Laughter

Somebody told K or G that the best thing for a sickie is to laugh a lot. My problem is that it is very hard for me to laugh out loud. Isn't that sad? I think I've been like that for several years, even before getting sick. I can acknowledge intellectually that something is humorous, or smile at it, but almost never laugh. Yes, this is sad. K started me off with an SNL DVD (highlights of the last 25 years) and I have bookmarked internet sites that show funny clips. Again, funny but no laughter.

Then recently I discovered: The only person to make me laugh: Karl Pilkington. He was on the Ricky Gervais Show on the radio and then on his podcasts. Apparently he has a cult following. He is impossible to figure out. He's fascinating-- you feel a little bit guilty laughing at him because you're not sure he's all there. He's funny because there's a human foible side to him. It's hard to describe. It's like the reason why a good practical joke or a good hidden camera trick is funny. It's the reaction to somebody saying or doing something completely unexpected. In this case, you're the one reacting. I also find the quebecois hidden camera show Juste pour rire really funny. Here they used to show it dubbed with music (because it was in French) and it was still hilarious. My favorites are when people get pissed off. (I won't provide a link because apparently the JPR thing has expanded to become a whole comedy festival, so if you google it, you get tons of links to the fest, not the TV show.)

Most people who know me well have heard this story but I am going to repeat it anyway:
One year in high school, I think frosh, I had 3rd period free for a semester, but none of my friends did and I didn't want to go to the student lounge alone and I certainly didn't want to go to the library. (I didn't like the NT library. Unless my amnesia is particularly bad, I'll say I probably went a scant handful of times in 4 years.) So anyway I used to sit cross-legged outside my 4th-floor locker and read or catch up on homework. The 4th floor was shaped like a T and the vertical bar of the T was separated into two sections, with about four stairs you had to go up to get to the "lower" section (which was physically higher, but I'm trying to continue the T analogy). I was near the top of the stairs, so in the "lower" part of the T.

ANYWAY, the point is, one day, I had been smelling something "off" and finally looked to my left. Somebody had barfed at the top of the stairs. I was kind of processing this when the bell rang. Suddenly people started pouring out of classrooms, coming up those four stairs, stepping on the barf and sliding several feet down the hall, on their feet if they were lucky. Some people got barf all over their clothes. A small circle of bystanders started to form (I was further back). But nobody warned the people coming up the stairs, who would potentially slip, get hurt, get dirty, etc. It was just too fascinating and, yes, funny. I didn't laugh out loud, because I have better manners than that, but it was like a slapstick movie come to life, and funny this time because it was real and not annoyingly scripted. Unfortunately, you witness stuff like that live once in a lifetime, and for me it happened when I was 14. I'm not sure what to make of all this, just getting it out there in this post about laughter.

One thing I am almost positive would not work on me is those classes where you laugh fake in the beginning and then you keep doing these various exercises/games and saying, HA HA HA, and eventually you are really laughing. I think I would feel stupid and I think the whole thing is phoney. However, if it works for some people, go for it, as Mer and I used to say.

Irrelevant 1: Gillian Michaels is my hero, and my role model if I ever get well.
Irrelevant 2: Today Dappy told Kazzie she'd got my calves. Way to curse a child, Mom. Well done.
Irrelevant 3: G aka my handyman is coming for Christmas! Have not seen him since May! He's never met Kazzie! Perhaps some progress for the rat's nest is in the works? Of course, Nick has all kinds of jobs lined up at the perch, including collecting the olives (combing the olive trees with a mini rake), decorating the front yard for Christmas, etc. [Last year the rents were slow to decorate, and when people didn't see any lights, they thought I may have croaked, and that's why my family wasn't being festive. Ahh, village life.]

Bonne nuit à tous!

SHOUT OUT TO C.H., MY NEWEST READER, AND ANYBODY ELSE FROM WORK WHO'S STARTED READING. (sorry not to provide better quality)