“So Bill, how’re things?”
“Any better I couldn’t stand it, pal.”
Huhuhuhuhuhuhhh-aghhahahahaaaahhhaa-pughhrrahahhohoho-popoo…phroooot.
Phroooot?
The multi-syllable pile-up above is my attempt to recreate that obnoxious trail of chuckles dangling from the last time you had to put up with someone’s small talk humour. You know when that guy you don’t really want to get to know any better, but for some reason are obliged to tolerate, barfs out that one liner about as fresh as retread tires and expects you (the receiver) to come along with the commotion?
…Segue to the latest Michael Jackson joke…
I think funny is important, in fact I think funny is sacred. I think that the jokey method of conversation that we have evolved into endangers the quality of what funny adds to our discourse. I am certain that fairly soon I’m going to slap that goofy small talk chuckle right off some unfunny dipshit’s face.
Watching people force humour across their personal space and on to another’s, polluted with habitual, inauthentic laughter makes me want to tear my funny bone from my arm and beat myself with it.
I’m funny. Well, I’m pretty funny.
Being funny has always been an important part of the way I relate to people. I’m not the funniest, by no means am I even close. I’m not hilarious, I could never make a living solely on my ability to impart humour, but I am funny... if you ignore the claiming to be funny part, which is usually funny’s ultimate remedy.
I think I’m in tune enough to the cadence of turning an observation into a punchline to discuss the trend of humour’s misuse and abuse beset all around us. There’s a plague a gnawing a cavity into the root of funny’s best teeth. I guess that would make it a plaque... sorry. There’s too much joking around all around, I think we have to stop lightening up.
Is your small talk crowded with small jokes?
When’s the last time you had a conversation with someone that you didn’t feel the need to pepper with needless jokes, retorts, and chattered reflex chuckles? Excluding discussions with a member of your household, immediate family, or those conversations that took place in a funeral home...
When was the last time you just left the jokes aside?
If you’re anything like me, and any of the perfectly normal asswipes I overhear talking on a daily basis, you cannot recall. Admit it, you make jokes, you point out pointless short falls in the people around you, in authority above you, and in the news in front of you. You quote jokes that you didn’t write, you spend expressions you didn’t coin, and you chuckle mindlessly in response to your talk-mates like two or more “ha’s” are approved punctuation.
I’m finding the up-chuckle pollution gathering around me is starting to replace the air. I’m starting to think I’m in one of those movies where everyone has been infected but me, I’m the only one left thinking straight, the only sanity surrounded by zombie brain-eaters.
I could be the world’s only hope.
Have you ever considered: How has it come to this? When did every single person within a mile of a TV come to regard themselves as funny? And whether they do or not, when did it become so important to exude that aspect of charm? There are many ways to be likeable that exclude the comical.
I can remember my grandfather’s reaction to my pre-adolescent hijinks, as I bounced around the room making my younger cousins laugh. He used to look at me like I would be the black sheep he’d one day have to apologise for. It was an “Isn’t that too bad” mixed with “Where did we go wrong?” look, that I know came right from the chasm between our generations. He grew up when there were one or two funny guys around not trying to be Clark Gable, and they were ridiculed or called queer.
All of my other family members in the room had a reaction somewhere between giggle and pee-in-the-pants, and he sat there time after time just not getting it, unintentionally proving two principles of funny:
1. Funny is not Transcendent. It has weak legs and can rarely jump over the wall and invite the old folks into the young whipper-snapper’s yard.
2. Funny is an ‘Are’ Thing. Some things you just are; others you try to be. Funny people were funny at birth, they made jokes about their umbilical cords, others are trying and they probably shouldn’t. They should find the thing that they are… like tall, math-y, or goth.
At a point around the popular advent of TV funny became the charming standard. Once upon a time Shakespeare used funny often as a character’s failing; making him weird or evil. Artists like Charlie Chaplin and Buster Keaton made it possible for funny to eventually take the lead, and along came television, harvesting performers from Vaudeville and radio, audiences post WWII were ready to invite in the funny.
Suddenly everybody watched clowns like Jackie Gleason, Abbott & Costello, and Jack Benny move from the sideshow to the main stage. Before long guys like Johnny Carson and The Rat Pack became the life of the party, and being cool left a little room for a punch line. Funny has since evolved to become he default characteristic for misplaced charm and uninsightful thoughtlessness.
Other cultures don’t behave this way. When is the last time you saw to someone from northeastern Europe react to your North American’s goofball demeanour? You almost feel that you have to either apologise or punch them at the end of a few sentences. They encounter a Canadian passing off Austin Powers quotes as common language and wonder: Who ordered the buffoon? Will he stop if I give him change? Because they speak curtly and skip all the comedy gobbledy-gook in their normal discourse. I’m certain they have jokes, likely at our expense, but they more likely have their funny strictly allotted, at a more appropriate time and place, and more sparing and savoury portions... I hope.
The problem is that our funny culture devalues the experience of being clever with everyday words, being amused, being taken out of your workboots for a moment, and shown something common in an uncommon way.
It doesn’t seem uncommon though, does it?
Laughter is a very normal part of our discourse, it has become an almost expected exchange, a chunk of change you’re supposed to share with the person nice enough to say two words to you. It has become a polite affectation, falling in the place of genuine thought. It is the product of conversational insecurity and passive thinking.
Throwing a laugh in after an unhumorous small talk observation is the equivalent in linguistic terms to hotel prices that include gratuity, or how we Canadians say ‘eh’, and admit it we do, at the end of almost every sentence.
Ending a statement or opinion with a two-letter ‘eh?’ question softens any possible opposition to the aforementioned statement. Talking like pussies is part of our culture, which is essentially the role that needless small talk chuckles play. You don’t feel the need, the desire or possess the capability to contribute meaningfully, so the reflex is to pop in a lukewarm joke to keep things from getting cold. It is indeed a pleasant thing to contribute humour, but that habitual regurgitation of old jokes and stale laughter does nothing but add to the noise.
I call it the “Up-Chuckler Cycle.”
And don’t get me started on those included hotel gratuities…
So, what’s the solution: Make Up-Chuckling a fineable offence? Establish a Funny Police? NO, nnnnnnnnnnnnono, nuh-uh. Taking funny away is so not the answer. Like every single problem we as a consuming culture face, moderation and thoughtfulness will bring us out of this up-chuckling, jumbled joke-jungle.
I’m not one of these overly entitled assholes to occupy a sacred ownership over his trade or brotherhood. I think humour and goofiness is a more the merrier kind of situation, provided that we keep one eye on quality control.
I think most bona fide, professional funny people, as in to say that they rely on their comedic talents for their livelihood, would agree that being funny is about observation. Funny is normal observed abnormally; the novelty of something actually experiencing an observed abnormality.
If you think you’re one of those people ‘trying’ to be funny, more to the point, if you’re even asking yourself the ‘am I funny?’ question, you probably fall under the umbrella of the following advice:
If you can’t limit that part of your discussion, if habit holds you like a smoker, to chuckle and snarl your way through every verbal back and forth, stomping through the gift of our language and culture like a bull in a… well, in any kind of indoor venue, then maybe try to join the other humans just a little less. Maybe it’s best to just stand back and let the rest of us enjoy life with well-portioned jokes, solid satire and clever observations.
You will benefit from the knowledge and perhaps the distant viewing of a society once again treasuring the gift of funny. You can applaud from afar at population sharing humour that provides a perspective enlightening to our understanding of ourselves, calls our betters into question and poop jokes that once again seem fragrant.
We’ll come visit you, I promise, just not right away.
Maybe I'm just sort of funny.
