Don't the sun look good going down on the sea?
Where Ma Raney and Beethoven once unwrapped their bed roll
Tuba players now rehearse around the flagpole
And the National Bank at a profit sells road maps for the soul
To the old folks home and the college.
Now I wish I could write you a melody so plain
That could hold you dear lady from going insane;
That could ease you and cool you and cease the pain
Of your useless and pointless knowledge.
Mama's in the fact'ry,
She ain't got no shoes.
Daddy's in the alley,
He's lookin' for the fuse.
I'm in the streets
With the tombstone blues.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------
A Priest, A Rabbi, And Steve McQueen walk into a bar...
The witty remark is always at the tip of my tongue, the wisecracking innuendo or the sly observation are constantly vying for the next laugh in my mind. Often these jokes involve some sort of off-color content, be it a “swear-word” or a reference to a less than socially acceptable topic or some other offense all together. Now, in order to survive the day with this inclination to joke I have, I must have some sort of sensor to detect when my remarks will be greeted with a laugh and when they will be met with a fit of fainting or crying or simply all the color draining from the faces of those assembled. Sometimes this censoring sensor fails, but mostly it does the trick; the interesting question is: How does it work? What factors go into my calculations and what do the results mean? Does the formula give a perfectly black or white answer, or are there shades of grey? Why the hell am I so attracted to profanity in the first place? I will attempt to answer at least one of these questions, and perhaps a few more which may occur to me during the writing of this paper.
The first question is a two-parter: How does it work and when/why is it employed? I think the second half of the question is easier to answer, so I will handle it first. New company is the most prominent indicator that my sensor should go into action; if I meet a new person, be they a peer or an adult, I try to ascertain what their sense of humor might be. To do this I carefully examine what they laugh at and what they don’t, where they are from both culturally and geographically , and how much they seem to be interested in me as a person. I’ve found that people with a greater estimation of my intelligence or quality of character will be more likely to see the humor I hope is present in my speech. Now, if I push the boundaries of what is acceptable too far, those estimations may drop drastically, and as much as not caring what people think is nice, it is often pleasurable to have friends. So, now we have the “when” and “why” and a sizable chunk of the “how.” The rest of the “how” (besides the geography test and the “How much does this person love Jon” test) is the toes-in-the-pool test. “How does that go?” you might ask. Well, here is the gist: Tell a joke. Any joke. Well, not quite that broad of a selection --it needs to be mildly offensive in one of these three areas: politics, religion, or the elusive “other.” Some combination of religion and politics works best. You then judge the reaction of your company to the joke you have just told them involving the archangel Gabriel, Ronald Reagan, the Gross National Product of Zimbabwe, and some lighter “swear-word” like hell or damn . Depending on the level of humor (or lack thereof) they seem to find in this anecdote, you may continue telling either racier jokes, less racy jokes, equally racy jokes, or give up on humor all together and talk to this Straight-Faced Norman as if he were someone with a very large battle-axe and some inclination to remove the unsightly, profanity spewing aberration on your shoulders you like to refer to as your head.
During that last big long paragraph I do believe I answered all but the last question I posed myself in the introductory passage: Why the hell am I so attracted to profanity in the first place? Maybe that will come through a bit in the following conclusion to my journal this week.
“Laughter is the best medicine,” we’ve all been told at some point in our lives. I don’t claim to know what provokes laughter, the complicated neural chemistry involved in stimulating some humor circuits, or why that laughter is any sort of medicine at all, but I do think I know how to tell a joke, insert some humor into serious discourse, or lighten the mood (maybe even get a laugh) well enough to write about it. I have learned from extensive experience that taboo topics, colorful language, and pushing the limits of what is polite cultured conversation are all potential avenues lined with vines heavily laden with ripe and ripping humor. Now, it would be inconsiderate to force such discourse on someone unaccustomed or opposed to the substance or style of your humor, which is why the barometric censorship sensor is a valuable tool. You never know when you will be in the company of a very prim and proper adult, a strict or moralizing or simply uncomfortable teacher, or a member of the clergy; knowing when to tell your really funny joke about why the Baptist preacher crossed the flooded highway is crucial in these situations. Be advised: those with vulgar humor and no sensor should tread lightly and carry a big shield for any threat of unwelcome battle-axes.
