Ha...ha?

I probably should make a more in-depth study of psychology and anthropology than I have previously, because I find the question of why we do what we do absolutely fascinating. This is especially true of certain phenomena; I've already expressed some of my sentiments about music, but if there's one thing I'm even more invested in, it's humor. Humor is so complex, dare I say ridiculously so, that it doesn't even have to obey the cultural trends that have such a sway on our thinking otherwise. This isn't to say that it doesn't often do so, but people can be very similar in many ways, having been brought up in like or even identical circumstances, and yet get their yuks at entirely different things. Probably. I'm just a guy typing at his computer; what do I know?

On a related note, many brilliant minds of all ages so far have tackle this very question and, as they're all more qualified to answer it than I am, I won't attempt to explain anything. One needs to understand something before trying to explain it, or at least that's how it ought to work. However, because I also like to talk and occasionally think, here are a couple of tidbits I 'acquired' through various shady but entirely untraceable means.

In college I read a fascinating article on the subject of humor's basis, one by an author from whom I would not have expected such a treatise. Aristophanes, perhaps? OK, I don't remember the name, but I do remember the primary assertion, which is that the urge to laugh at the ridiculous or bizarre is rooted in relief that it is not we who are in the unfortunate position. Sort of the same attitude as that found in one passage of the stoic Epictetus (maybe) where a man looks out his window and is relieved that it is not he who is currently drowning in the ocean in the midst of a storm, only less tragic and topical (but equally tropical).

This would certainly explain why slapstick is such a, er, hit. Ever since the first banana peel on the floor, or perhaps it was a bit of mammoth fur, it has been a heroic struggle - with questionable and varied success - against the impulse to laugh at the poor sap who went heels over head. Really the advent of acting and certainly the technological innovation of the screen (somewhat later than the mammoths) must have been a tremendous relief because all of a sudden we were free to laugh without guilt at others' pain.

But this unchristian selfishness does not explain all humor. Telling a joke and linguistic humor, for example, put nobody at risk and, with the exception of some lower-rung puns, require no suffering on anyone's part. Much of today's humor is rooted more in expert timing for humorous effect than in a particular kind of writing. There are other examples. What's the deal? Why am I asking me?

Still, I can at least attempt to analyze my own experiences, and having done so in a highly unprofessional and unscientific manner, I have found that I'm especially tickled by the incongruous. By this I mean people saying and doing things I would not expect of them (not an example: writing an essay on the basis of humor), and things happening that seem out of place or uncharacteristic. Out of place is probably the best descriptor. It doesn't work for everything, obviously - I would be surprised if someone I knew started talking in immaculate Hungarian, but not amused - which just goes to show I need a more specific set of criteria and perhaps an explanation for why I find such things funny (that is is incongruous is not in itself an explanation). I am not prepared to give either of these, so here instead are a couple examples that I do find funny.

There's a moment near the beginning of the first episode of the medical sitcom Scrubs where lead character J.D. and his friend Turk are in class and J.D. leans over and whispers "Hey, Turk, you know how I'm down with the rap music?" I really like lines like that. Perhaps most people would not crack a smile at this point, saving their energy for Turk's response, but I'm grinning already. Here's why: I would expect him to say "you know how I'm down with rap?" or maybe even "you know how I'm down with rap music?" By putting that extra 'the' in there, the sentence becomes strangely - and amusingly - complex and even formal in its construction. Sort of like a prominent political figure talking about 'the Google.' That latter case is different because it's funny that he's not 'savvy' enough to know that Google is an Entity that you don't put 'the' in front of, and thus it becomes an instance of the explanation given by the mysterious author above, but probably at base it's the same principle.

For a more general example, I turn to A Prairie Home Companion, on which a recent rebroadcast of an old show featured folk singers Robin and Linda Williams (not that Robin Williams) performing a medley of various tunes, including 'Jenny from the Block' by contemporary pop singer (and seductive sensation) Jennifer Lopez. But they didn't sing it the same way she does - they're folk singers after all - instead recasting its aggressive sensibilities into their own folk duet mold, with hilarious results. It's not exactly satire and it's certainly not an homage. But it is incongruous, and very funny. More, please.

That's what I've got. I admit that I have more than an academic interest in the matter; anyone who wants to write in a certain style needs to know its mechanisms if he wants even the slightest success. Happily, it isn't necessary to know everything, which is why I can write these blogs and produce this. Whether they are funny or not I leave for others to decide.