Reflections in the Fun House Mirror
Reflections in the Fun House Mirror
All Kinds of Funny turned one this week. I mentioned this casually to my wife and she suggested I write up a reflection on the year. I had been planning to write about a couple of violent confrontations I had in New York City, which doesn’t exactly sound like comedy gold, but trust me, I’m a professional. Still, my wife got in my head, so I pivoted. Also, I’ve learned to mark the good occasions when they present themselves. You never know when hellfire or bucking broncos or malevolent avocados are going to come for you, so it’s best to take your wins when you can get them.
So what does a man learn after a year of putting out a weekly newsletter called All Kinds of Funny? Well, first, the man—this man anyhow—bristles at the question. It seems masturbatory to reflect and contemplate on silliness and absurdity, a bit like throwing your own surprise party. The self-righteousness runneth over, making way for a wave of shame and the distinct need for tissues or a rolled-up sock.
But in the spirit of reflection—and because I hit pause on my ode to NYC violence for the time being—what the hell? Here are a few takeaways from All Kinds of Funny.
Life’s a bitch. The Red Queen’s a bitch. But I repeat myself.
In Through the Looking-Glass, the Red Queen tells Alice, “Now, here, you see, it takes all the running you can do, to keep in the same place.” This is true. Grim reapers are everywhere, and they’re coming for all of us. Of course, they don’t look like grim reapers. Sometimes they look like zombies descending on your wife’s car, and other times they look like your own children.
Like a monster in a horror movie, the chaos is unrelenting, the hellhounds always a few steps behind, nipping at your Chuck Taylors. We pretend there’s an escape—a routine, a solution, a winning lottery ticket, a perfect comeback to that asshole who cut in line at the grocery store—but that’s vanity. We try to believe we’re powerful and clever enough to master death and keep evil at bay, but at best we’re janitors. We unclog the pipes and mop up the floor so that when the next giant turd drops into the bowl, we’re only up to our ankles and not up to our necks.
It’s easy to gnash our teeth and shake our fists at this absurdity, but here’s the thing—the absurdity is the point. You might enjoy a little reason and sensibility in this world, but good fucking luck holding onto it. It’ll turn on you like an addicted chimp on an animal activist. You’re better off leaning back and having a good laugh. Ella Wheeler Wilcox said it better: “Laugh, and the world laughs with you; weep, and you weep alone.”
Hilarity is soft, mushy, and sometimes spicy.
Not long ago, my wife and I had drinks with close friends—another married couple. The husband was telling us about the tiki bar he had finished building in his backyard, and I suddenly remembered that I had agreed to help him write a drink menu or an invitation (I forget which), something fun to complement the project. But I flaked.
“Ah!” I said. “I’m sorry, man. I know I was supposed to help you with that, but instead, I had a nervous breakdown.” Which was true. And we all laughed. Nothing blunts the razor’s edge like a little truth cut with humor, particularly the self-deprecating variety.
I’ve spent a good long while learning to be quick-witted and sharp—and I can keep up with the best of them—but the real power I’ve enjoyed has come from rawness, honesty and exposing myself, with and without the help of a mobility guru.
Nobody knows anything. Especially me.
I’ve really enjoyed learning how little I know. Especially about the people I know. I’ve had the pleasure of living through decades of marriage, fatherhood, and friendship, and I still find myself surprised by the nuance, textures, and multiple Twilight Zone-like dimensions that exist in the chambers of the human heart.
On several occasions, I’ve questioned whether or not I should write something for fear of offending someone or upsetting someone’s delicate sensibility. Of course, I’ve always answered my own question by hitting the publish button with a devil-may-give-a-shit attitude, but I’ve been constantly surprised by how many people were tickled by clown testicle-fueled nightmares or any number of stories that led to carnage, bodily harm, or trauma—spiritual, psychological, and otherwise.
There are people who read this substack—people I’m certain are morally superior to me—who have confided that they enjoy the schadenfreude, whether it comes by a rogue game of dodgeball, my mother-in-law’s crimes against decorum, or my own mom’s abuses of the English language. I like knowing that the second-grade teacher, the pastor, the nurse practitioner, or the crossing guard all have that crooked funny bone, that off-limits territory that still brings them to laughter.
