Tuesday, May 26, 2009

Guide to Taking Care of Yourself

“Look at you. You’re a goddamned mess.”

Aside from being an always at least somewhat accurate and pleasurably exaggerated self-deprecating way to greet your bathroom mirror-image in the morning, this mantra harbors a basic, depressing truth about human life. You and your daily foibles are on the losing end of a constant struggle against entropy, and the whole universe is against you at all times, and you have a zero percent chance of survival. True or not, this is not the most helpful way to say hello to yourself in the morning, or ever, really.

I suggest something lighter and equally as true, such as:

“Could be worse.”

Or:

“Looks like we’re stuck with each other.”

Or else you could just stop being all cutesy with yourself in the mirror. What are you, a movie? No you are not. Maybe one of the reasons you’re such a mess lately is you’ve been watching yourself like you’re a movie. You should do something. First person camera style.

Last night I put a towel on the floor on my kitchen in front of the refrigerator, opened the freezer, removed its contents, and whacked away at the condensed ice cave in there with a spatula for the better part of an hour until it looked like a freezer again rather than an Eskimo roommate’s secret bagel stash from a parallel dimension. I’m hoping this level of action in opposition to entropy is a sign of things to come in my life. Probably not. Right now, ice is forming on the walls of my freezer. I’m guessing this expansion will occur at a faster rate than I will be able to rejuvenate motivation to remove it, and the ice will continue to grow unchecked until it claims a banana or two in about eight months and I’m once again forced into action.

When I’m in a bad place in my life, and I think I am right now, I tend to think of the world as a cyclical series of tasks one must complete. These tasks offer the benefit of a temporary illusory feeling of completion. You do laundry and all of your clothes are clean, and you are completely done with laundry. But this is not the case. Now your task is to wear those clothes in a succession of your choosing until they are all dirty and you must clean them again. The task of dirtying your clothes will eventually be as complete as the task of cleaning them, with unfortunately less satisfaction. It would be better, maybe to say to yourself, “Well, I’ve done it, I’ve made all of my clothes dirty. Every single article of my clothing is now dirty. Job well done, me. Now my reward is to clean them again. Oh goody.” And you could really feel that way instead of the other way around. But that doesn’t work. People like to wear clothes. People hate to wash clothes. It’s the order of things.

It is nice to switch things around every once in a while, just to show the universe that you’re in on its little joke. “Yogurt cup in the sink, throw away the spoon” is a classic example of your subconscious brain trying to tell you something about how sick it is of doing dishes while the rest of you is busy looking at a dog through the kitchen window. You will eventually get that spoon out of the garbage, but for a while there you consider leaving it as a signal that you’re hip to the natural order of things. Your subconscious brain has a point. So does your conscious brain when it says, “Hey buddy, take a load off: check out that dog.”

In the meantime, while your more pure self is in charge, spoon goes in the garbage. “If a little thing like eating a cup of yogurt is going to make it need a washing, I’d rather not have to deal with it again in my lifetime. Spoons should be less of a nuisance than that. This spoon is worse than my elderly Grandmother’s continual insistence on not being a burden. You are a burden, and I’m sick of pretending you’re not. You’d be easier to deal with if you just said ‘I’m a burden, but hey, so is everyone, so no biggie.’” Spoon. You are talking to the spoon now. And now you are looking at that dog for another little while before getting the spoon out of the garbage and then dealing with the rest of your Sisyphusian life.

I’m convinced a situation like this is what prompted that one genius to invent Gogurt. It was a moment of quiet reflection by the kitchen window inspired by a yogurt-eased distraction from the day’s cares while looking at a dog and a subsequent tumble into an ideological pit of doom once he threw the spoon in the garbage by accident.

Somehow I’m certain that Gogurt was invented by a he.

Actually, scratch that, I’m not certain, but it seems like a reasonable assumption based on the cleaning product advertisements and psychology books I’ve seen about how women are more adept than men at enjoying processes rather than just their results. And I’ve tried countless times to satisfy a woman sexually, and I’m almost completely convinced that it can’t be done. I’m looking for a result: i.e. ejaculating and therefore ending the sex event, and she’s looking to enjoy the process: i.e. bugging me for more sex once I’ve ejaculated and have now fallen asleep as if she cannot understand that the event is over and the result is satisfactory. Even on occasions when I’ve expended Herculean efforts to forgo that well-earned sleep and concentrated on the process so fully and effectively that she has no choice but to tell me to stop having sex with her, the end result of such an event, in the long run, is raised expectations for future such efforts.

