between the time I wrote this and the time I published it, I have learned that the Manila Symphony Orchestra, in celebration of Richard Wagner's birth bicentennial, is featuring Australian Wagnerian soprano Claire Primrose and Filipino tenor Randy Gilongo this Saturday, November 10th at the Philamlife Auditorium.)


So now it turns out I can sleep through Wagner at the...Philamlife.

It ain't over even after the Fat Lady sings.

It's a new addiction, this conspicuous cultural consumption - one I haven't really had since I was a child and the official escort to my grandmothers. There was always a sense of excitement in the air on those special nights when the women of the house transformed from lola, tita, and mama into these elegant perfumed ladies. And there was that thrill of anticipation before the show, and the grown-up feeling of mingling with the adults during intermission beneath the CCP's majestic capiz chandeliers.

I guess I miss all that...theatricality ? Or maybe I just miss the dressing-up part.

At any rate, unlike the Phantom's sequel Love Never Dies, this current infatuation of mine with the performing arts shall most certainly not last. But while I am caught in its entrancing embrace, I guess I've no choice but to enjoy the ride.

And with that, I shall leave you with this - my first lasting impression of Caro Nome from Verdi's Rigoletto - as interpreted by a dog.

Enjoy!

=======================

*The actual line is "Music has charms to soothe a savage breast." Which, if you ask me, is far FAR more interesting than the more popular misquote.

No Bitch Like A Princess

While I wait for something meaningful to write about, here's something I had a gas watching.


Hope you enjoy it, too.

Aaaaaaannnnddd EDIT.

Here's a SECOND version. Which one do you like better?

Oh, what the heck. Make it three.

Black On White : A Gay Pride Filmfest

Since I won't be here to celebrate Fag Festival 2012™ (off to Bangkok again in the morning, where Pride is commercialized sometime during the -Ber months), I leave you with a few little shorts, which will hopefully amuse you as you primp and preen for all the fabulous fun and fancy activities on this Dandy Day of Debauchery.


First off is this charming little homage to the divine Karen Black's Trilogy of Terror, in particular the 3rd installment involving that Zuni doll with petty rage issues:

In case you're curious, kittens, here's the original. 

I suggest you watch it in all its full schlocky 1975 TV-movie glory:

Part 2:

And finally, Part 3:

Unfortunately, I couldn't seem to find the one where the Karen Black character was being assaulted by a murderous dildo instead of a rampaging doll. (Karen Black Like Me, 1997, by Mirra Bank.  A 10-minute marvel from the Best of Boys In Love DVD compilation*, thank God for Google). That one definitely had me in stitches - of the laughing kind.

But see how the Rainbow Gods of Gayness smile upon us! In place of an anonymous queen being attacked by a plastic penis, here's drag queen goddess RuPaul in his 1st Made-For-TV movie, back when s/he was a wee twiggy lass just scaling the heights of ambition:

And with that, I bid you Happy Gay Pride! 


Ride with Pride!


Or if not, at least launder with it.

For more whiteness in your White Party.




-----------------------


*I actually have this DVD, but damn this early morning flight. Means I can't yet rip it for our mutual video viewing pleasure. But I will sometime. 


Just because I love you. 


Yeah, that's it.

And Chloë Makes Three

Good evening, Manila.


I'm rudeboy.


It's recently come to my attention that I have only one piddling entry for February on this blog.


There are only three reasons why I fail to write regular entries :


1. Too much work to do.


2. Too little to write about.


3. Too depressed to give a flying fuck.


The answer, in this case, is that I've been very busy lately. Jetsetting to Indochina with Inès  de la Fressange, Karl Lagerfeld, and the ghost of Halston. Deconstructing the oeuvre of Erich von Stroheim at the Palladium with Lisa Bonet, Koo Stark, and the Duchess of Cornwall. Imbibing sophisticated adult refreshments for three straight nights until the crack of dawn with Ted Skakel, Charles Manson, and the Boston Strangler.


But to make up for the lack of posts on this shortest of months, I've enlisted the help of none other than Oscar-nominee Chloë Sevigny*, to enlighten us with her take on several events that, and I quote, "have recently come to my attention."


Let's start off with this morning's Oscars, and work our way back from there.


Enjoy.

