It's hard to find funny people. Genuinely funny people, that is. I laugh at a lot at people, but usually not because they are genuinely funny. I laugh at their facial expressions or ability to re-tell a story or at the inflections in their voices, but there aren't very many people in life that I've come across who make me laugh so hard that my insides hurt.
I recognized this yesterday in church. I go to a church that I probably really need to go to right now, because every time I leave on Sunday, I have something to think about and apply to my life. There's a lot of reflective and applicable teaching. I catch myself doing the same thing every week, though. Not laughing. We have a staff of folks who are really smart, which is part of the reason I like the church so much - they aren't those hokey TV preachers with thick Southern drawls who don't know anything about theology or whatever and just preach about giving your money to them, like this guy:
I hope I'm not making fun of somebody who's actually a good guy, here. I don't even know who this guy is. But I'm glad that my preacher/pastor/teacher doesn't look like Rod Stewart. Or am I?
Anyway, yesterday, in church, the guy who was preaching/teaching said a few things that were pretty funny. When I say pretty funny, I mean marginally funny, they weren't gut-wrenching funny, but they were funny enough for me to laugh at, if I wanted to. The thing is, I didn't laugh at all. I didn't even smirk. I just heard this joke here and there and thought to myself, "Wow. For a preacher, that was pretty good." But I didn't even smile.
Then I started thinking.
I haven't interacted with funny people much since I moved home. My funniest friend here is a lot like me. She's funny in a crowd, but one-on-one, she's a counselor, a listener, a friend, a sister. I don't count on her to be funny and I don't want her to constantly be a jokester, because usually, when I call her, a joke isn't what I need. I need a friend.
I had two funny friends in L.A., but my best friend was one who always made me laugh, even if we were having a serious night where I was crying my face off and being a big baby. I knew he could say something, in perfect taste, that would be hilarious.
I might have written about this before. I can't remember, and I currently lack the energy and motivation to look through past Blogs and find it if I've written it before. So I'll just say it again.
I use this thought when measuring the responsibility and trustworthiness of my friends: would I let my kids play with THEIR kids?
Now, I have no kids, so this might be a sort of dumb idea. I also don't typically do well with babies, and I have no maternal instinct. So sometimes I think about my baby sister, suck her into a time warp, imagine her when she was little and breakable, and wonder if I'd let her play at my friends' house unsupervised.
So, one day, right before I moved home, I was telling my best friend in L.A.,
"You know what? I'd definitely let my kids play with your kids. I'd even let them play with your kids without me around."
and he said, without missing a beat,
"Good. Because my kids are cannibals."
I laughed harder in that moment that I remember laughing since 2008. I got spoiled having direct access to people like that.
One of my dearest and most treasured friends is my former college roommate, who was the first funny woman I'd ever met. I think it's easier to find funny men. Think about how many famous female comics are out there. Slim pickins compared to the men, eh?
My college roommate was opposite of me in most ways. She was an engineer. I was a fashion major. She went to chemistry meetings, I went to fashion meetings. We were very different, but our common denominator was our love of humor. She brought into my life a completely different kind of humor. She is very dry. She'll say thinks without being flamboyant or attention seeking. She says things blankly sometimes, and they hit you like a slap in the face, and if you don't listen, you miss it. You have to listen to her to get her humor, and if you listen, you gain some sort of humor/comedy treasure. I miss her.
So. All of this has me thinking that this town needs a makeover. Memphis is a lot like Disneyland. It was in it's hey-day (is it hay-day? or hey-day? or heigh-day? what does hey-day even mean?) in the 70's, but now, it could use a face lift. It needs a new coat of paint.
Please, Memphians, or at least those who know the answer, where do the funny people hang out here? I need you.
This is a cry for help for humor's sake.
I've been writing some more jokes recently, most as self-help, more as a lifeline than an outlet for funniness, and have been thinking about giving stand-up a shot again. I don't love it enough and am not competitive enough to do it in L.A., but I'm desperate enough and sad enough to give it a shot in Memphis.
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