But this is how life, even sex, becomes a chore. If you focus on the results at the exclusion of the process, you’re in trouble. And that’s why you have to stop watching your life like a movie and do something in it, even if it’s small and useless. There is something immensely satisfying about whacking a big hunk of ice off of the ceiling of your freezer using a spatula. If you can’t enjoy that, you are crazy and it’s time to get help.

That’s the good news about the never-ending series of tasks that are your miserable life: most of them offer a modest amount of ritualized enjoyment if you break them down into their most basic component parts. And if that doesn’t work, you can also get super duper baked and play some loud music while you’re doing whatever it is that needs to be done. That way instead of mind-numbing manual labor, you’ve got a mind-enhancing thing to do with your hands and body while your mind has already been artificially numbed by cannabis and the Talking Heads. And aside from the result of your girlfriend finally feeling safe in your bathroom, which might further result in her letting you sleep that night after you blast your jazz, you might also enjoy the process, too. Oh goody. Just what you need right now. It’s true. Look at yourself. You’re a goddamned mess.

Tuesday, May 5, 2009

Guide to Comedy

You know what’s funny?

No, you don’t.

Neither do I, though. In fact, nobody knows for sure. “You know what’s funny?” is a question that has plagued mankind as long as there have been skinny geeks who have all the Mr. Show DVDs. I know a guy who got a B.A. in comedy at one of those wacky choose-your-own adventure liberal arts colleges that cost too much given the fact that their whole mission statement is basically “alright, you got us, we’re useless.” He is surprisingly funny. But even he doesn’t know what’s funny any more than anybody else does, and he fucking majored in it.

The closest comedians get to agreeing about what’s funny is the maxim “it’s whatever makes people laugh.” Which is a little like saying that great television is “whatever people watch.” On the one hand: sure, on the other: bullshit. There’s got to be more to it than that, but I’ll be damned if I (or anybody) knows what it is.

It’s easier to come up with a list of stuff that’s not funny, and try to avoid it if you’re trying to be funny. So here’s a list of things that aren’t funny:

1.

Shit.

That doesn’t work either. Pretty much everything can be funny. Funny is all about context. Let me put on my professor’s cap from the University of “We’re Useless” for a minute. Certain things aren’t funny to some people, and it’s all subjective.

Here’s a list of things I don’t think are funny:

1. Making other people feel bad on purpose.

This is tricky because I’m such a jerk and I’m good at being a jerk. I’ve had a lot of people tell me that they admire my “asshole humor.” Which I guess is another way of saying, “Man, I think you’re an asshole. But at least you’re kind of good at it, so I don’t mind as much as I would if you were just a regular asshole who wasn’t also funny.”

But I try not to make other people feel bad on purpose. I try to be more like, “Hey, I’m not so great myself, here, but look at this weird thing you did: let’s stop and laugh at that for a little while because it needs to be laughed at,” than, “You’re fat, HAW HAW HAW!” Maybe that’s a distinction that doesn’t actually exist. Maybe the “you’re fat, HAW HAW HAW” guys think they’re being subtle or, more likely, that they’re good buddies with the whole world and that buys them a chance to act however they want. I feel that way sometimes too.

Anyhow, if you’re going to be kind of jerky when you make a joke, it’s important to pick your targets wisely. Maybe somebody’s not really your friend and they’re just tolerating you and your asshole behavior because it’s easier to avoid you than to tell you off. You see what “asshole humor” can do to you? It can make you paranoid about whether or not you have any friends. That’s no fun.

2. Other people hurting themselves.

This is just me being squeamish. Like if some dude makes a serious face plant off of a trampoline in a YouTube video, or something. I don’t like that. If I was there in person and I saw it I would not laugh. I would go “ouch” in my brain and suck in wind through my teeth because I instantaneously pretended that it happened to me. I do dumb stuff all the time, and my worst fear is cracking my skull or breaking my arm in a super gross way, like with the bone out, while doing something dumb like aiming for the pool from the trampoline. Just thinking about it is making my esophagus sweat.

But there are things like this that are funny. Like when somebody doesn’t really hurt themselves too bad and they just look dumb, that’s funny. Like flailing wildly in order to avoid falling but then finally falling, like a little bit. Or anything with the balls is hilarious, except anything that would require ball-based hospitalization. Bonus points for YouTubes and America’s Funniest Home Videos where some dude gets whacked in the balls by something, overreacts for comedy purposes, and then gets whacked again right away. The double barrel balls whack is just about the funniest. Because the dude will be fine. He just had his balls whacked. Twice. It hurts but it’s not going to kill him.

