Can I tell you something?
I’m a funny guy. In a funny sort of way. I have what’s known as a dry sense of humor. In fact, I’ve been told it’s very dry. Drier than the Atacama Desert. Drier than sandpaper, or sauvignon blanc, old bread, or a prune. Drier even than my dearly departed mother’s roast beef. If my sense of humor was a martini it would not contain a drop of vermouth.
I have a tendency to find humor in things that others consider too serious, or too sensitive, or too tragic, or too personal, or too gross to joke about. But before you judge me, this is not schadenfreude and please consider that at least half the time, the butt of my joke is me. And yes, sometimes the butt of my joke is my butt.
On top of that, there is rarely an instance when I consider it ‘too soon’ to joke about anything. I was trying out new material the very day they found shards of the Titan submersible on the ocean floor if that gives you any idea how low I will go.
Over the years, I’ve learned that not everyone shares my sense of humor and I need to be careful to read the room before cracking wise. Especially if a first date or a rich relative or a member of the clergy are present.
I like to dip my toe in the water with something like, “have you heard about the dyslexic who walks into a bra?” If I hear crickets, then it’s time to talk about the weather, or the Yankees mid-summer swoon, or Barbenheimer, or the threat to American democracy. You know, something appropriate.
But that’s not what I wanted to tell you.
God says that laughter is the best medicine. Yes, God. In Proverbs 17:22 it is written that “A merry heart doeth good like a medic,” and loosely translated it seems to suggest that the Lord thinks we should laugh more. Of course, in Romans 12:19 He also says “Vengeance is mine. I will repay.” No wait, that was Donald Trump.
That said, I do embrace the bromide that laughter is the best medicine. Only up to a point, though. Having had several minor surgeries and three total hip replacements, I can say with absolute certainty that in certain circumstances Oxycontin is the best medicine. But whenever the pain-o-meter is not in the red zone, having a good laugh is good for what ails you. Which is why it’s so curious and sad that a huge swath of mankind finds little or no humor in their lives.
Even if you excuse the roughly 700 million people who live in abject poverty and have nothing to laugh about, and give a pass to the three billion more who struggle just to make ends meet even in first world countries, that still leaves about half the planet who could be laughing but just can’t lighten up.
I understand that lots of people have demanding jobs and families to raise which can cause a lot of stress that most people don’t find funny. We’re all playing bit parts in a human tragicomedy and often don’t know whether to laugh or cry. I get it. I’m just saying at least some of the time you should choose laughing. As Erma Bombeck once wisely pointed out, “If you can laugh at it, you can live with it.”
A less authoritative voice than God’s but still worth listening to belonged to scholar, author, and literary critic Ralph Ellison who wrote that, “the greater the stress within society the stronger the comic antidote required.” A cursory check of the news, the real kind, suggests we are in need of some strong medicine.
Even if you are a serious person and think all human endeavor should be serious, then consider what actor Peter Ustinov – an even-less authoritative figure than Ralph – opined when he said, “comedy is simply a funny way of being serious.”
Continuing with the quote parade, Charlie Chaplin once observed that, “life is a tragedy when seen in close-up, but a comedy in long-shot.” So maybe the trick is changing the lens.
There are too many people who fail to find humor in the world around them, but the saddest cases are those who cannot laugh at themselves. Oscar Wilde saw great irony in their condition noting, “it is a curious fact that people are never so trivial as when they take themselves seriously.”
Part of the problem is human nature which gives us a survival instinct that demands we put the oxygen mask on first before we try to save anyone else, even the kids. Our thinking then logically extends to ‘we’re so damn important what could there possibly be to laugh at?’
Whatever your perspective, humor is the right prescription for what troubles your soul and a palliative to ease the pain of everyday life in a cruel world. Whether it’s because of a good joke, a dirty one, a wry quip, a clever bon mot, an awful pun, a pie to the face, or a whiffle bat to the nuts, laughing out loud is both a medical miracle and a contagious virus that infects all those within earshot.
It’s a proven scientific fact I just made up that people with a healthy sense of humor are, well, healthier, and live longer. Mary Pettibone Poole, an early 20th century American aphorist – that is apparently someone who writes aphorisms which are memorable expressions of some truth or principle – summed it up brilliantly if a bit tersely when she aphorized that, “He who laughs, lasts.” Amen, Sister.
But that’s not what I wanted to tell you either.
Being a comedian is a funny business. And it ain’t easy. In fact, it’s been said that dying is easy, and comedy is hard.
That line is attributed to English character actor Edmond Gwenn who allegedly uttered it on his deathbed. Which makes for a good story but it’s not what he said. George Seaton, a good friend who visited often as Gwenn lay dying, actually said, “All this must be terribly difficult for you, Teddy”, his nickname for Gwenn which was a bit odd because you’d think it would be Eddie, and Gwenn replied, “Not nearly as hard as playing comedy.” So, the line was actually a brief conversation and not terribly funny.
The funny version ‘dying is easy, comedy is hard’ was popularized by actor Jack Lemmon who said it so often in public appearances that soon it wasn’t funny anymore. It was also a memorable line of Peter O’Toole’s in My Favorite Year. One of my favorite movies.
I stole the line and used it in a eulogy for my dear friend Mike who was, among other things, a stand-up comedian for many years and perhaps the most genuinely funny human being I’ve ever had the pleasure of knowing. The dyslexic walking into a bra gag was his standard opening which he used to read the room. Mike obviously now knows whether the statement ‘dying is easy, comedy is hard,’ is true, but I haven’t had the chance yet to ask him.
What makes comedy so hard is not overplaying the humor and delivering your lines with perfect pacing, guided by an innate gift of timing. Phyllis Diller, an expert on comedy if not fashion, once said, “sex is identical to comedy in that it involves timing.” This could be why my wife laughs in bed sometimes, but I’m not sure. Making people laugh for a living also means that even if you get the timing right, not everyone is going to get the joke.
Tastes and appetites for humor tend to be all over the map, or menu I suppose. This would explain why as a young boy I’d sit stone-faced through Bob Hope comedy specials while my father rolled on the floor. Also, why I roll on the floor watching Young Frankenstein while Lori rolls her eyes.
The million-dollar question is why anyone in their right mind would want to be a professional comedian? Unless you’re Tyler Perry or Adam Sandler, it ain’t gonna earn you a million. There is no good answer really, but perhaps the brilliant but not very funny author Hermann Hesse explains it best. It’s a backhanded compliment to be sure but he wrote, “Humor is that magnificent discovery of those who are cut short in their calling to highest endeavor.”
I’ll leave the envoi to a little-known British comedian of modest success named Bob Monkhouse who somehow managed to write a very funny joke about how hard it is to tell jokes for a living. “Everybody laughed when I said I wanted to be a comedian. Well, they’re not laughing now.”
Thanks for listening. Talk soon.