Different Types of Humor

There are three parts to every joke or comedic sketch. The set up, the punch line, and the reaction.

Different types of humor can be defined by where the ultimate emphasis is placed when telling a joke or acting out a scene. The three specific types are: Pythonesque, Henniclassic, and Newhartean.

In Pythonesque Comedy, most of the humor results from how the story is told. The telling of the joke or acting of the scene is what's most important. The punch line -- where applicable -- is almost an afterthought. Its tour de force ("tour de farce") moment is rarely its closing line.

Depends upon acting skills, with an emphasis on verbal and physical dexterity.

In Henniclassic Comedy, the punch line reigns supreme. No matter how amusing the story is related, its total worth rests almost entirely on its closing line or final thought. A bad punch line or, even worse, no punch line at all means no closure and, therefore, no laughs.

Depends upon narrative skills, with an emphasis on comedic timing and tone.

In Newhartean Comedy, the emphasis is shifted from the story itself to the effect the story has on its audience. It isn't the punch line or the bizarre circumstances leading there that generates laughs, but the look on the face of the person listening to the joke or watching the story unfold that creates the humor.

Depends upon a talent for understatement, with an emphasis on facial expression, body language, and vocal variation.

Some humor, maybe most humor, contains elements of all three types. A colorful narrative can add to the impact of a good punch line. No punch line at all at the end of a skit can become the ultimate punch line. An interesting reaction can shed light on a funny narrative or punch the punchiest punch line.

Thoughts and Words

Thoughts are private, limited; they are your own and will remain so unless you choose to share them with the world. Words are public and, therefore, unlimited; they are meant to be consumed by others. Speak to be heard, but be careful what you communicate. What is said can never be unsaid. Words have lengthy lifespans; and those spoken in a public forum -- ergo: dumped onto the internet -- are nearly immortal. A little self-censorship is not necessarily a bad thing.

Innocence Lost

For a good person, the end of innocence comes when they realize that the world is full of suffering and that they will never be in a position to alleviate more than a microscopically small portion of it. After that, all optimism is guarded and situational. You are born, you live, and you die; and the world goes on as always. Real change, I'm afraid, is an illusion.

Not Gonna Happen

I think when somebody uses the phrase "not gonna happen" forty-seven times in the same fifteen minute conversation that one can safely assume that whatever they're referring to is "not gonna happen." Optimism is one thing, delusion is quite another.

It's amazing the number of words spoken by others that we just ignore. We hear sounds and register their meaning. Then we step back into our own little world and slowly the re-interpretive process begins. Brick by brick our egos tear down disappointment's solid facade and replace it with a more hopeful structure.

We protect our hearts, but ruin our lives in the pursuit of things that are never going to be. I hold popular literature largely responsible for this state of affairs, but popular literature is but a reflection of human nature. We are what we are, I guess, but knowing that doesn't rectify the situation. Knowing you share a flaw with others doesn't make it a virtue.

Library

I like the library. I spend alot of time here. It's quiet. It's warm. It's organized. Three things home used to be, but no longer is. For a place full of information, it is surprisingly restful. Unlike what's available on the internet, the information here is unobtrusive. You can walk up and down the stacks and everything stays in its proper place until you reach for it. I wish the rest of the world was like that sometimes. I've been here for over an hour and no one has tried to sell me anything.

It's not the books that make this place special -- although the books are a key element of its charm -- it's the silence. Nothing is being said because nothing needs to be said. Words are not wasted, movement is at a premium, energy is conserved. It's frightening to think that in decade or two such places might be gone or so drastically altered that what we define as a library today will not be defined as a library tomorrow. Technology changes us, both as individuals and as a species. Change is basically good, but not all changes serve the common good. 

Imagine Superman's temple of solitude without the solitude. I come here to get away. From the sound of the pipes creaking and the doors opening and the walls settling. From well known voices and the strain of watching others' romantic interactions. From everything I've ever bought or acquired or possessed. Here I am alone. Here I am only myself. Unfettered by material objects, emotional estrangements, or distracting noise. I don't need much, but -- right now at least -- I need this place.

