Dorothy Parker

Dorothy Parker is a hoot. 

I really mean that. After falling in love with her sassy, sarcastic, and biting voice in "The Waltz," I had to know more about her. What I found was nothing short of brilliance. This woman is hilarious. Funny doesn't even begin to encapsulate the wit and wisdom of the quips created by this clever chick. Let me explain to you a few of my favorites.

1. “I'd rather have a bottle in front of me than a frontal lobotomy.”
• This one's a good one. The simple reversal of sounds in a progression of words leads to the obvious juxtaposition of the desire for a drink as opposed to having one's head cut open. The concepts themselves are so incredibly different, but the sounds used to create them are similar, creating something that sounds pleasing and makes you think.
2. “A hangover is the wrath of grapes.”
• This one is also a reversal of words. This humor is derived from the allusion to John Steinback's Grapes of Wrath, and the simple act of moving around the words. I love this because it requires an apt knowledge of literary works to fully appreciate. 
3. “You can't teach an old dogma new tricks.” 
• Get it? Like old dog? But dog...ma? Because dogma is something that is accepted without question so it can't be retaught? AHHH Jokes.
4. Wit has truth in it; wisecracking is simply calisthenics with words.
• This makes me incredibly happy because it gives wit the credit it deserves. Wit isn't easy, it's not just throwing around words to get a workout. Wit requires thought, and therefore, in it is truth.
5.  The cure for boredom is curiosity. There is no cure for curiosity
• This quote is simply brilliant. Curiosity needs no cure because it is a good thing. Curiosity is a catalyst for creation and creativity, which is always needed.

Dorothy Parker is my type of humor. She understands the incredible power locked behind words, and how the proper placement of them can make something beautiful. Something funny, clever, true, harsh, anything. She appreciates what wit is, and how to go about making it from simple rhetorical aspects, such as word or simply sound reversal. This is a basic form of cognitive shift, and it always leaves me smiling.

And this is the end of my post, because, to quote my newest literary idol,

"I hate writing. I love having written."

Family Vacation: A Supposedly Fun Thing I'll Never Do Again

Vacation.
The various connotations of this word that come to mind are sandy beaches, sunny afternoons, peaceful ocean waves in the background, and no stress.
However, after reading John Hughes' short story "Vacation '58," I have a few different connotations.
This short story left me laughing, wincing, imagining, and remembering.
Remembering my own family vacations with my own personal Clark W. Griswold Jr.- my father, Papa John Murphy.
He is the type of guy who sticks a wreath on the front of your Colorado bound Christmas Caravan.
The type of guy who names his 1994 White Dodge Caravan the "Murph Mobile," or "Man Van," depending on its passengers.
However, bless Papa Murph's heart, he never got our clan into any real Griswold shenanigans-
by that I mean we have never, on a family road trip,

1. Had a family member fall asleep at the wheel
2. Killed a dog
3. Driven off a cliff
4. Robbed a motel for gas money
5. Been a part of a hot pursuit with the cops
6. Had a family member die in the backseat
7. Been shot at by missiles
8. Been robbed by Indians
9. Driven to Disney World (I've never even BEEN)
10. Shot Walt Disney in the thigh.

Bummer, really, because John Hughes' account of all these ridiculous events is pretty hilarious.

He uses the son's narration to provide the perfect point of view to place these events into perspective. 

I think it's the overuse of understatement that really brings the most of the humor,

that, and obviously the magnitude of the craziness of the trip.

For example, the first line of the story is one of the most understated lines --

"If Dad hadn't shot Walt Disney in the leg, it would have been our best vacation ever."

So true though.
This understatement, combined with Clark's apathetic attitude toward every single road block, physically and literally, create such a mild tone that, when juxtaposed with the hyperbolic nature of their experiences, creates humor, and a lot of it.
John Hughes' hilarious tale almost made me nostalgic for the days of car rides in man vans, for waking up in the dark to drive for hours through the flattest landscapes known to man. For restless legs, upset stomachs, repetitive songs, fights brought on by constant company of one's family...
Wait.
No it didn't. 
Hughes' story stressed me out.
It brought back uncomfortable memories of hours spent within the confines of the Man Van.
OH no... I thought I'd repressed that one...
*Flashback to Christmas '99*
Ugh... I don't feel so good...
I think I'm allergic to Hawaiian Punch...
Really... ughhh... 
PULL OVER DAD!
I'M GOING TO BE SICK!
AHHHH!
*Flashback ends*
Shoot.
I am really going to need therapy for this one. 
Or, maybe just a...
Vacation. 

The Waltz: 2013 Edition.

A MODERN DAY PARODY OF "THE WALTZ" BY DOROTHY PARKER.

