All about Funny, Or At Least the Uses of Sarcasm

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FROM BEER TO MATERNITY
By Maggie Lamond Simone
261 pp. Brodman Publishing $14.95
Review and Interview by Gary Presley

Here’s a guesstimate: write a humor column in the USA, and people are going to point and say, “So you think you’re Dave Barry, huh?”

Of course, like many things in life, women have it tougher: “You’re no Erma Bombeck.”

So it’s inappropriate to even try to rank Maggie Lamond Simone on the Bombeck Scale of Humor and Insight. Let’s simply say, “Simone thinks funny, and she writes funny.”

That applies whether you prefer the pithy observation—“If dating is ‘courting,’ then a date must be a court and we’re all OJ”—or something a little more complex.

Children have no fear. Everything is fair game. I know the books say this is healthy and such abashed curiosity should be encouraged, but absent a relatively advanced capacity for upright mobility, I have my doubts. Remember, these same books also said labor “was uncomfortable.”

Beer has been compiled from a series of Simone’s columns, carrying the reader through the latter part of her dating life, her marriage, and into the joys and tribulations of motherhood. There are ten chapters, and the individual pieces therein range from the straight-up funny to the satisfyingly sentimental. The target audience may be Simone’s female contemporaries, but a man will open the book and find himself laughing.

The title may be somewhat deceptive. Simone spent a measure of her young life in a bottle. Then, when a compassionate policeman picked her up after a one-car accident and offered to drive her home rather than cite her for driving under the influence, Simone asked him to drop her at a nearby bar.

The next morning, when I realized what had transpired, I went to my first AA meeting, and have not had a drink since.

As a writer, Simone often displays Bombeckian ability to use the silly to explore the serious. Simone has found her niche, and if you’re in the mood for a laugh, you’ll join her.

The dog hears me when I speak because he looks at me and reacts. The fact that he reacts in a totally unrelated matter to what I said may someday be effective in deciphering this whole human speak situation … I can actually foresee a day when I will say to a man, “I like that tie,” and he will wash the dishes.

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A Discussion of “Funny” with
Maggie Lamond Simone

[IRB] So what’s funny? When did you start reading funny stuff? The first funny stuff I remember was Ring Lardner’s, especially a line funny beyond description: “Shut up,” he explained.

[SIMONE] I used to read Andy Rooney when I was a kid; he was funny to me. I also used to read Erma Bombeck, along with the rest of the free planet, but actually stopped reading her in my late teens for fear of being too influenced by her. And then I had to stop reading Dave Barry in the early nineties because a rejection I received indicated that, and I quote, “The paper doesn’t need another Dave Barry wannabe.”

I don’t consider myself funny. What I hope is that my writing makes people think, “Yeah! That’s what I was trying to say!” I think I’m sarcastic, which in writing can be humorous. But I’m sarcastic when I speak, also, so in my head I’m not funny. I’m just me. And I write the way I talk.
Physical humor is always a source of great joy to me, to the amazement of my husband. Watching someone walk into a really clean glass door can have me in stitches. Of course that doesn’t always translate well to paper, but damn, some of the commercials out there today are wicked funny that way. And Monty Python’s Life of Brian was the first movie I saw that literally made me laugh until I cried.

[IRB] If you stopped reading Bombeck as a teen, and you knew you wanted to “write funny” some day, did you think then think, “There’s no way a woman in the USA can write a humor column and not be charged with trying to be the next Bombeck?”

[SIMONE] I always knew I’d “write funny.” I recently sent a copy of my book to my high school English teacher, David Schultz, who was the first teacher who let me write the way I like to write. He actually encouraged me to write funny. He was That Teacher for me, the one I still remember thirty years later as having helped shape who I am. And to answer the “an a woman write funny without the Bombeck-wannabe comparison.” I believe that Erma, God rest her soul, really screwed things for the rest of us in—or following—her generation!

Because of Erma Bombeck for women and Dave Barry for men, humor writers for probably the next twenty-five years will have to work doubly hard to distinguish themselves as individuals. But, David Sedaris did it. It can be done. And it’s temporary, right? I mean, no one accuses anyone these days of trying to be another Mark Twain, right?

[IRB] Back to sarcasm. It’s funny, sure, but men mostly use it as a weapon. And physical humor, how do you try to translate that as a writer onto a page? It’s a tough gig to be ask to write out physical humor that sparks a laugh. Is it a matter of descriptive imagery?

