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When I write “LOL” in text messages or email correspondences, I’m usually lying. The sad truth of the matter is that I rarely Laugh Out Loud. It’s one of the aspects of my personality that I dislike the most. I have friends and acquaintances that laugh frequently and contagiously and I long to be among their ranks, but alas, my humor is so dry & reserved that it takes a couple glasses of gin to unlock the uninhibited joviality within me.
And while I’m at it, I might well admit that I haven’t rolled on the floor —laughing or otherwise— since kindergarten.
It doesn’t mean that I don’t have a sense of humor or that I don’t appreciate a good joke. On the contrary, I absolutely love humor and devour it often. While I may not be laughing on the outside, every bit of my being savors each happy surprise & ironic twist.
I’ve been studying comedy since childhood: beginning with bad joke & riddle books (think “knock knock”) and comic strips like Bloom County and Calvin & Hobbes. Later, I progressed to more bad joke books like the 1990 Big Book of New American Humor and began watching Saturday Night Live and stand-up routines. I am the number one fan of Billy Crystal’s Midnight Train to Moscow, a cold war era stand-up routine on VHS that is so popular that when I accidentally returned the movie case to Blockbuster with a copy of The Lion King inside, they never noticed. Nowadays, I read witty writers, or get my dose of humor online at The Onion or through Stumble Upon, but the results are the same. I seek such jocularity for entertainment and to keep myself in good spirits— but underneath this, there is much more going on. Neural pathways in my brain are being developed so that virtually every situation in life that I’m exposed to is immediately routed down one of these synapses and translated into a punchline.
For many years, I gleaned inspiration from television. Shows like Cheers, Seinfeld or The Simpsons gave me countless hours of tutelage. But I haven’t had time or interest in prime-time in many years.
I’ve found that the biggest disadvantage to life without television is that you never know when you’re not being original. It’s so depressing to make what I think is a hilarious remark, only to have someone counter with: “Oh! I love that episode of The Office.”
When I try explaining that I’d never seen the show, they not only look at me like I’m completely alien for not watching TV, but also, still won’t give me credit for my brilliance.
There have been moments that I’m almost inspired to invest in digital cable and immerse myself in popular humor. God knows I could use some new material, all my pop-culture references are ten years old. Yet, even if I became a devout couch-potato, I don’t have enough time in my week to watch every show, so the danger of treading upon someone else’s material remains. In fact, the danger increases, since exposing my humor to new influences would only lead my psyche in those directions.
That isn’t to say that I don’t already steal material from my various sources, though subconsciously, I assure you. I don’t mind twisting a joke and making it my own, but I hate borrowing directly from the source. Unfortunately, I sometimes lose track of the jokes rattling about in the deep recesses of my brain. The other day, for example, in a squirt gun fight with my children, I found myself cornered by my three beloved progeny, out of ammo and in a seemingly hopeless situation. I theatrically announced: “fortunately, movies have taught me exactly what to do in this situation!” and threw my squirt guns at them.
“Dad,” Addison reminded me, “they say that in Curious George” And he was right, damnit. Perhaps if I’d not unintentionally violated copyright and had been come up with an original line, they might have taken a bit of mercy on me, and in turn, avoided the subsequent drenching I gave them with the garden hose.
There again, in a store the other day, I was looking for a new razor, and found myself searching for a replacement to the 3-bladed razor I’d been currently using. I still have cartridges for the old razor, and since these are an expensive item, I wanted an exact model. Unfortunately, in one of the most ridiculous marketing ploys I’ve ever seen, overzealous designers have been trying to fit as many blades into a single razor-head as will reasonably fit in a suitcase. I could find 4 & 5 bladed razors, but they simply don’t sell 3-bladed models anymore. Seriously, if 3 blades isn’t enough for you, I doubt very much 5 blades will make a lick of difference. Standing there for several minutes, shocked at the sheer ludicrousness of the selection, a clerk finally approached me and asked if he could help. I facetiously replied: “Do you have anything with more blades?