Something for my fellow Piscean B-Days:

And finally, another dig at V-Day:

* In actuality, comedian and writer Drew Droege, who has made  viral video sensations  out of parodying the name-dropping actress/it girl/designer/hipster.

Rattle and Hum

This being 2012 and this being my first post for this banner year, let's kick it off with some End of the World shit.


Last week, all across Costa Rica a strange sound could be heard that scientists could not ascribe to atmospheric or meteorological phenomena.


A low, booming hum that has, so far, defied a clear and single explanation.

As a matter of fact, this strange sound has increasingly been heard all over the world, particularly during the period from August to September 2011. Knock yourselves out:

Brazil.

Montreal.

Denmark.





Taipei.




Florida, USA

The one above, from the Ukraine, sounds almost...sentient. Like some nasty, humongous, angry monster awakening:

Listen to the monster's bellows. Sounds familiar.

Or aliens.

The Tripods' horns sound awfully familiar - and menacing - as well.

Always the frickin' aliens.

Raise the roof.

Conspiracy theorists and religious nutjobs have ascribed the mysterious hum, respectively, to anything from HAARP to the strumpets trumpets of Judgment Day. 

No, no. The other Judgment Day, Gov.

Others have proposed that it is literally the Call of Cthulhu.

"You called? I was in the shower."

Yet others have posited that it might be the Behemoth and his bff, the Leviathan, come to destroy us once and for all.

B&H, just chillin', y'all.

Bah. If Ghostbusters was to be believed, I thought the Destructor would be a little more...cute and cuddly.

Have I been lied to all this time, Mr. Stay-Puft?

But really - what is this pulsating, rumbling, ominous sound?


It sure ain't Justin Bieber singing "U Smile" 800% slower while the world burns.

Damn you, you Canadian lesbian! Damn you to hell!

On second thought, I take that back.

I have heard the sound of our doom, and its name is Bieber.

Snap, Crackle, and Puff

Officially-minted celebrity blogger "BJ AcuÑa" aka soltero recently wondered what Survivor:PLU might look like.

I imagine it'd look a lot like Temptation Island - Puerto Galera during Holy Week would be an obvious choice. And the catty lines would be to die for.

"Kayo talagang mga bakla. Mahilig kayong mangolekta ng lalaki. 
Poor, proletariat, indigent men."

The catfights, on the other hand, might also leave us dying - with laughter.

Then again , I rather like action-comedies.

"Pendeja! Hija de puta, yo te matare! Puto pinche!"

While I admire their enthusiasm, my grandmother's Christmas eggnog packs more punch than... whatever it was these big girls were trying to throw. Maybe they'd have been better off throwing shade.

Obviously, they never learned the Basic Lessons In Snap!

Precision. Pacing. Placement. Poise.

"A sophisticated snap! is more than just noise."

Bonus Round:

I just had to put this in. Jennifer Cortez and her immortal line to Azenith Briones (scrub to the 4:30 mark if you can't wait - beetches ):

"What are beetches for but to beetch around with fellow beetches?"

 

Indeed, indeed.

Oh, Christ

Behold the power of Christ, you puny mortals!

The Lord - He doth work in mysterious ways, doesn't He?

Anyyyyyywaaaayyy...just a day after I posted that fundamentalist crackheadedness that was God Vs. Gaga, I came across this item in the New York Times :

"Flock Is Now A Fight Team In Some Ministries"

To wit, the article features how more and more American ministries are resorting to rather, uhhhhh....unorthodox ways to attract people - specifically young men - into coming in to hear the Good News.

Like Xtreme Ministries (I kid you not), a small church near Nashville that doubles as a mixed-martial arts club. It was founded and is led by Pastor John Renken, 42, who also doubles as its coach.

The school's motto? "Where Feet, Fist, and Faith Collide."

If Michael Bay directed "The Passion of the Christ."

"Mr. Renken’s ministry is one of a small but growing number of evangelical churches that have embraced mixed martial arts — a sport with a reputation for violence and blood that combines kickboxing, wrestling and other fighting styles — to reach and convert young men, whose church attendance has been persistently low. Mixed martial arts events have drawn millions of television viewers, and one was the top pay-per-view event in 2009."

"Recruitment efforts at the churches, which are predominantly white, involve fight night television viewing parties and lecture series that use ultimate fighting to explain how Christ fought for what he believed in. Other ministers go further, hosting or participating in live events.