[SIMONE] Yes, sarcasm is a weapon. When I met my husband, my mother asked me if I could “tone the sarcasm down a bit” because she really liked him and was afraid I would drive him away. Unfortunately, it’s not easily switched off; fortunately the husband liked me anyway. Unfortunately, the kids have inherited my passion for all things ironic; fortunately I had them late and will probably be six feet under before they get really good.

The physical humor can certainly be challenging to put down on paper. In fact I rarely make use of it because I’m just not that good. When I do use it, it usually follows an event that kind of writes itself; the kids playing in the other room, the crash, the guilty silence, the simultaneous “He/she did it” scenario—which is actually more of an implied physical humor than an actual description. Typically if I write about something that I found physically amusing, what I’m writing is my reaction to it—which is usually mental (read: sarcastic).

[IRB] This raises the question—which comes first, the humor or the writing? Can you sit down at a keyboard and be funny? Or do you filter an observation or occurrence in your life through your sense of humor and find a way to get it down, and down funny?

[SIMONE] Boy, I do love those columns that write themselves. Those are the ones when I have a beginning and end before I even sit at the computer. The others, the ones where I have a middle—a story, an event, an epiphany—but no beginning or end … writing those is in some ways like giving birth. I actually don’t know what I feel or what my point is until I’ve gone over it and over it a thousand times.

Which I guess answers that last question, which comes first: it must be the humor, because the writing doesn’t always follow right away. Something will happen—watching my brother’s wife make pizza from scratch—that sets something off in me. I need to explore why I was set off (jealous? envious? defensive?) so I can have some resolution, and the outcome of that exploration is the writing. I’m actually a really shy person who prefers to never leave the house, and I’ve always believed that’s why I’m a writer and not a stand-up comedian.

[IRB] Humor can be a defense, a means of distancing. A coping mechanism too? A way to keep from hiding in a corner crying and whining, or to keep from roaming about with a Louisville slugger and whacking the stupid. Then there’s the idea that many really funny people aren’t the happiest of souls—Richard Pryor, for one example.

[SIMONE] It’s funny (no pun intended) that you mentioned Richard Pryor. I was just recently trying to explain to my kids why someone like Freddie Prinze or Richard Jeni (a standup from here who made it reasonably big) would commit suicide, when they’re so funny; I found myself trying to suggest that many funny people actually use their humor as a mask, and that in some cases they are more sad or depressed than the average person, without frightening them into thinking Mommy’s really sad. The truth is, in the old days, I was really sad, and I did attempt suicide. When I sobered up, I found humor to certainly be the healthier alternative.

[IRB] I found myself surprised that so little of FBTM reflected the “beer” days, and that leads me to ask whether you feel any compulsion to write a memoir about that portion of your life. You may think “What can I say about those days that another writer hasn’t already said?”

[SIMONE] Despite the bleakness on the memoir landscape, I actually wrote a memoir, Body Punishment, before I put From Beer to Maternity together. In 2005 Princeton and Cornell put out a joint study that said 20% of Ivy League girls are self-injurers, and apparently that’s what I needed to hear to put it all down on paper. (In addition to the alcoholism, I’ve dabbled in self-injuring behaviors since I was a child—bone breaking, anorexia, bulimia, as well as the assorted OCDs—trichotillomania, dermatillomania, and your basic depressive disorders.) I haven’t sold it yet, but writing it was stunningly cathartic. I simply have no more secrets, no more shame. And again, I’ve found that humor is so much more acceptable!

[IRB] Since I asked “What is funny?” I suppose I should ask “What don’t you find funny?” I don’t get The Simpsons. If Seinfeld had been an animated series, I would have missed some great writing. I love the Coen brothers stuff—Raising Arizona is a classic—but I don’t crack a smile if I’m forced to watch a Will Ferrell movie.

[SIMONE] Total agreement with what is not funny. Yes, The Simpsons, King of the Hill—never even seen any of the episodes. I am a huge Coen brothers fan; Raising Arizona has always been one of my favorites, and I’ve added O Brother, Where Art Thou? to the list. In movies I tend to prefer the more subtle or cerebral humor (although there was nothing subtle about Python’s Life of Brian!) I really don’t even enjoy the physical humor in movies so much. Apparently I enjoy that more in real life. Have you ever seen “Mystery Science Theater 3000”? A guy and two robots are forced to watch “B” movies for the rest of their lives. They sit and mock the movies. Probably some of the funniest writing I’ve ever seen. That probably sums up my sense of humor right there. Sadly enough.

[IRB] So who writes funny in your estimation?