3. Trying really hard to be funny.

Oh brother. Nothing in the world is worse. I should know, I’ve been trying too hard to be funny for almost my entire life. It doesn’t usually work, until you pull a self-aware switcheroo where you do all this goofy stuff and nobody laughs, and then you get flustered and do a lot more of it and really really nobody laughs, and you say “I’m sorry, I am an idiot.” People need to know that you know you’re acting like an idiot, otherwise it’s not ok to laugh at you because you’re a crazy person and it’s not fun to laugh at crazy people. It’s more sad than anything. So you have to be a human being first and funny second. Otherwise it’s unsettling.

4. Not trying hard enough to be funny.

This is bad too. Mostly it’s in the context of some kind of comedy show, though, where people are supposed to be funny. Like they’re like “Hey, here’s the first thing I thought of on the toilet this morning, I call it ‘What if aliens loved boobs,’ and I am sure you will find it hilarious.” Actually, that does sound funny. Those aliens would be like, “We come in peace from a distant planet. Take us to your leader. Oh, and also: we love boobs.” If you cannot come up with something funnier than aliens who love boobs, you’re not trying hard enough. That’s the most basic amount of funny you can be. Maybe they’re not even aliens. Maybe they’re just dudes dressed as aliens trying to trick people into showing them some boobs. That’s funny. Like if they got busted and had to keep pretending to be aliens who just happen to also love boobs instead of dudes dressed as aliens who think that will help them to see boobs, that would be funny.

Sometimes people in a comedy show don’t try hard enough to be funny. Sometimes they’re trying to do something else first, like “look awesome in front of an audience” or “work out the issues I have with my parents who didn’t give me attention” and then “funny” is just an accidental bonus on top of that every once in a while. If you’re on stage for some kind of a thing that’s supposed to be funny, you should try to be funny first and then other things later by accident. Actually, according to item three on this list, it should go: human being first, funny a close second, and then a distant, invisible third is whatever therapeutic kicks you’re getting out of performing for people due to your chronic personality disorder problems caused by your weird childhood that rendered you so warped and self-centered that you’re now crying out for attention in this public manner.

Otherwise I, the consumer, am going to be pissed about the money and time I spent to help you, the performer, work on your problems, instead of glad I came to be entertained by this great funny person. And also I don’t really care if it’s a human being up there. It’s clearly not a human being up there if they’re willing to do that to themselves. I’ll just be glad if they were funny. And then I will go on with my life not caring about that person. Which is normal.

5. “Edgy” comedy.

You know what sucks? When some dude you work with is like, “Women are only good for one thing, right?” And then he jabs your ribs like you’re supposed to agree with him. Call me a prude, but unless I know you’re joking, that’s not a funny joke. If I do know you’re joking, it is a medium funny joke. It is even funnier if I respond to this joke by saying, “I know, especially my Grandmother, right?” And you ribjab back. Because my Grandmother really is good for just about one thing. Talking about how she loves me and how she is going to die soon. Actually that is two things. Even my grandmother is good for more than one thing, and that bitch hasn’t cooked a good meal in five years.

I assume you know I’m joking, right? She is not a bitch and I love her and I don’t care if she cooks a good meal or not. I can’t run her down here. She’s going to die soon. She told me herself.

You’ve got to be careful with “edgy” humor. The reason people are offended by “edgy” humor is not because you said the words “shit” or “fuck” or “shitfucking.” It’s because by saying them you assume that the people listening to you say them would also say them, and that they would also find whatever it is you’re saying about an abortion to be funny. Abortions are not particularly funny. Neither is shitfucking. (Except it is a little).

Actually, that’s what made me say, with my professor hat from the University of “My Parents Still Think Higher Education Isn’t A Scam Because They’re From Another Time, So They Paid 80 Grand For Me To Major In Comedy,” that funny is all about context. “Abortion” is neither funny nor not funny. Comedy is putting the context together for which “abortion” will be funny. Asking for an abortion for Christmas is very not funny if you’re a pregnant junkie teenager who actually needs an abortion for Christmas because you were raped by your Dad. Asking for an abortion for Christmas is kind of funny if you’re a man, and things that are only kind of funny are actually the least funny. Asking for an abortion for Christmas is hilarious if you’re a regular married woman who’s eight and a half months pregnant and your back just really hurts.

Or maybe it’s also funny if a five year old girl asks her Dad for an abortion for Christmas because her asshole uncle told her to, and he’s silently laughing into his whiskey in the kitchen, and he’s me in however many years it takes for one of my brothers to have a five year old daughter. This is maybe the exception to item one on the above list, and there are a ton of exceptions and nothing is either inherently funny or not funny and it’s all about context. But I will say this: if one of my brothers ever has a kid, I will be in the kitchen telling her to say a few things. Consider yourselves forewarned.

I don’t know what’s funny, but I know that would be funny. To me.

Oh, and also: I love boobs.