He didn’t get the joke, but that’s not what haunted me about the interaction. Something seemed much too familiar about the joke. Then, while drifting off to sleep that night, I recalled a headline from The Onion: “Fuck Everything, We’re Doing Five Blades”. A satirical editorial written a few years ago wherein the CEO from Gillette announces this silly response to Schick’s 4-bladed razor. It’s pretty bad when grossly exaggerated headlines from The Onion become reality. But even worse, is when I steal these jokes unwittingly.
Then again, I suppose these sources often steal their own jokes. Jack Handey once wrote:
One thing kids like is to be tricked. For instance, I was going to take my nephew to Disneyland, but instead I drove him to an old burned-out warehouse. “Oh no,” I said, “Disneyland burned down.”
He cried and cried, but I think that deep down, he though it was a pretty good joke…
—which, to me, is almost the same as another of his bits:
The way I see it, kids need exercise more than they need ice cream. So when I worked as an ice cream man, driving an ice cream truck, I would try to drive fast enough that the kid couldn’t catch me, but not so fast that he’d give up right away. Some kids will chase you eight or nine blocks.
The Onion also has distinct themes. Their local section abounds with stories about “area” civilians and their inconsequential exploits.
Area Girlfriend Still Hasn’t Seen Apocalypse Now
Area Man Forces Self To Drink Another Free Refill
Area Woman Not Yelling At You, She’s Just Saying
Other, more prestigious authors will also recycle material from time to time. Sarah Vowell will chronicle her life-events in terms of presidential administrations. Her readers know, for example, that she had a tic of involuntary humming aloud throughout the Carter Administration and that she and her father fought terribly during the Reagan Administration. And again during one reading, she admitted that she hadn’t played the recorder in front of an audience since the Reagan Administration.
Another of my favorite authors, David Sedaris, seems fond of conceding the point. In his Santaland Diaries wherein he documents his job as a Christmas elf, he notes:
I was at the Magic Window for fifteen minutes before a man approached me and said, “You look so fucking stupid.” I have to admit that he had a point. But still, I wanted to say that at least I get paid to look stupid, that he gives it away for free.
—A couple books later, in his essay Jesus Shaves while debating with this French teacher about whether the spirit of Easter was a bunny or a bell, he narrates:
“But how does a bell know where you live?”
“Well,” she said, “how does a rabbit?”
It’s a decent point, but at least a rabbit has eyes. That’s a start.
I’m extremely anxious about repeating my own jokes. It may have already occurred in my writing, I can’t be sure; but if it hasn’t, it’s sure to soon, unless I keep exposing myself to a constant supply of new material. The problem with new material is that it’s more likely to be recognized by my audience, even after I tailor it to my own ends. The same goes for the classic great lines. The most reliable method I’ve found for recycling great humor is to wait about 10 years, then rework them into my repertoire. I can only hope that I have enough material on hand to last another decade.
But maybe, like so many things, I’m obsessing a bit too much about this. After all, I don’t begrudge these other writers at all for their re-use of some very good punchlines. So why then am I so hard on myself? There are plenty of other things in my life to which I could focus my anxieties. Take my receding hairline— please.
The car’s bass was so loud, I’m shocked the little low-rider wasn’t bouncing about like a SuperBall. As I pulled up next to it at the stoplight, I felt like the vibrations pulsing through my body, knocking out fillings in my teeth.
It’s clear that the kid had invested quite a bit of money into his sound system. The speakers were huge and shiny, there were custom made boxes in the rear window holding additional equipment (probably woofers or tweeters or something), and I could see the stereo in the dash lit up like a Christmas tree.
Imagine spending that much on a stereo and having the volume control break on you. Pity.
I felt bad for the young driver’s misfortune, and the embarrassment he must be enduring with his radio malfunctioning so indiscreetly. In an act of compassion, I turned up my stereo too, so that he wouldn’t stand out so terribly. I don’t know if it did much good, his percussion powerfully drowned out my gentle music: Pink Martini’s Hang On Little Tomato.