The goal, these pastors say, is to inject some machismo into their ministries — and into the image of Jesus — in the hope of making Christianity more appealing. “Compassion and love — we agree with all that stuff, too,” said Brandon Beals, 37, the lead pastor at Canyon Creek Church outside of Seattle. “But what led me to find Christ was that Jesus was a fighter.”

The Macho Messiah

"The outreach is part of a larger and more longstanding effort on the part of some ministers who fear that their churches have become too feminized, promoting kindness and compassion at the expense of strength and responsibility."

"Too feminized?" 

Ok, fine. Even I find this a little too gay.

Oh, I get it. Promoting "kindness and compassion" instead of "strength and responsibility" probably makes Jesus a bit of a wuss. Hence, the 'roiding up of the Christ. He is, after all, not just God's son, but the Son of Man, as well.

And let's face it. You can't battle the forces of Hordak evil if you're not built tough yourself, now can you?

I guess some people just can't accept Jesus into their lives if he comes across as a long-haired hippie pushover.

Moving on, the article says:

"These pastors say the marriage of faith and fighting is intended to promote Christian values, quoting verses like “fight the good fight of faith” from Timothy 6:12. Several put the number of churches taking up mixed martial arts at roughly 700 of an estimated 115,000 white evangelical churches in America. The sport is seen as a legitimate outreach tool by the youth ministry affiliate of the National Association of Evangelicals, which represents more than 45,000 churches."

Defending the faith with tough love.

To be sure, not everyone is keen on selling Jesus as Rambo: The Gung-Ho God.

"Nondenominational evangelical churches have a long history of using popular culture — rock music, skateboarding and even yoga — to reach new followers. Yet even among more experimental sects, mixed martial arts has critics.

'What you attract people to Christ with is also what you need to get people to stay,' said Eugene Cho, 39, a pastor at Quest Church, an evangelical congregation in Seattle. 'I don’t live for the Jesus who eats red meat, drinks beer and beats on other men.' ”

Jesus not only loves you, he pwns you, too!

While I acknowledge that there are many paths to salvation, I'm just unsure whether these guys are taking things - once again - too literally here.

"Over the past year and a half, a subculture has evolved, with Christian mixed martial arts clothing brands like Jesus Didn’t Tap (in the sport, “tap” means to give up) and Christian social networking Web sites like Anointedfighter.com."

"Men ages 18 to 34 are absent from churches, some pastors said, because churches have become more amenable to women and children. 'We grew up in a church that had pastel pews,' said Tom Skiles, 37, the pastor of Spirit of St. Louis Church in Arnold, Mo. 'The men fell asleep.' ”

"In focusing on the toughness of Christ, evangelical leaders are harking back to a similar movement in the early 1900s, historians say, when women began entering the work force. Proponents of this so-called muscular Christianity advocated weight lifting as a way for Christians to express their masculinity."

 

Eat his body, drink his - whoooooooops. Wrong Jesus.

As a child, I often wondered:  if God was love, why was He always so angry? Unlike the serene Buddha (who isn't technically a god, okay) or the smiling Hindu deities (with the exception of Kali, Durga, and the more bloodthirsty members of their pantheon), one would be hard-pressed to find a depiction of a happy, smiling God in Judaeo-Christian iconography. 

 

God the Father was always so stern, so forbidding, so...distant. A god that inspired more fear than love - just like my own father. Then again:

“The man should be the overall leader of the household,” said Ryan Dobson, 39, a pastor and fan of mixed martial arts who is the son of James C. Dobson, the founder of Focus on the Family, a prominent evangelical group. “We’ve raised a generation of little boys.” 

The Old Testament, particularly, was ruled by this ever-furious, vengeful Father, ready to smite anyone down if they so much as said the wrong thing, looked back at Sodom & Gomorrah, or heaven forbid, looked anything like Lady Gaga. 

Once more,with feeling.

On the other hand, the New Testament has always struck me as God's New Deal with mankind. At the risk of oversimplifying, it's as though after raining fire, the Great Flood, and 7 kinds of herbs and spices and pestilence upon mankind, God realized that His children were still not drawing nearer to Him. Hence, He must've adopted a new tack, and brought Jesus into the picture. If the Father Figure didn't work, maybe the Big Brother-figure would.

