Either I am not funny, or few people get my jokes. I think the truth lies somewhere in between. The other day, I was telling Jeremy about my friend's disarmingly beautiful stepdaughter, and he said, "Like a female Tadzio, right?" and I was all "Haw haw haw, HAW HAW HAW" too loud, because I genuinely appreciate a book joke. Especially if I get it.
A few weeks ago, while waiting for a notoriously slow elevator, some people were making small talk about its excruciatingly slow rise to our floor. "You just wait and wait forever for this thing," one person said. "I know, it's like we're waiting indefinitely," another added. "We should call it Godot," I said. Silence.
Sometimes I feel bad for enjoying a good literary chuckle. I feel like I shouldn't get such a kick out of somewhat obscure references, and that there's an inherent snobbery in doing so. But then I backpedal and think, "Well, it's not my fault that people aren't reading books as much! They're missing out on all sorts of wonderful things!" (See how I conveniently bolster support for personal snobbery while pretending to care about society at large?)
A few weeks ago, while waiting for a notoriously slow elevator, some people were making small talk about its excruciatingly slow rise to our floor. "You just wait and wait forever for this thing," one person said. "I know, it's like we're waiting indefinitely," another added. "We should call it Godot," I said. Silence.
Sometimes I feel bad for enjoying a good literary chuckle. I feel like I shouldn't get such a kick out of somewhat obscure references, and that there's an inherent snobbery in doing so. But then I backpedal and think, "Well, it's not my fault that people aren't reading books as much! They're missing out on all sorts of wonderful things!" (See how I conveniently bolster support for personal snobbery while pretending to care about society at large?)
Labels: books
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