Monday, March 17, 2008
I want to be the funniest Chicagoan around. Well, at least the funniest person on my block. Heck, I’d even settle for being the best comedienne in my building.
I don’t know why I want to be hilarious. But I do. I see it as a great gift to make other people laugh. But gosh, if I could make myself crack up that to be great. I just see being humorous as the best thing I can do for myself, the world and the universe. Even Martians need to lighten up and I see myself as the woman to do the job.
I also think a sense of humor helps people remember you and it draws them to you like a moth to a flame...that gets burned! But it has certainly been helpful in the Internet world when I’ve been blogging. I think people want to visit the blogs that make them chuckle, forget about their everyday cares for a while. There’s enough out there about earning more money, terrorism, the war in Iraq, that what I really want to read and write is something that Erma Bombeck or Jean Kerr would write. In fact, it’s my goal in life to be invited to the next Erma Bombeck conference. Now, I’d really need to decide what I’d wear to this confab. I’m certain I’d be competing with other wanna-be clowns, but very few I’m certain would wear a cocktail hat or at least one shaped like a strawberry. What do you think? I think I’ll wear one for sure at the ASJA conference in April.** That way I know I’ll stand out, people will see me in the crowd. They might even gravitate toward me, if only to take a look at the French knots on my chapeau. That’s ok, I won’t take it personally.
I want to download funny MPs on my iPod or my iShuffle when I finally get around to buying one. I want to watch funny movies, when I get a TV again. I just want to surround myself with laughter constantly. Although how can I turn all that off when I go to bed? I might even hear guffaws in my sleep. That’s ok. I rather be chuckling (not upchucking) in my sleep than talking. I’ve been to known to betray a secret or two when I’m in la-la land so laughing would be good. Everyone, particularly my sewing machine, would want to know what’s so funny. Even the sewing patterns on the floor would want to know.
I’m more keen on listening to funny stuff than I am on getting an earful of music. Most of the songs on the radio are sad anyhow, about love and loss. I’ve been there, you’ve been there. Why even go there when you can go to a happy place just as easily? So I rather visit the land frequented by Jerry Seinfeld, Jack Parr, Charlie Chaplin and other funny folks. Life is so much better and richer that way. Just think, I can be as funny as Amy Sedaris even if I don’t make her kind of money. Yet. Hah.
If I didn’t laugh, I’d cry at all the fabric I’ve destroyed in my quest to sew unique apparel. I cannot tell you how much fabric I’ve tossed because I’ve cut it wrong or it looks just sew wrong that I cannot bear to fix it. Yes, I’ve even ditched completed tops because it looks like a gnome on drugs sewed themt. I might be funny, but I want my clothes to look halfway decent. I’m ok with wearing my mistakes, I do it all the time. There are uh-ohs I can live with, and there is the stuff that absolutely must go in the trash or at the very least in the bottom of my closet to be unearthed by my heirs.
That’s true even with my writing. Some of it is unbearably bad. I mean so horrible that even my brothers who love me very much would wince. I can’t have that. And I certainly don’t want those people who inherit my belongings to have to wade through that junk. Ditch. Fill a landfill in the name of simplicity or at very least saving my reputation as a writer. Now what about photos? I need to file those or get rid of them too. I’ve got pictures from the 80s that still need to go into albums! Help! Whatever does or doesn’t get done is fodder for essays. Right?
I’ve got one minute and I’m out of here to lighten up the world with my very bad jokes. I figure I can be just as bad as local Chicago funny man and trombonist Bill Porter. Right?
* the picture you see above has nothing to do with this post, unless you think you have at least 1/2 yard of this particular jersey in your stash. If you do, I want to hear from you. Email me ASAP. Please. And I mean that most seriously.
** I wrote this a year ago, so I might not actually wear this hat this year this time.