Res ipsa loquitur.

The Messiah came down to spread a new and simpler gospel: "Love one another as I have loved you." A gospel I believe encapsulated the essence of Christianity far more beautifully than the earlier, sterner Commandments set firmly in stone. 

This new and gentler God spread His word through acts and service: sermons and talks, healing the sick, raising the dead, the occasional turning of water into wine (whenever He wasn't walking across it, that is). A far cry from the previous Almighty Administration's scorched-earth policy. It was this God, who actually lived among His beloved, practicing what He preached, with kindness and compassion, that I wanted to follow. Not out of fear of eternal damnation, but yes - out of love. JC was, if my childhood hymns were to be believed, not just my Lord. He was also my friend.

The Buddy Christ.

Sure, He could be given to righteous anger (as when He whipped the merchants out of the temple), but on the whole, Jesus wasn't as temperamental or given to hurling bolts from on high as the Father. He was, after all, the Lamb of God, not His henchman. But His strength was of a quieter kind. Not the blustery, show-off kind involving the massive destruction of cities, the gnashing of teeth, and the lamentations of women.

No, Jesus' strength was the kind that didn't need bombast because His strength came from deep within. Truly, this God made Man was the Rock of Ages.

 

I guess that's why benighted rednecks who believe more in Might rather than Right have a hard time accepting that a pacifist Messiah spreading a gospel of peace and love could vanquish evil  and save souls. The very idea that LOVE could conquer all must've sent the single brain cell left in their heads rattling like a dried bean in a tin can.

“ 'This whole generation is raised on the idea that they’re in a culture war for the heart and soul of America,' said Stephen Prothero, a professor of religion at Boston University.  "

Hence, we now have Bloodsport Jesus.

 So much for the Prince of Peace.

Heaven help us.

Funny Or Die

Somebody once said "All humor is anarchic."

Indeed, what makes something funny? My Philo prof taught us that humor is triggered by absurdity - the dissonance between "what is" and "what should be." Which must be why I find pratfalls intrinsically and helplessly entertaining: because upright two-legged apes shouldn't fall. But they do, and often with hilarious results:

Okay, she wasn't really blind; just playing Helen Keller.

Now, just like the Janus Masks , there is a fine line between comedy and tragedy. Even though we I may laugh at events that cause actual physical injury to the subjects, it is the degree of injury - barring death, of course, which is seldom funny - plus the amount of time elapsed since the incident occurred that makes it fine to laugh at something. Case in point, below:

That's Canadian skater Jessica Dube, who got hit by her partner's ice skates during a competition in Colorado in 2007. She had to have surgery to her left cheek and nose, but suffered no broken bones and survived to skate another day.

That was so not funny.

But now that you know she's all right, and it being three years later, see how you feel about the same event - but this time set to music and sound effects:

You've heard about Gallows Humor, right? Basically, it's finding amusement even in the face of something most of humanity finds the most terrifying thing of all: death. Particularly, one's own.

In his 1927 essay Humour (Der Humour), Freud theorized about gallows humor:

"The ego refuses to be distressed by the provocations of reality, to let itself be compelled to suffer. It insists that it cannot be affected by the traumas of the external world; it shows, in fact, that such traumas are no more than occasions for it to gain pleasure."


Denial? Nah, that's a river in Egypt.

Puns aside, Oscar Wilde, that great gay hero, was a pundit to the end. Fallen from grace, destitute, and dying of cerebral meningitis in some dingy Parisian room plastered with what must have been hideously tacky decor, he is famously said to have remarked "Either that wallpaper goes, or I do."

And then he died.

I don't know if Wilde had specified it in his will, but even his headstone in Pere Lachaise speaks of a sense of humor :

According to Wiki :

"The modernist angel depicted as a relief on the tomb was originally complete with male genitals which were broken off and kept as a paperweight by a succession of cemetery keepers; their current whereabouts are unknown."

Hm - gallows humor and a dick joke, too!

Now, we find humor in movies that use death and funerals as take-off points. Case in point: Soxy Topacio's Ded Na Si Lolo, which I must confess I haven't had the pleasure of watching, so I don't know if it featured that Pinoy staple of horrifically-amusing goings-on at a funeral - like this incident in Romania :

I gasped, then I howled at that video because it reminded me of a TRUE incident that happened when we were laying my grandfather down to his final earthly resting place. After a very formal and somber ceremony, dear old gramps' coffin was being lowered into the ground, as the female members of my clan started sobbing softly (my histrionic grand-aunt was absent, thankfully.) At that precise moment, my cellphone beeped, and fool that I was, I actually looked at the message.

