The Funny Guy

Much to my own amusement....

When I was a young child an adult asked me what I wanted to be when I grew up.  I answered, "Either a head of lettuce or a smoking horse that plays football."  I remember being asked the question and knowing immediately that I wasn't going to answer with a 'real' response.  As soon as I was asked, I searched for an something to say that I thought would be funny.  A few years later when at a party with many adults, someone's father asked me a question and I answered, "I can't hear you, I have a banana up my ass."

My parents were - and are - appreciative of good humor.  I remember my mom taking me to Monty Python movies at von der Mehden.  I was probably one of only a few kids of my age at my school to be familiar with the Knights Who Say Ni.

I learned from the earliest of ages that to make people laugh was to endear myself.  I plied humor with scout leaders, teachers, and the lunch ladies.  I sometimes got in trouble for talking, but the risk of detention was worth the reward of the funny story later.  With plenty of encouragement from family and friends, I sought to amuse whenever I could.  I made silly faces, I said silly things, and I walked silly walks.



Though active, I didn't possess the coordination for many sports.  It didn't begin intentionally, but my athletic endeavors soon became fodder for my comedy. In soccer I tripped over the ball.  I remember a high infield pop fly landing squarely on my forehead.  When I ice skated my arms flailed as my skates went in different directions.  I ran funny, threw funny, and fell funny.  I soon realized that if others were going to laugh at me, I'd be better served by controlling the laughter on my terms.  I was, if you will, pre-emptively funny.  Part of my humor was related to my appearance.  I wore glasses that were often broken, taped, and crooked.  And despite my goofy appearance, or perhaps because of it,  I was popular, had many friends, and was well liked by teachers and staff.   My youthful efforts culminated my senior year of high school.  I'd gained the a solid reputation as a comedian and was appropriately selected class clown by my peers.

College was the perfect place for me to continue to hone my humor craft.  I had a whole new venue in which to ply my trade.  On the crew team I wore my pajamas to practice and tied a scarf in a bow on top of my head.  In my fraternity, I spoke freely and descriptively about taboo topics like excrement and masturbation.  I would intentionally draw attention to myself or others in public places by singing, dancing, or tripping.  When girls were around, I said silly things to make them laugh and eventually figured out how to turn giggles into kisses.

As I grew up, I increased my vocabulary, sharpened my wit, focused my sarcasm, and broadened my comedic range.  I learned how to use humor to charm, to lighten a heavy mood, to deflect criticism, and to get jobs.  As a waiter or a tour guide, I leveraged humor for tips.   Once I joined the ranks of an office employee, I measured the success of my day not in widgets sold, but in laughs gotten.  I am sure my humor didn't always further my career, but I derived far more satisfaction from getting a laugh then climbing the stodgy corporate ladder.  It didn't matter if I was at home, on a date, in a meeting, at a bar, or on the beach, I was always looking for the funny.

Several years ago, some friends of mine were running the Marine Corps Marathon in DC.  To help them spot us in the crowd of onlookers, we wore silly costumes.  We acquired a large afro wig much to their amusement.  But that one time wasn't enough.  I kept that wig for years, breaking it out regularly as much for others as for myself.  My friends and family came to know and love the wig.  I wore it to meet friends poolside at LA's swanky Mondrian Hotel.  I wore it at work for presentations.  I wore it at weddings, including my own.  When I left the wig behind at the reception, it was FEDEXed to me on my honeymoon.  I made the housekeepers try it on.

I also broke the wig out midway during a best man toast I was giving. The quality of the video isn't good, but the audio is adequate.  And while the toast was ostensibly for my friend, I think you can tell that I am the one reveling in the attention.



I turned 40 earlier this week and while I've matured somewhat, being 'the funny guy' is still something that I pride myself on.  I recently saw that the successful comedian Ricky Gervais didn't really launch his comedy career until he was 40.  Perhaps everything heretofore has simply been a prelude?