[SIMONE] Contemporary humor … Hiaasen, definitely. Bill Bryson (I’m A Stranger Here Myself). And actually, there’s a writer named Dennis Lehane whom I adore; he wrote Mystic River and Shutter Island, but he also has a series involving two PI’s (Gone, Baby, Gone was made into a movie, I believe) that really has very funny writing. He’s not a humor writer, but a writer with a keen sense of humor who can translate it to paper. And of course David Sedaris, the man-who-should-be-my-brother.

[IRB] What’s your writing schedule? Are you doing work other than your column? Are you trying to syndicate it? Do you have another collection coming out?

[SIMONE] I write my monthly column, I’m finishing revisions on Body Punishment, and starting to put together a more random sequel to FBTM called I’m Just Saying. I blog for the Huffington Post and write for magazines (More.com, Cosmopolitan, Notebook magazine in Australia.) I’ve never tried to get syndicated because I don’t think I could take the pressure (nice, I know). Otherwise I really just kind of nap a lot and walk the dog when the kids are in school. Napping is another great coping mechanism I’ve perfected … although I still try to hide that one for some reason! “Yes, I pick at my face and I’ve tried to break my own bones and have been on happy pills for two decades—but don’t you dare accuse of me of napping!”

I Love Electronic Publishing!

No postage. No printing. Prompt responses. What's not to love?

There is this: if it's out there on the Internet, it's never yours again. First rights don't seem to cover linking, let alone copy/paste.

It's easy to discover what's floating around under a person's byline with a Google Alert, which brings me to the note today that my own alert found one of my YouTube posts, reading from Seven Wheelchairs at Prairie Lights Bookstore in Iowa City, at a site called APNI Community: Internet Video Search.

'Tis all right in this case, I suppose. Any PR is good PR ...

I Don't Really Hate Evangelists

Image linked from Wikipedia

Another piece about an issue I mull over with some frequency has been published by Action Online, the publication of the United Spinal Organization.

It's been six months since I last read this piece -- a quick glance over before submitting it to the editor -- and reading it today, it seems ... well, condescending and denigrating of those who choose to speak out about their faith. It wasn't written in that spirit, at least consciously, but the idea that faith can do more than change attitudes and emotions -- that faith can heal more than spirit -- is one difficult to understand from down here.

The piece ...

The Part that Kept Me from Screaming

| THE OBSERVATORY
By Gary Presley
“Why is it not God’s will that I am in this wheelchair?”

As a person assigned by fate to butt-surf through life, I found that a perfect question, especially when someone violates the social commandant, “Thou shalt not discuss sex, politics, or religion. Or disability.”

Read the entire essay here.

"The Gift That Keeps on Giving"

When I first started writing fifteen years or so ago, I wrote a series of stories about my wife's love of cats. In fact, I sold two different stories, one of them at least twice. That one was reprinted recently in the Cup of Comfort series, Cup of Comfort for the Cat Lover's Soul. Since then, the Cup of Comfort people have used it in their advertising, most recently to promote the "Your Love Story" contest being held in conjunction with Redbook Magazine.

But apparently, my story isn't eligible. It's nice, though, that it has become an example.

That said, one might be surprised to find a story about how a lovestruck man wooed the woman of his dreams in a book for and about feline fanciers, which, by the way, the lovestruck man decidedly was not. But that is exactly the theme of "Silky and the Woman Whose Hair Smelled Nice," by Gary Presley, the grand-prize-winning story in A Cup of Comfort for Cat Lovers.

Review and Interview Featured at The Internet Review of Books

	From Beer to Maternity By Maggie Lamond Simone Reviewed by Gary Presley Here’s a guesstimate: write a humor column in the USA, and people are going to point and say, “So you think you’re Dave Barry, huh?”

Year of the Dog VIII: Fairness

With multiple dogs, it's impossible to feed one -- or give one a treat -- without (in our case) the other two demanding equal treatment. Of course, a dog has no idea of fairness. Otherwise, none of them would take the opportunity to snatch a wavering cookie out of the pre-toddler granddaughter's hand.

But I found myself thinking about "fairness" this morning after letting two of them out into the backyard for a potty break. I sent the other one into the front yard. I gave him his treat first, then I moved to the back door, let the other two in, and gave them their treat. Doc, the male dog who'd been out front, gave me a look. Hey, you forgettin' something here ... ?

Yes, I know. His look was projection on my part. A dog essentially lives in the moment, and he no doubt had no memory of the treat he'd received a couple of minutes previously.

All the same, I felt guilt, and so I gave him another biscuit.