Blessed be the shitstorm.
Usually gratitude comes up when people talk about god or their healthy children or the fact that their urologist has a steady hand. In writing All Kinds of Funny this past year, it strikes me that I’m grateful for the horrors more than the blessings. When you’re balls deep in existential suffering, when you’re certain that a vengeful god has christened you Job 2.0, and when the world seems to be moving too fast for your liking, it’s difficult to be thankful. But once on the other side of it, you can see the essentialness of these challenges, how they strengthened your resilience, how they empowered you to keep going, how they gifted you with a laugh. Keep ‘em coming. I’ve got a lotta ink and a lot more stories to tell.
And if you haven’t picked up my dark crime comedy novella Dig…
One of few writers who use masterbatory in a sentence rather than a fun solo exercise. PS There’s no such thing as a nervous breakdown. I know . Emotions. Chemicals. Blind depression cocktail of anxiety. All remedied with time, patience, proper meds, a sane therapist and appears in your and my case spouses and children who didn’t run and hide. Ah scadenfreude . Had to remind of spelling and meaning. We’re “grateful” , older and made by timing and moves to 2 homes. One on a sublime harbor in MI ( I’m a born and raised LA, Ca. Confirmed unsalted lake lady and a democrat ! The other. Venice fl. Can you spell Helene & Milton . You mentioned Tiki Bar . . gods of vengeance have unleashed fury. We head South this week. Our hacienda . No damage.
Keep us amused and please bear your deepest dark secrets with colorful expletives. Erin and I will be waiting.
Last night I went to a local pub to a casual drink and eat or not "get together" with our neighbors. I really had to push myself as this is not my thing. Generally, I only get as close to my neighbors as does my dog, otherwise I am pretty much a recluse from society. So I made myself go and be an adult...after all, I am 80 now, so not much time left, I hear. I sat alone with a friend, and ordered my drink. They were all mingling happily at their own tables. How do you get to know people if they all sit with their close neighbors and wives and husbands? When I was about to order some dinner, someone came over and said, "Aren't you Ellie's mom?" "Yes, as a matter of fact, I am" even though she is my housemate's dog. And so we visited about, pretty much nothing. You know, the garden, the weather, how did their kids fare thru the storm in Ashville, and How is Ellie?...things like that. It was ok and then someone's husband came by and sat down and chatted. He is the neighborhood fixer. If anything breaks or I can't lift it or fix the sink or something, he comes over and fixes it. I'm grateful for that and got a chance to thank him. Then I saw some people who sat across from me that live across the street and have two dogs. They never acknowledged me. I smiled and they looked away. They have big dogs and I always try to say hello to them, but I have a very small dog, which, I guess, isn't worthy of their acknowledgment. Then when I was about to leave, a nice woman came by and said how much she enjoyed my Christmas Holiday Cards. I enter them into a contest every year and have been successful in having them printed and sold thru the contest sponsor's Boutique and Card Shop. She said she and her husband have them framed and they put them on their wall by the bar. How appropriate, I thought. They have them there all year just for a little Christmas Cheer. Wow, that made me feel good. And as I was walking out, a woman came by and thanked me for sending out the name of a seamstress I finally found in town, after 20 years, that could actually shorten my pants, or replace a zipper or something without charging an arm and a leg. This neighbor was delighted as she began using her for making some covers for her furniture and was very happy with her work. So she gave me the credit. When I left, I felt proud. I also felt more social as I had two drinks before I left. So it was a good evening. It pays to make yourself "get out" if you are a loner of sorts. People can actually make you feel better. So I will do my best to get out in the world and spread joy, or at least try to take some in and realize I'm still okay. Your story made me think of reflections, if you are wondering where this came from, it was from the baby who was sharing with himself. Sometimes we need to look in the mirror and realize we can face the world if we can face ourselves. Thanks, Norm. We are all just human after all, minute by minute, day by day, year by year.