I'm Not Funny...and I Have Proof

First off, I really try to avoid poignancy in this blog…or "deep thought-provoking observations" of any kind, because I'm not that kind of writer. I also try to avoid deliberate attempts at comedy – comedy may happen from time to time, but it's rarely something I aspire to.

For instance, I did a show called "3 Guys Naked From The Waist Down" back in my wilder, early-college days. During rehearsals, I was called upon to compose a stand-up routine (in direct violation of the show rights, I might add) for my "surly stand-up comic" character. And…under a fair amount of duress from our director, I sat down and typed out a monologue, which was more of an irritable modification of what was already written for the show...with a couple of extra curse words thrown in for good measure. During rehearsals I got up and read it for them…and the two other "guys" seemed to like it. The director asked if I'd soften the edges a little bit…and I tried to do so…but they seemed generally pleased with my efforts.

But the problem was: it wasn't very funny...and more importantly it was a little mean. See, when I actually sit down with the intention of "writing comedy," I'll either end up being "asshole-ish" (sorry Mom…this blog may include some swears at certain points), or far too impressed with my own sense of irony to actually be able to capture any element of humor.

So, inevitably, about a week before "Three Guys" opened, James (our director/second "guy") delicately pulled me aside…and informed me gently that Ben (the third "guy") had re-written my monologue, and I needed to memorize that for the show. James seemed fairly nervous that I'd throw a fit…and for a moment I considered it…but after some thought I realized that Ben is much, much funnier than I am (when we're trying to be funny). I had no problem with that, especially after reading the new monologue which was (as advertised) much funnier than what I'd written.

The point is: I never sit down here in my comfortable leather computer chair and try to pen hilarity. Or, when I do, it's usually a miserable failure. Except when I fill out surveys. I don't care what y'all say, I make myself laugh with those.

As goes my "poor comedic ability," so goes goes my "aversion to poignant statements." I'm not the kind of guy who looks at a sunset, and reflects on how that sunset is like the sands of time and a homeless guy walks by and it makes me think of how fragile life in the balance and I saw a butterfly land on a leaf and the sands of time tick by so suddenly life changes and my own life seems so insignificant sand through an hourglass people just going through their daily routine never stopping to really notice how the world slips sand hourglass time fragile sunset unicorns.

I did have one observation that verges on poignancy today, and I'm hesitating to put it on here because of my distaste the "this is how you should live your life because it's how I live my life" style of writing. But I'll plow ahead regardless, with no fear. Okay, a little fear, but not enough to stop me.

So, yesterday the four roomies drove out to the Santa Monica pier, through the heart of Hollywood & Beverly Hills. And, even though we weren't "in the hills," we drove by some pretty impressive, undoubtedly "very expensive" houses. As I was sitting in some delightful Los Angeles traffic, I looked around at all them nice domiciles. I thought I was pretty sure that 99% of the aspiring actors who drive by those homes dream of some day owning one. Y'know, something with an actual lawn…and a big-ass wall to keep prying eyes away. I was, of course, one of those daydreaming actors…imagining myself buried deep in the bowels of one of those homes, blogging about how awesome it is to be a frigging millionaire while Erika catches some sun on one of our four sundecks. Or by our big ass pool.

The reality, of course, is that I currently live above a man who is a regular on a TV show, and he's renting an apartment directly below four newbie actors. He's in his late thirties...with all kinds of success already, and he's worked as an actor for a decade to get where he's at now. Don't get me wrong – his place is much better than ours, and he drives a much nicer car. But, he's not chilling in a Beverly Hills mansion (or even a place of his own) as a neophyte like myself would think he would. He's doing well, but that myth that "all those people on TV have houses in the Hills" has inevitably been banished. And I so cherished that myth.

Here's the thought I had...read with caution: I'd think the appearance of wealth might be a problem in Los Angeles. Actors arrive in this city every day, and the sky is the limit on how successful a person can be. Then on their way to the beach they'll drive by all of these successful people (and their houses). But 99.999% of those actors will never achieve that kind of financial success…and even if they do manage some success, they don't get that "Beverly Hills" kind. I imagine it'd drive some people mad – especially after years of chasing fame and getting none.

This would be the moment where everyone reading this column goes "Duh!" all at once. It's one of the main reasons why I try to avoid poignancy – I'm no good at it. I come to these realizations that everyone else realized years ago, which makes me think I should stick to what I do best: mundane observations of the day's minutia. Such as, "Well, we went to the grocery store today and bought some vegetables. We were running low. We didn't buy a whole lot of stuff though, because we were walking, and we're going to take the car on Thursday so we can buy the big stuff." Ah…that blog would be sweet…and so much easier to write.