Ports in a Storm of Sanity

Back in the 70s, when I was a kid, everyone talked about Saturday Night Live, but nobody talked about Monty Python.
I'd seen Monty Python film clips on American comedy shows, and I'd seen the film ads for "Monty Python and the Holy Grail" but my first complete exposure to Monty Python's Flying Circus was the Columbia House 8-track I ordered entitled "Monty Python Live at City Center." I was on a comedy kick, purchasing Redd Foxx 8-tracks and Steve Martin 8-tracks and the Carpenters 8-tracks. Part of the allure, I confess, was all the dirty words.

Unlike the show, (which I hadn't seen yet,) the Python sketches were a low bar introduction to the troupe, with easy to get bits like Dead Parrot, Whizzo, the Argument Clinic, and all the songs. I listened fervently and often, and soon found myself reciting the Dead Parrot sketch, as well as the Neil Innes songs, to some very mystified friends.
But one friend wasn't mystified. She had seen some episodes on PBS, and she knew more about Monty Python then me (although she  didn't know where they inserted the naughty bits during the live shows.) She was an odd little misfit, with a bizarre obsession for Robert Shaw (she'd actually seen the movie "Swashbuckler",) but we could quote sketches, or bits of sketches, and crack each other up instantaneously.
Later on in college, people sustained an ironic distance from everything. They all knew of Monty Python, but had the same relationship to the show that they had to, say, oxygen. The dorm would occasionally show "The Holy Grail" and the place would be crowded.  but it was more an excuse to drink than anything else.
But there was one girl who wore a home made t-shirt, the front of which read "Who the hell is Monty Python?" the back of which read "Piss off!" She knew things about Monty Python I didn't know. For instance, she had their record albums. I'd heard the Holy Grail soundtrack, and of course, the above 8-track, but that was it. She let me borrow the albums, and I'm ashamed to admit that she had to ask for them back. She was an odd little misfit, with a bizarre obsession for the Beatles, but an obscure reference to Monty Python's Flying Circus could make the two of us share a secret smile in a room full of unaware philistines.
Later, married with child, I found myself working as a waiter at a resort up in the hills of rural Pennsylvania. Most of my fellow waiters (servers, this place called them,) were local kids or their mothers, almost none of whom had heard of Monty Python beyond The Holy Grail"-- but there was one guy, who worked for the social department of the resort. For some reason, others at the resort insisted we meet. They seemed to think us the "same type." Soon one of us dropped a Monty Python reference, and we were off to the Twit races! I would recite the "Professional Logician" bit from the Holy Grail soundtrack, and have him rolling on the floor. My wife and I would invite him to dinner, and when the quotes started flying, my wife would just look at us and ask "Where did you go?" He was an odd little misfit, with an obsession for Kerouac and bedding unavailable women, but we spent hours wiping tears of laughter from our faces as we discovered Monty Python cues in the unlikely haven of rural Pennsylvania.
It astonishes me how rare it is to find true Monty Python aficionados. I know they're out there. You just don't typically run into them in the course of a day. But the good news is, it doesn't take many. If your local Monty Python fan club counts just one person, you, that can feel lonely and alienating. But if just one other person joins the club, you go from alienated to exquisitely exclusive.
So this post is a thank you to all the misfits out there. I don't know what a normal guy like me was doing with the likes of you... unless I'm something of a misfit, myself... but I'm immensely grateful.