Not so funny, no, not at all...

I am thinking of inside jokes, mostly because, in the process of sloooowwwly converting my vinyl into MP3 files, I was listening to Prokofiev's Classical Symphony, a little 12 minute marvel meant to emulate Mozart or Haydn, and considered a tiny gem in the musical lexicon. It rigidly adheres to the classical framework, while also kind of doing its own raspberry at the rigidity, too. Now, I hate inside jokes, actually. They are mean-spirited, even when I am one of those in the know. There was a time when I would just play along even if I was so far outside the know I couldn't find it at noon in the Sahara Desert, because not being "in" seemed to negate me as a person. It is a testament to my recovery process that I have no problem asking "what?" whenever I am out of the loop. And in that question is always a kind of "shame on you", I fear, like how nasty can you get, leaving me out here all by my lonesome. I'm not all that recovered, after all.