What’s Funny?

February 20, 2010 What’s Funny?

I still remember the first joke I  ever told. Or at least the first joke I can remember telling.  I am eleven years old.

I am laying on the back seat of our green minivan, my two stepbrothers are in the seat ahead of me, cracking jokes with my stepmother.  They are doing the typical kid humor, you’re so old, etc.  David Sedaris it is not. They move on to how she’s so old, she must remember what it was like to crank her car to get it to start .  She replies, “That joke’s so old and tired!”

Silence.

I yell out, “Like you!”

And thus.. I find my funny.  Looking back, it wasn’t particularly that funny, but it was my first foray into comedy. Or whatever..this..thing I do is called. I was a shy kid.  I imagine if I had cracked jokes more, I would’ve given myself an edge, but I didn’t when I was in middle school.

But I had an absurd sense of humor.  At age six, my favorite thing to do was stick my hand under my shirt, wiggle it out the neckhole, and yell, “IT’S THE DISEMBODIED HAND! PART 1!”

A beat.

Things would return to normal.  Five minutes later.. new hand, same position. “THE DISEMBODIED HAND PART 2!”

Cut to: Me, dying, laughing till I fell on the sofa.

I loved Erma Bombeck.  I was in sixth grade when I discovered her writing.  Bored I suppose of all the tween novels, I wandered into the non-fiction section of my library.  There I discovered The Grass is Always Greener Over the Septic Tank.  I checked out and read it, laughing at how she dissected her life in a planned community, musing on model homes and the troubles of raising children without losing your sanity.

She was a suburban housewife.  I was a middle schooler.  What did I know about septic tanks, and mortgages and Tupperware parties?  Nothing.  But it didn’t matter.  I still laughed, at the wit, at the sentences.  Humor connects us all.

I bought all of her books, then moved on to Dave Barry.  I read Jean Kerr, who you never hear about anymore, then Seinlanguage. I watched the whole Must See TV lineup.   I read the hilarious Raising Demons by Shirley Jackson. Struck by the allure of observational humor, I wrote a series of (what were then to me) humorous observations about life as a middle schooler.  Sitting at a table, writing during lunch, I was happy. Until it was lost in a milkshake spill.  No home PC back in those days. No email. No back up copy.

God bless my parents for raising me on movies such as Young Frankenstein, Raising Arizona, Monty Python.  I received a decent education in comedy.  There were no comedy clubs here, we didn’t have cable, Comedy Central didn’t arrive until I was in high school.   I kept on reading.  I watched old reruns of I Love Lucy, admired Lucille Ball to pieces.

While at FSU (Go Noles!), I was struck by the notion I wanted to write for Saturday Night Live. I watched it when it was in reruns and live. Every generation will always count the episodes they grew up watching as “the best years,” but I preferred a mix of the 90s and the early episodes, such as the Mommie Dearest themed one with Gilda Radner.  I joined a sketch comedy news show staff, wrote a couple pieces.  And it happened. Here were people, who didn’t know me, and thought I was funny!

What an amazing thing.

I wrote some silly things for a portfolio in the hopes that one day I’d write for SNL and then as I said before, Nanowrimo happened.

I did improv comedy, where we performed one of the hardest forms of improv: The Harold. We did a year worth of shows. I portrayed some ridiculous things in improv, including photosynthesis. Do you know how hard it to perform photosynthesis? Or when a hostile audience member gives you “almonds” as a prompt?

I began a novel about a girl who wants to be a comedian, but she’s stuck in a small town, and that dream seems so far away.  It wasn’t a Mary Sue, but I could relate.  New York City was miles away and she was just her, waiting to leave.

They say write what you know.  At first, it was set in Oklahoma, then I realized, wait, I know Florida. I know how it has small towns that offer odd characters. I know what’s it like to have an unique coffee shop customer base. I know what it’s like to want and wish and hope.

So I wrote.  And now I’m 3000 words in, and she’s living and breathing on the page…and that’s awesome.

Because I doubt I’ll ever write for SNL.

Or be a standup comedian.

Or do anything besides what I want to do now – marketing/publicity – and that’s okay.

When I started, I worried, Wait, I’m not funny!! and that still vexes me every now and then.  I asked authors what they found funny, but that didn’t help.  Humor is subjective.

I thought about what was funny in my own life, and about Erma Bombeck, writing about her brood.  I thought about six year old me, and the disemboided hand.   I thought about the off-the-wall customers I’ve had throughout nine years in retail, and the odd things that just happen in your life.    I watched Christopher Guest movies, and how even the slightest nuance, a word, a sentence, can striek me.

So now I sit here, years later, older than the girl who thought a disembodied hand was funny, but still laughing.  I’m googling “cow bite” for a ridiculous scene in my novel, and I’m laughing.

And that’s what I always wanted!

Because here is the beauty of humor and comedy and improv.  There is the quintessential “Yes, and?”  and that will always keep you going.

Advertisement

• 2 comments
• Posted under Uncategorized