Do you remember when you were a little kid? I'm talking like seven or eight years old and you discovered you had a little twig and berries? And that Suzie Q had something different?

We used to ask each other trick questions, like: Are you P.T.?-Yes.-Haha. You're a Pregnant Teenager.


-No.-Haha. You're not potty-trained.

Our most astute practical joke, however, would probably involve asking a girl if she had a pencil. If she said yes, we would laugh because she clearly has a penis. If she said no we would still laugh because she has no penis and sucks at sports. Teachers would overhear this and send us to the principal's office. Our parents would be called. We'd be told that we're immature and that we have to grow up.

But now that I'm in college and I'm taking classes on the theories of cinema and gender and life and all this abstract stuff, they're suddenly singing a different tune. All of a sudden my professor is showing us a clip from a 1950s film where the banana is supposed to represent the phallic object, the penis a woman will never possess, relegating her to a position of subordination for what has been the greater portion of human history.

And all I can think is, "I'm paying $160,000 for this? I knew that shit in 3rd grade."