Well here we are in Day Five, the final day of “Put Some Funny In Your Writing.” It was a long slog for various reasons; I’ve had some personal troubles flay me just before we began and none of it adds up to funny unless you are a masochist which I am not. On the first day we were told to look at ourselves, our own life and start there. We were told to find the humor in ourselves before we take on the rest of the world. A little self-deprecation will get the ball rolling, we were told. I did not have to look too far because I was roiling in self-flagellation--where to begin? There's so much to work with.
We then went on to look at the newspapers for some political satire. There was a pile of misery within that realm and though I could have made a mockery of many items, a specialty of sorts, I dropped the ball. I can’t find the humor yet in massive unemployment, foreclosures, homelessness, credit card default, boarded-up storefronts and crooks cashing in. I can only dread what’s coming which will be more crime, more despair and more families falling apart. That is the saddest thing in all of this. Am I being funny yet?
If you’re waiting for me to be funny, I don’t think it’s going to happen in this workshop. I have so much anger I’m not sure I can turn it into laughter. No one else has been very funny either. Everyone tried but maybe we’re not a funny bunch or in a jokey mood although we were assured that in hard times, humor is the best antidote so let it rip.
President Obama is not a comical figure so even the professional comedians are having trouble. They miss the good old days of President Bush, everyone’s favorite target, and really there was no end to the funny business with that poor guy though he himself has a good sense of humor and can dish it out. President Clinton was a gift from the gods of ribaldry.
All the really ridiculous people have been weeded out of Congress, the news media operating as a quick-flush system somewhat like a drive-through car wash: Slap them up, drown their rusty excuses, rattle their windows of opportunity, flush the dirt from their underbelly, rinse them of the collected grime, quick-dry their tears and send them home cleansed, but not necessarily refurbished.
Today we’re back to self-deprecation, having come full circle. I have a pile of concerns but notice that an anger I thought disappeared after high school when I melded into those good old hippie days of promise, pot and pretty delusions is back in the forefront of my psyche. I forgot it was there; an inner demon who, having been ignored for years has regained the spotlight. Who knew I needed a shrink to help me slough off hidden wrath that was hiding in the shadow, the shadow personality we’re now told we all have? No surprise to me, but I had actually thought all the pot had mellowed me and the ire I once felt, for of all things, my parents, went away when I went away. Now I find out it’s been here all along holding me back, according to the shrink I should never have started with at this late date. And I’m sticking with the term “shrink” because I’m hoping she will shrink my anger into something manageable, like simple loathing. She said it’s okay to use terms of derision if it will help me. She has a maternal side I find comforting but do recognize sarcasm when it’s directed at me.
Shrinks can be funny. Books and movies often portray them in a silly light. My shrink, Michelle, is not, thus far, particularly funny. I make a lot of jokes, she brushes them off until she can stand no more and asks me pointedly if I am using humor to deflect from my a) anger, b) bitterness c) churlishness. I said d) devastatingly discordant dissatisfaction. She was not amused. She never is.
You would think a sense of humor would be necessary in her job but she says, on the contrary, it is never wise for a therapist to jest, lest it be taken for ridicule which the patient may or may not be able to handle. She has to remain professional, that is what she is paid to do, she said dripping with consternation. She added that she leaves the jokes to comedians and suggested I do the same as they have not gotten me very far to date. Point taken. They’ve gotten me into this game of visiting a shrink late in life when I should have it all figured out by now. Who knew I was so fallen? I thought I was just forsaken. Sometimes I wonder if I need a pastor or a priest, maybe a rabbi to figure things out but how would you figure out which one of those characters would work for you? Rabbis are often funny in movies. Would that be an advantage or a disadvantage? I’d prefer a few jokes to help me face my inner brat but as Michelle said, where have they gotten you so far?
Exactly. In this workshop on humor writing that I more or less failed but that does not mean I haven’t gotten something out of it. I found it very therapeutic to scribble all my rabid thoughts and then to read them to my classmates. It would have been nice to get a few more laughs but better luck next time. My husband, Mr. X, whom I introduced on Day Two, thinks I should lighten up, drink more wine and run around naked from time to time. Maybe I’ll take his advice: A drunken naked woman is always good for a laugh. I’ll have to ask Michelle if that could help assuage my furor. Mr. X says if not, it would alleviate some of his. Yet another example of sarcasm. Or is it irony? I really think I’ve learned a lot.
I have written a short story, entirely fictitious, for each day of the writing workshop. See #16 “Not So Doggone Funny,” #31 “Exaggeration vs. Understatement,” #49 “Sarcasm: The Fine Art of Antagonism” and #52 “Funny Or Just Daft?”
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