I think life is funny. Or at least it better be, at least in the most absolute, reductionist sense, otherwise it means one of two things—either I’ve taken everything far too lightly in the final assessment, or all the horror and cruelty in the world is as sinister and sadistic as the a surface glance would suggest. I fear both of those. Which is probably why I feel the need to make light of it all, lest the weight of reality become greater than it itself can bear, and that reality collapse inward on itself like a dying supermassive star and become some kind of existential black hole from which no light or energy can escape. Since the actual reality of life may just be that awful, I prefer to think of laughter as the human manifestation of the relativistic jets that explode out of even the blackest, most inescapable of phenomena we know of. No matter how dark, dense, and inescapable the pull may be, there is inevitably a poorly-understood mechanism by which energy somehow blows outward and lights up our night sky. (If you happen to have an x-ray telescope.) As if the universe is telling us, “yeah, man, that shit is inescapable—but you can’t silence this energy!” And thus, boom goes the galactic-center dynamite.
That said—am I going to make fun of the child starving in the Rift Valley, just to ensure my own survival in the face of the horror of his/her life at at face value? Nah. Am I going to jest at the limbless veteran home from Iraq? Again, dear god, no. Holocaust? Uh-uh, touch that, are you crazy? Am I going to try and pry a guffaw from the plight of the polar bear mother watching her cub drift away on the last ice-floe on Earth? OK maybe, but only be because Earth will outlive us all no matter what we do (at least within our doomsday-device-less generation) and probably laugh last despite feeble humor. And am I going to fain levity as the Cylons rain nuclear death upon the twelve colonies, driving us all into spatial exile and a years-long quest for Kobol and Earth? Well on that one, definitely, after which I will self-administer a noogie and forcibly extract any milk money I may have on my person. Freakin’ nerd.
No wait, no no nononono…. My point is, it’s bad enough. You—WE—have got to be able to laugh about all our ghosts out floating around out there! Again, not that I plan to offend, but sanctimony is just another way to say “my hurt, or my creed, or my plight, or my injustice is greater than yours or anyone else’s, so go ahead and laugh about someone else’s grief or wrong but mine is untouchable or else you’re a(n) monster/xenophobe/racist/heartless beast/antisemite/liberal and/or dick.” Or both. Probably the latter.
Now, THAT said, the point of healthy laughter is catharsis—at least in the context I’m talking about. So yeah, I’m going to crack wise, but hopefully not in the way some do, which is to make individuals or groups of people secondary to my own viewpoint. Examples:
* Have you heard the one about the ethnic stereotype? It’s funny because of my racial superiority! [Drum hit!]
* A religious individual, another of a separate creed, and a third, none of which share my worldview, are all in a liferaft and die. The humor lies in their clear misunderstanding of theological orthodoxy! [Drum hit!]
* A cracker, a heeb, a queer and a negro walk into a… oh shit, wait -- [Drum hit!]
No, dammit!! I need some absolution on that one before it’s cut off! Crap. Well whatever… I hope my point was obvious from the start, though I’ve learned over a few decades that such is often not the case. In the event you need it spelled out, the POINT was… the point, that is, the crux of the… you have to, can’t… should….. aw hell.
You know what? I’m not sure anymore, these are rough times. But I know this and want to make it plain—there’s a vast gulf between superiorist laughter at the expense of the “other” for its own sake, and laughter in the face of mutually recognized foibles and the absurdity of our shared experience. Yes, absolutely, there are those that use jokes to lift themselves above those they deem inferior, but there are also a great many—I vainly hope the majority—that simply have to laugh, or else cry, and prefer the former. I think I’m one of those. I really do. If not, see first paragraph and thus end of existence blah blah blah.
No my friends, THAT—the need to laugh not at others, but in the face of our shared state of existential ridiculousness—is catharsis. And thereforeinwith (sp?) shall I strive. Note to self: What does that even mean? I guess we’ll work toward figuring that out. Until then, let’s just try not to take ourselves more seriously than we merit (myself = least of all, if I’m successful in my endeavor, which in all honestly isn’t assured but I’m trying), and I wager everything will be just a little more enjoyable in the end.
* THAT’S WHAT SHE SAID! [Drum hit!]
