The Subtle Art Of Humour

So three guys walk into a bar...

One of the most coveted adjectives that most men strive to attain is that of being 'funny' - and no, I don't mean in the I-think-he's-a-pedo way.

I never was the funniest guy in the world, and in many of my earlier blog posts I often mentioned how my attempts at humourous writing were often derived from hours of careful pondering and several failed experiments. Unlike Jerry, I was hesitant to simply string together random and unrelated every-day objects to produce an analogy. It was much too hit-and-miss for me, and perhaps only Jerry's formidable comedic genius allows him this luxury (the buttered cat is still a personal favourite).

Still, I wrote my fair share of funny posts back in the day, and unfortunately (or fortunately, depending on your view) those have all but disappeared on this blog over the last year or so, though more a reflection of my circumstance than my writing abilities. I chose not to force anything out for, as the saying goes, either you got it or you don't.

There is a subtle shift in what we find 'funny' of late, and I feel this is reflected in our conversations and even in the media. The last decade or so has brought us such atrocities as "American Pie", "Euro Trip", "Sex Drive" and (insert teen related sex movie here). I admit I find some of them humourous and perhaps even witty, but there is only so many times I can watch some naked guy fall into a bush, hump a pie or get caught wanking off by his parents. It gets old.

The same goes for real life; it's rare to find a person who is genuinely funny and can actually make a good joke that doesn't involve comparing something to genitalia. However, I've noticed that this only applies to my english speaking friends. When it comes to Sinhala, it's a totally new ball game.

Telling a funny Sinhala joke will probably be an art that will forever escape me, but I can at least appreciate those that can. After spending the last 3-4 months with largely Sinhala speaking guys, I've found that it doesn't really take much to make a good Sinhala joke. It's not so much about the content, it's the delivery; the right inflection here, the right pause there, and everyone is in fits of laughter. Perhaps it's just me, but I feel it's a lot easier to make something, anything funnier in Sinhala.

And THAT is what I feel is missing these days. People are always looking to tell us a funny story, never really bothering about how they tell it. Sarcasm is a lost art these days, and I am forced to get my fix from re-runs of House. The last time I met someone who knew how to be sarcastic was T. The first time we met was at a coffee shop, and I had picked the table. Sweetly, she commended me on choosing a table with such an excellent view, and I immediately thanked her without giving it much thought. She then looked at me dead-pan, looked out the window at the walled off parking lot, and said "I was being sarcastic."

I'd have applauded if I wasn't so utterly embarrassed.

Good times.