In today’s Globe and Mail, Canadian writer-dude Russell Smith says:
I seem to spend a lot of time trying to explain to dull people why Trailer Park Boys is funny. It seems either you get it, or you hate it. I try to claim that I respond to the accent and dialogue of my home town (I grew up in Halifax; the show is set across the harbour, in Dartmouth, and we all knew guys like that), and I say, almost seriously, that I like it because there is so much swearing in it, which makes me laugh in itself. But I know it’s about more than that, too. By and large, the people who like it, in my vicinity, are smarty-pants Toronto media types in black suits.
Disclaimer 1: I haven’t read the rest of the article because the paper copy is in the office of my boss (and urrrr it’s dangerous to take the paper of the boss) and the online copy wants me to subscribe to read it HA! but c’mon.
I’m not dull. Stop calling me dull, Russell Smith. I already didn’t like you and your smug turtleneck face. Maybe the reason people are resisting your implorations to adore the Trailer Park Boys along with you and your Tronna buddies is because they don’t want to become self-satisfied and friendless. Maybe they want to put as much space between them and you as possible. Maybe your nose hairs are too long.
Disclaimer 2: I have never read a piece of fiction by Russell Smith. I would probably really dig his writing. Really, my knee-jerk here is transference of my over-clocked hatred for other man-about-Canada: Evan Solomon. Evan is the one who really chokes my gizzard. More on that another day.
And yet, the TPB just aren’t what I call funny. I know this isn’t because I am an urban monkey who has never met idiots. And it isn’t because I’m offended by coarse language. I am proud to be the sweariest girl in the office most days. I could make a longshoreman blush. I guess all that’s left to me is to stop lifting those Dull Barbells and start cross-training on irony twice a week.
And also? Apparently I can still get hopped up on caffeine. I had thought my tolerance was sky high but all it takes is a big cup of coffee cooled to room temperature; down the hatch; no breakfast and Holy Crap!