Yeah! Sure! Let's go!
I don't want to dance with him. I don't want to dance with anybody. And even if I did, it wouldn't be him. He'd be well down among the last ten. Right in front of Casey Pachall and right behind That Creepy Guy From My Basic Speech Class Who Looks At Me Funny.
I've seen the way he dances; it looks like the Harlem Shake gone wrong, and there's not much that can go right with the Harlem Shake.
I suppose I deserve it, considering I spent the last few minutes cackling at the moves he was pulling on that poor blonde girl in the middle of the dance floor and now...
Here we are. Here I am. My turn. Karma at its finest.
Who is he? Why is he now popping into my life? 
Is it too much for me to just stand to the side and secretly judge all those dancing?
Apparently it is, and now, here I am, slowly standing up to be roped in and swung around by GDI Cargo Shorts over here.
Yeah, I said it, cargo shorts. 
What was I supposed to do?
Laugh in his face? Spit at his feet? Pretend I didn't speak a lick of English and run away to the safety of the bathroom and cry?
No.
I'm a lady- so, I lied.
Oh I love this song! Yeah, sure, go ahead and teach me how to "Dougie." I'm very interested to learn. No, I've never learned before! 
Please. Teach Me How To Dougie, kind sir. 
Nothing on this planet would make me happier. I'd love to Dougie with you. I'd love to have my wisdom teeth pulled without any anesthesia. I'd love to be stranded on the middle of the ocean in a lifeboat with a live tiger.
Crap.
This is awful. 
That is NOT how you Dougie. 
No, you don't use your fist like that and OW!
No, you definitely didn't just punch me in the face. You imagined that. I just usually tear up at the lyricism of the Cali Swag District. "You just do you and I'mma do me?" Genius. 
I should probably just kill him.
No? That's frowned upon?
Ok, what if I accidentally do the Cupid Shuffle in the middle of his Dougie and kick him in the shin? Would that be socially acceptable?
No? That's frowned upon too?
Dang it.
This song DOES rock. And it's so not old. 2010? Definitely still relevant. 
Wait. Am I slowly falling for my madman? Is this the Stockholm Syndrome at its finest? Look at him. Hair plastered to his face with sweat and determination, his eyes a fire of passion and heart. His feet, surrounded by some beat up sneakers, stepping and pressing and kicking to no beat at all? He never gets discouraged, not even when he is obviously off in every way shape and form. Nope, he's still trying. He is grace, he is good, he is OW
HE IS ON MY TOE.
OW.
Nope, I didn't feel a thing! You keep on doing you, buddy. Your moves are pretty sick!
Pretty sick.
I'm going to be pretty sick if he throws a spin on me one more time.
THERE ARE NO TWIRLS IN DOUGIE-ING.
I would know.
Oh, the DJ cut it short? Shoot! I was just learning. You're such a great teacher! What song is going to be next?? Obviously I wanna keep dancing with you!
Why did I do that. 
No. Please. For the love of all things that are good in this world NO! NO MORE! I'M TOO YOUNG FOR THIS! PLEASE!!
Wait... what's that I hear?
Last call?
The DJ is signing off? Thanking the crowd for their enthusiasm and for putting up with him playing "Teach Me How to Dougie?"
Bummer. I guess it's time to leave! I wish it wasn't, I would love to keep dancing. You're really good! Oh, you have "The Wobble" on your iPhone? You think you can just plug it into that speaker? Please do, I'd simply adore to go on wobbling!

[2013]

UPDATE

THIS JUST IN:

I SAW THIAGO-MY THIAGO- ON CAMPUS!
I ALMOST RAN HIM OVER IN THE COMMONS!
OUR INTERACTION WAS NOT SUFFICIENT TO REQUIRE AN ENTIRE BLOG POST, 
BUT STILL.
I SAW HIM.
WE SAID HI, AND SORT OF LAUGHED.
IT HAPPENED.

That is all. 
For now. 

What's Funny?

Not this book. 

I was actually excited to delve into this book when I heard about it, so much so that I was looking forward to picking it up from the post office.

Ok, maybe it was just because I really like the emails they send out. "You Have a Package Waiting For You!" Really??!! For me??! Someone loves me enough to ship something to me???!!! Even when I know it's a book... that I ordered myself... still. 

So, I ran down to the post office, signed my name away, and tore open the paper like a kid on Christmas, or something to that extent.

Then, with a wide open mind, I opened this book. 

Instant disappointment. How a book on humor can be created without one ounce of actual humor is, almost, in itself funny. This book could not be more dry, boring, or less amusing. It's like Morreall denied humor's existence in some reverse-psychological attempt to prove his theories on humor.

According to Morreall's research, humor is beneficial to our mental, physical, and spiritual health. However, reading this book seemed to degrade all three.

Mentally: I love humor, I use it every day, and I am a firm believer in its benefits. I think that humor keeps the wits sharp, and can only add to intellect. I even wrote my college essay on the positive outcome of a well placed pun! However, while mentally struggling through Morreall's monologue, (I imagine a guy reading this book in a very monotone voice in front of a large sleeping crowd) I seemed to forget everything that I loved so much about humor. This theoretical dissection of the joke and punch line had the effect of making jokes less funny. In humor, naïveté is bliss. I’m laughing because it’s funny. Not because of the incongruency theory and a drastic cognitive shift due to my current state of play. It’s a joke. Let it be one, and leave it at that.

Physically: I fell asleep reading this book. Twice. So, actually, I guess you could say it benefitted me physically because I was able to catch some much needed “z’s”

Spiritually: Humor is like a religion to me, in the sense that I look to it for guidance through my troubles and doubts. Morreall agreed with this aspect of humor, but because of his dreadfully boring diction, I was less excited to read, less interested to learn, and in the end, lost my will to appreciate the basis of my outlook on life. (ok a little drastic but sometimes exaggeration is required for humor.)

Maybe if Morreall would have used more of the “bon mots” he spoke of, I would consider him a eutrapelos, but alas, his book bored the humor out of me.

In fact, the only line that I chuckled out loud at was the part of humor in 15^th century Paris, where “burning cats was a form of home entertainment.” 

Maybe I experienced a cognitive shift because I was not expecting that brief sentence of pure hilarity to come out of the doldrums of Morreall’s book, and ironically enough, it was not intentionally placed as a bit of humor. Maybe I was in the play zone, maybe I was experiencing the False Alarm effect, maybe it was a grand exaggeration, or maybe it was just FUNNY.

So, to answer my own question of “what’s funny?” Thanks to Morreall I have learned one thing:

Burning cats, apparently.