Tuba players now rehearse around the flagpole
And the National Bank at a profit sells road maps for the soul
To the old folks home and the college.
Now I wish I could write you a melody so plain
That could hold you dear lady from going insane;
That could ease you and cool you and cease the pain
Of your useless and pointless knowledge.
Mama's in the fact'ry,
She ain't got no shoes.
Daddy's in the alley,
He's lookin' for the fuse.
I'm in the streets
With the tombstone blues.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------
A Priest, A Rabbi, And Steve McQueen walk into a bar...
The witty remark is always at the tip of my tongue, the wisecracking innuendo or the sly observation are constantly vying for the next laugh in my mind. Often these jokes involve some sort of off-color content, be it a “swear-word” or a reference to a less than socially acceptable topic or some other offense all together. Now, in order to survive the day with this inclination to joke I have, I must have some sort of sensor to detect when my remarks will be greeted with a laugh and when they will be met with a fit of fainting or crying or simply all the color draining from the faces of those assembled. Sometimes this censoring sensor fails, but mostly it does the trick; the interesting question is: How does it work? What factors go into my calculations and what do the results mean? Does the formula give a perfectly black or white answer, or are there shades of grey? Why the hell am I so attracted to profanity in the first place? I will attempt to answer at least one of these questions, and perhaps a few more which may occur to me during the writing of this paper.
The first question is a two-parter: How does it work and when/why is it employed? I think the second half of the question is easier to answer, so I will handle it first. New company is the most prominent indicator that my sensor should go into action; if I meet a new person, be they a peer or an adult, I try to ascertain what their sense of humor might be. To do this I carefully examine what they laugh at and what they don’t, where they are from both culturally and geographically , and how much they seem to be interested in me as a person. I’ve found that people with a greater estimation of my intelligence or quality of character will be more likely to see the humor I hope is present in my speech. Now, if I push the boundaries of what is acceptable too far, those estimations may drop drastically, and as much as not caring what people think is nice, it is often pleasurable to have friends. So, now we have the “when” and “why” and a sizable chunk of the “how.” The rest of the “how” (besides the geography test and the “How much does this person love Jon” test) is the toes-in-the-pool test. “How does that go?” you might ask. Well, here is the gist: Tell a joke. Any joke. Well, not quite that broad of a selection --it needs to be mildly offensive in one of these three areas: politics, religion, or the elusive “other.” Some combination of religion and politics works best. You then judge the reaction of your company to the joke you have just told them involving the archangel Gabriel, Ronald Reagan, the Gross National Product of Zimbabwe, and some lighter “swear-word” like hell or damn . Depending on the level of humor (or lack thereof) they seem to find in this anecdote, you may continue telling either racier jokes, less racy jokes, equally racy jokes, or give up on humor all together and talk to this Straight-Faced Norman as if he were someone with a very large battle-axe and some inclination to remove the unsightly, profanity spewing aberration on your shoulders you like to refer to as your head.
During that last big long paragraph I do believe I answered all but the last question I posed myself in the introductory passage: Why the hell am I so attracted to profanity in the first place? Maybe that will come through a bit in the following conclusion to my journal this week.
“Laughter is the best medicine,” we’ve all been told at some point in our lives. I don’t claim to know what provokes laughter, the complicated neural chemistry involved in stimulating some humor circuits, or why that laughter is any sort of medicine at all, but I do think I know how to tell a joke, insert some humor into serious discourse, or lighten the mood (maybe even get a laugh) well enough to write about it. I have learned from extensive experience that taboo topics, colorful language, and pushing the limits of what is polite cultured conversation are all potential avenues lined with vines heavily laden with ripe and ripping humor. Now, it would be inconsiderate to force such discourse on someone unaccustomed or opposed to the substance or style of your humor, which is why the barometric censorship sensor is a valuable tool. You never know when you will be in the company of a very prim and proper adult, a strict or moralizing or simply uncomfortable teacher, or a member of the clergy; knowing when to tell your really funny joke about why the Baptist preacher crossed the flooded highway is crucial in these situations. Be advised: those with vulgar humor and no sensor should tread lightly and carry a big shield for any threat of unwelcome battle-axes.