I have been watching Deadwood pretty regularly, and Sara and I just started Mad Men. Sara asked me why watching penned up housewives living lives of quiet desperation made me want to flee the room, but I seemed to enjoy watching a show that has more than a few murdered prostitutes. I also thought of how often I dismiss something because it is far too bleak (Wit, Requiem for a Dream) -- but then turn around and really enjoy the hell out of something equally bleak (the most recent Battlestar Galactica, Beckett). There are obvious reasons for this, of course: Deadwood is all huge drama while Mad Men is more subdued; Requiem for a Dream is so scuzzy, while Beckett is all poetry. And of course there is no REASON taste should be consistent. But I can't quite shake the idea that, when I find a rift like this, where I have trouble justifying my tastes, that I am not seeing some level of myself where this makes some kind of perfect sense. I think of it like a Freudian Slip, where some mistake suggests some deeper thing about yourself you do not have access to.
Where do your tastes go wonkey? Where do you find yourself wondering why you like X but not the similar Y? What do you think accounts for that?