One of ’em, anyway.
It ain’t anatomy. It’s how we choose to be entertained.
We all know the difference between Manly Cinema and Chick Flicks. Manly Cinema covers a broad spectrum: Three Stooges flicks (or their latter-day equivalent in brainlessness, i.e., anything with Adam Sandler or Rob Schneider) to Jerry Bruckheimer/Michael Bay blow-’em-ups to Mutant Kalamatunis from Outer Space sci-fi. Chick Flicks - well, to paraphrase Justice Potter Stewart’s definition of obscenity, we all know a Chick Flick when we see one.
There’s a television equivalent, too, demonstrated by the various viewing choices at Chez Elisson this evening.
Said choices were somewhat limited by the powerful electrical storm that rumbled through the area at about 8:00, playing hob with our satellite reception. There was enough lightning in that storm to animate an army of Frankenstein monsters sufficient to populate half of China, and Mr. TiVo did not like it at all. Fortunately, things settled down just in time for the Missus and the Mistress to catch the dénouement of...
“The Bachelorette.”
It’s the kind of programming that makes the average male want to drive a ten-penny nail through his eyeballs. But my programming choices have the same effect on the Missus.
Let’s face it. It is a rare female that will put up with (much less enjoy) the likes of “Assy McGee.”
I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again: Men are from Mars, women are from the Andromeda Galaxy.
It ain’t anatomy. It’s how we choose to be entertained.
We all know the difference between Manly Cinema and Chick Flicks. Manly Cinema covers a broad spectrum: Three Stooges flicks (or their latter-day equivalent in brainlessness, i.e., anything with Adam Sandler or Rob Schneider) to Jerry Bruckheimer/Michael Bay blow-’em-ups to Mutant Kalamatunis from Outer Space sci-fi. Chick Flicks - well, to paraphrase Justice Potter Stewart’s definition of obscenity, we all know a Chick Flick when we see one.
There’s a television equivalent, too, demonstrated by the various viewing choices at Chez Elisson this evening.
Said choices were somewhat limited by the powerful electrical storm that rumbled through the area at about 8:00, playing hob with our satellite reception. There was enough lightning in that storm to animate an army of Frankenstein monsters sufficient to populate half of China, and Mr. TiVo did not like it at all. Fortunately, things settled down just in time for the Missus and the Mistress to catch the dénouement of...
“The Bachelorette.”
It’s the kind of programming that makes the average male want to drive a ten-penny nail through his eyeballs. But my programming choices have the same effect on the Missus.
Let’s face it. It is a rare female that will put up with (much less enjoy) the likes of “Assy McGee.”
I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again: Men are from Mars, women are from the Andromeda Galaxy.
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