It was my best friend, who had texted this :

So, kumusta naman ang libing?

Successful ba?

Needless to say, I burst out laughing. Luckily, I was enough of an actor to quickly mask my guffaws to approximate something of a howling sob, thus escaping the ghoulish fate of being hurled into the pit by my glaring kinsmen to keep granddad company.

Of course, religion isn't spared from humor, although fanatics are often marked by their general humorlessness. Although they can sometimes be inadvertently laughable - like, oh, televangelists, Sarah Palin, and incompetent Nigerian bombers - I've never met an intentionally- funny zealot, except perhaps in The Naked Gun movies.

Perhaps the lack of a sense of humor has a correlation to the propensity to impose one's religious and/or political views on others, and judge them accordingly and, need it be said, harshly. Maybe Freud was on to something in his Relief Theory, where he stated that :

"there are powerful censors in the mind that form unconscious barriers to prevent us thinking about 'forbidden thoughts.' In this view, the laughable (ideally, a naughty joke) liberates the laugher from inhibitions about forbidden thoughts and feelings. The result is a discharge of nervous energy that distracts the inner censor from what is going on. Freud suggests that the release of this energy is a pleasurable experience as demonstrated by the good feeling that laughter provides."

Moreover:

"In his view, jokes happen when the conscious allows forbidden thoughts which society suppresses. The superego allows the ego to generate humor. A benevolent superego allows a light and comforting type of humor while a harsh superego creates a biting and sarcastic type of humor. A very harsh superego suppresses humor all together. Freud's humor theory was based on the dynamic among id, ego, and superego. The commanding superego will impede the ego to continue its pleasure-seeking from the id, or to momentarily adapt itself to  the demands of reality. Moreover Freud also contributes to the development of the relief theory of laughter in which he proposed that emotional energy is released by humor sense. 

Later Freud returned his attention to humor noting that not everyone is capable of formulating humor."

Then again, zealots and fanatics DO have minds that are closed as tightly as a fist, which isn't good for anything but knocking things down.

And speaking of knockdowns, I present to you a remix of that Pope-Tackling affair just late last year. For the record, I didn't find the incident hilarious - at first. But once it was established that The Ratz was fine and that the Empire was still solidly in his clutches hands, well, all bets were off.

Thus, see His Holiness and his biggest fan tussling to the music of that glorious internet sensation Keyboard Cat :

What does one's sense of humor say about one's self? I suppose it indicates one's view of the world, one's take on life. I think the human condition is generally ridiculous, and choose to laugh at its many and varied absurdities. Others may opt for a different route, and rail bitterly at life's slings and arrows.

Whatever tickles your fancy, fellas.

In his Incongruity Theory, Kant weighs in on the role of incongruity in humor :

"In everything that is to excite a lively laugh there must be something absurd (in which the understanding, therefore, can find no satisfaction). Laughter is an affection arising from the sudden transformation of a strained expectation into nothing."


Basically, we're supposed to find it funny when an expectation (a strained one, no less) comes to nothing. Which should be something we keep in mind the next time we expect lovers to make us happy. 

Buuuutttttttt I digress...

Since humor is based on cognitive shifts triggered by surprise deviations from expected patterns of reality, I suppose my own warped sense of it means that I actually have a very realistic view of life in general, and enough fortitude to laugh when it confounds my expectations. Or ironically, do I laugh because life delivers the absurdities I've learned to expect from it?


Then again, maybe I'm just a sick, sick boy.


All I know is if you didn't at the very least titter at one of the videos above, we can't be real friends.


Which, I guess, is how it should be. But hey, that's life. For me, it's often a toss-up between being an Ingmar Bergman film and a Tex Avery cartoon.

You can focus on the tragic:

Or see the comic in things :

Me, I'll take life as a cartoon any day - pratfalls, falling anvils, rocket-powered coyotes and all.

Aaaaannnddddd one more for the road:

Oh, and before you slap me - yes, I'm 12.

And when life slaps you - slap back.

Slap it silly.