My Presentation

Life is an improvisation. We make it up as we go along. There's no script. You can't rehearse. Don't try.

I believe the above statement, I do, yet time and time again, I try to do exactly what I caution others to avoid. I rehearse for life. I try to anticipate every confrontation, prepare for every eventuality, picture every roll of the dice. Every time something of perceived importance peaks its head above the horizon, I write a script for presentation; then I rehearse what I've written. 

It's all rather pointless, I know, but I do it anyway. I stand in front of the mirror reciting my text, going over it word by word, syllable by syllable, until I'm confident of my delivery. It's like I'm preparing for a forensics competition, but there is no competition. The scenario I've envisioned almost always fails to materialize. And if it does, it does so in a form so radically different than the one I've prepared myself for that my preparations are next to useless. 

The actors in my little play refuse to use the dialog I've provided them. No one will stick to the script. They step on my lines. They enter and exit off cue. It's maddening. You never really know how people are going to react to anything you say or do. If you stick to the script you just end up looking foolish. Control is an illusion.

The one thing I would like to be -- more than anything else -- is more spontaneous. I need to work on my spontaneity. I need to practice my spontaneity, I guess. Is that a paradox or just an oxymoron?

The Brick Dick

My tribute to the Ypsilanti Water Tower, a building frequently sighted as the most phallic structure in the world.

The great stone Water Tower is clearly the defining landmark of the Ypsilanti area. There are many, many older buildings around town, but there none as memorable or as unique as the “brick dick.”

Putting aside the tower's odd and controversial shape for a moment, here are a few facts about the structure. The tower, located on the corner of Cross and Summit Streets, was designed in 1889 by architect William R. Coats and built in1890. It is147 feet high and has a base diameter of 85 feet. Constructed of Joliet limestone, its walls vary from 24 to 40 inches thick, and it can hold up to 250,000 gallons of water. Opened shortly after its construction, the tower became the cornerstone of a city wide reservoir system and stayed in active operation -- supplying water to the citizens of the city and surrounding areas -- until 1953. In 1988, the tower became a Registered Michigan Historic Site listed with the Bureau of History, Michigan Department of State.

In 2003 Cabinet Magazine conducted a world-wide contest to identify "The World's Most Phallic Building" and the Ypsilanti Water Tower was declared the winner. This brings us to the main point of this short essay. According to local historians, the tower's unique appearance was neither an accident nor a joke. It was designed to look exactly like what everyone thinks it looks like: a huge, erect penis. Why the architect wanted to place a phallic symbol on the highest point in the city of Ypsilanti, no one knows. There is nothing in either his biography or list of other designed structures that suggests mental derangement, an interest in Freudian psychology, or even an odd sense of humor. To this day, Coats' motives remain a mystery; as do the motives of city fathers who approved its financing and construction. One can only suppose the sexual mores of 1890 were somewhat different than they are today; that people were less likely to read overt sexuality into abstract objects in the late nineteenth century than they would be in the century that followed.

As early as 1913, plans were made to change the shape of the tower's “ill-proportioned wooden dome.” Proposals were taken from a number of firms on how the structure's appearance could be altered, yet nothing ever came of these plans for re-design. My cartoon suggests that, even upon its completion, the tower inspired controversy. The picture was taken by myself and altered with Adobe Photoshop software. The figures in the foreground were lifted from a drawing by James Thurber and superimposed in front of the tower itself. The joke is basically the same one nightclub comedians have been making in Ann Arbor for years.

NOTE. A few years ago the city of Ypsilanti tried to cover it up by draping a huge sheet of plastic over it. As a way of hiding the structure from public view the attempt failed miserably, but during the time the plastic was in place the birth rate in Washtenaw County dropped 43.8 percent.