Funnily enough, the problem of "fairness" isn't nearly as difficult with children. When our boys were little, we used the old stand-by: one divides; the other chooses first. And that worked for almost every time other than the serious instances when it was really needed: Christmas, birthdays, etc.

I suppose if a dog lives in the moment it doesn't have any ability to reason that another dog might have had the opportunity to have received an extra treat because it went out at a different time and place.

The issue then is mine, and it shouldn't influence my ability to continue as the treat-giver, and thus the pack-leader.

It is a funny little neurotic hiccup, I suppose, mostly related to the projection of aspects of human nature to the beasts with which I share so much time. I do fancy myself not quite as entrapped as my wife, though. When dispersing treats, she explains to the dogs why -- or why not -- they are getting one.

"No pee, no cookie .... "

The Polish Troops in Verdun

I suppose the battalion of Polish troops working with NATO in the early 1950s in France were in limbo. There were others at that time, casually termed "DPs," meaning "displaced persons." I wonder now what sort of papers the Poles carried, whether they had passports.

As I recall some of the officers had wives and families with them. I remember my father saying that a few of the officers had held prestigious positions in pre-WW II Poland -- in the Army, in the Polish Military Academy, in the Polish government.

The troopers were less discussed, I suppose mostly because of the language barrier. I remember traveling with my father to an ammunition dump, the main gate of which was being guarded by a single soldier with a dog. It was a Sunday afternoon, and our family was simply sightseeing. My father got out of the car, walked to the gate, was admitted, and then he walked around the dump for a while. All during his informal visit, the dog lunged at the end of its leash and the trooper simply stood in place, following my father's movements with his eyes, stoic, no change of expression, no sign that he either welcomed or resented my father's intrustion. When the inspection was complete, the trooper opened the gate for my father without saying a word, and the dog kept barking and lunging until my father returned to the car.

"I think he was in the Underground too long," my father told my mother, "and the dog too."

While it was no oddity that the battalion had a canine unit, given that one of its duties was base security, I remember it strange that the dogs were as an assorted a bunch as might be found in any city pound. When we hear "K-9," we expect to see German Shepherds or Dobermans, but that unit had only one or two of those breeds. The remainder, as I recall, ranged from St. Bernards to Great Danes to large mutt-appearing animals.

I was fascinated by the Poles, perhaps because each time I was around them I felt welcomed, no doubt because so many of them were separated from their families. I never really knew how my father felt about his duty. He was the sort that accepted his assignments, kept his uniforms starched and iron, his brass shined, and reported in early every morning.

How the Poles felt about him would be another story. When his assignment was over, the battalion gave him the water-color seen here, painted by one of the enlisted men. My mother thought it captured him perfectly, but my father doubtless never read Robert Burns -- Oh wad some power the giftie gie us. To see oursel's as others see us!

But the painting graced the walls of their home until their deaths, my mother even taking it to be cleaned and reframed once. I suppose it says something that my father never asked her to take it down.

Unpacking Memories

My father spent his Korean War service assigned to an infantry division in training at Fort Jackson, South Carolina, after which he was promoted and assigned to a small US Army outpost in Verdun, France.

There for a good portion of his three years in Europe he was the US Army liaison officer assigned to a battalion of Polish soldiers. The Poles had escaped the Nazis, fought with the Allies, but could not return to their home because of the Russian occupation. Many had been in the pre-WW II Polish army. Others had served in the Polish government. And many had fought in the underground. Only a few had wives or families with them.

During the summers, I sometimes spent the day with my father, and the Poles were always welcoming. In fact, as a family, we often attended their holiday celebrations. All this came to mind when I found a bird carved from a single block of wood by one of the Polish troops. It had been packed away during our recent move. The soldier gave it to me one day when I was traveling with my father. I've kept the little bird for more than a half century now, and each time I see it, I wonder about those men from that far away place and time.

About fifteen years ago during a period when I was active as a ham radio operator, I communicated with a French ham radio operator who lived in Verdun. When I asked him if he remembered the NATO presence there in the 1950s, he said he did, and he also had a recollection of the Polish soldiers that were stationed there. He told me he thought most of them had either been granted French citizenship or had immigrated to the US or to Australia.

I suppose nearly all of them, like most veterans of WW II, have completed the long march through life, or if not are near the end. The memory of those soldiers in limbo has stuck with me for a half-century. It seems a melancholy victory, to have been driven from one's homeland by a vicious enemy, to fight and see that enemy brought to his knees, only to have the country placed under the boot of another tyrant.