He must have heard me though, because he looked over and held up his hands. They were all crumpled in on themselves with fingers sticking out in awkward directions. It suddenly became clear to me that his radio wasn’t malfunctioning at all:
he simply couldn’t turn it down; the poor kid had the worst case of arthritis I’d ever seen.
I was tagged by Lucky to do this Meme approximately 10 years ago, and I haven’t gotten around to it. What can I say? In my last post I gave my short sob story, which does indeed have an impact on my blogging —but also, it’s Spring, and the opportunity to be out & about under blue skies can’t be shunned. None of you are blogging much either, so I don’t feel so bad about it.
FIVE Things In My Purse/Bag/Briefcase
Books!
“Why the bad back?” you might ask… Truly, I carry more books in my backpack than is humanly reasonable. Books I’m reading, books I reference, books I read a long time ago, but love dearly and peruse often…
Origami Papers
Because you never want to be unprepared when there’s a need for a bouquet of paper flowers or a demand for an impromptu crane.
Tobacco, pipe & accessories
Ahhhhh… the glorious deliciousness of a good vice.
Various flash drives
How did I ever get by without these? They’re an IT person’s dream. I have installation files, log files, and hours of music on these little beauties. I love them!
Games Cards/Chess
Actually, I don’t think these have ever been used… It seemed like a good idea when I stuffed them in there, but now I think it’s taking up valuable room for more books.
FIVE Things In My Room
Chest
A wooden tool-chest I received for Christmas —I kept it in my room instead to keep myself organized. It turned out to just be a place to collect more clutter, but I love it anyway.
Bookshelf
—because there’s never quite enough room in my backpack.
Watercolor paintings
I can’t afford art, so my halls are decked with the artwork of family. My daughter Rose painted that pear… not bad for a 7 year old, is it?
Hats
I love old hats. Fedoras, bowlers, porkpies— so sad they went out of style. They’re great accessories, and wonderful for covering up receding hairlines.
Dust bunnies the size of Volkswagens
I refuse to feel ashamed by this. If you live in a house with hardwood floors and a dog, you’re bound to end up with these critters. The house is swept all the time, but still they breed like —well— bunnies.
Free to a good home.
FIVE Things I Am Into
Reading
I bet you haven’t guessed this by now, have you? I love both non-fiction as well as fiction. I love history, particularly about central Europe, for reasons I can’t explain. I also love histories about circuses & sideshows (again, I can’t tell you why, clowns freak me out… maybe it’s a morbid curiousity).
For contemporary authors I like David Sedaris, Barbara Kingsolver, Sarah Vowell, Nick Hornby… for the great authors of yesterday, I like Steinbeck, Austen, Tolkein… there’s not enough room to name them all.
Writing
You wouldn’t know it to look at the frequency of my blog posts lately, but writing is essential to my soul.
Origami/Kirigami
The arts of paper folding & paper cutting…
Music
Also essential to my soul. I can’t live without it. If music isn’t on, something is wrong.
Old movies
Black & White— Silver Screen— See previous posts to hear more of this…
FIVE Things I Have Always Wanted To Do
Travel the world
London, Paris & Venice are great, but I’d really like to see Romania, where Gypsies still roam the land and villagers still hang garlic cloves in their doorways to ward of vampires. Northern Africa would be really cool too. Odd choices, I know, but these are the places that call to me.
Of course I can’t even afford a day-trip to Portland, so there may be a bit of a wait.
Become a roaming street-performer
Not a clown mind you, they’re freaky. And mimes are just annoying. But actually, the main problems that I’m facing are: I have virtually no acrobatic talent, and I can’t stand balloon animals.
Take up woodworking
I get the chance to build a rabbit hutch now & then, but what I really want to do is build beautiful armoires & bookshelves. Unfortunately, I’m also a conservationist & can’t bring myself to use all that beautiful & rare wood.
Become financially solvent
Strike three against the street-performer dream. Damn.
Find balance in life
I know life is a journey and not a destination, but enough is enough already! I want the meaning of life & happily ever after, and I want it now!
Adam
