A few days ago, I chuckled and cringed my way through the On Demand movie, Jackass 2. If you’re not familiar with the franchise, it’s basically a bunch of guys on either side of 30 who enjoy wearing Speedos, getting hurt and having objects shoved up their asses. It’s a guy thing.
Morgan and Bill had gone to see it in the movie theatre and Billy’s still bitchin’. Truth is—there ARE funny skits. Something about young men in shopping carts slamming into a wall just tickles my funny bone. But watching a guy push a large fishhook through his cheek (on his face, not his butt) is not my cup-of-tea.
Obviously I rarely censor what M watches. Other than X-rated films (that he’d had to order via PPV and I’d see on the Comcast bill), he can watch what he wants. And eventually, we’ll talk about porno, too. I pay attention to what’s on when I wander by his room and sometimes he changes the channel. He’s either watching some hottie on SPIKE or a puppet on PBS. Sooner or later, he winds up closing his door. (Something I was never allowed to do on Aldershot Rd.)
On occasion, when he’s watching a documentary about skinheads or starving children, we talk about it. If it’s one of my favorites, I give a minute movie review. But mostly, I just leave him to it. I know the influence, for better or worse, of the silver screen and video wallpaper.
But while I’m suffering through Jackass 2, I told M that it bugs me that he’s watching it. I worry that all those adolescent pranks and toilet humor will rub off on him. But, then, Hello? Morgan IS an adolescent. So when I explained that during those hours when he’s up and I’m asleep I worry that he’s doing something crazy, he said I was the crazy one.
He’s right. This is a kid who gets nervous using the microwave.