Trying to be funny on cue is like being in middle school, working up the nerve to finally speak to the boy or girl of your dreams, and spontaneously forgetting the spoken word, deciding to win them over through the power of dance. With Sunny Side Up, I don’t exactly have to be funny on cue. I usually have about 20 minutes to come up with something before the deadline. And if I don’t, the editors of Nonahood News are the most gracious people in the world. I have asked for more extensions than Fabio the book-cover, angel-man ever had. However, there are occasions when I believe I’ve exhausted even my editor’s Zen-like patience. Today is one of those days, I need to be funny, like right now.
I’ve written a lot about life in Florida, from mosquitoes, ants and alligators to suspecting I’ve turned myself into mildew by being a walking fountainhead of sweat. But even the greats like Dave Barry and Carl Hiassen ran out of Floridian material eventually. Carl has resorted to writing for young people. I knew he was slipping when he started coming up with one-word titles like Hoot, Scat, Chalk and Squirm. Good words, I’ll admit, but come on, Carl. And Dave Barry turns 40, while hilarious when I was in my twenties, isn’t as funny now that I’m 46. Maybe he has one when turning 70?
I could write about politics, but it’s so farcical these days as to make one wonder if we happen to be in the one universe of the multiverse where weird stuff happens all the time. Like in the movie Doctor Strange and the Multiverse of Madness. If it wasn’t for the jaw-dropping special effects that had me rotating upside down in my seat to watch, I would have given it half a rotten egg-plant. Benedict Cumberbatch is not half the actor he can be when he’s literally half the actor. If you haven’t seen it yet, don’t, but if you do, bring a bag to breathe into, or worse.
Seeing Cumberbatch in this is like watching Ewen McGregor lose all his acting ability in the character of Obi Wan. Ewen is out-acted by the girl playing Princess Leia and she’s only four years old. Okay, that’s too mean, she’s at least six. And why, oh sweet mercy-mercy, can’t Disney pony up enough coin to make CGI characters look real. We live in the age of deep-fakes, yet, Disney’s young-ified Anakin Skywalker looks like a plastic action figure of himself, and not even a good one at that. I think he looks like one of my Star Wars figures from childhood, and they haven’t aged too well.
I should take a deep breath. Remember Jar-Jar Binks, remember Philip, it could be worse. Maybe someday Disney will learn to have their CGI figures’ faces move with their bodies. Since it’s beginning to get really, really ridiculously hot in our particular corner of the dead center of Florida, I could write about sweat again, but I just don’t have it in me right now, har. Actually, I do because I’ve been using a magical concoction that my wife put me onto. It consists of magnesium, electrolytes, Himalayan salt and possibly poison, you can never be too cautious with wives. It tastes like Gatorade with all the sugar replaced by salt. Now that I think about it, it tastes almost exactly like sweat. Hmm.
Like I’ve written before, a humorist’s job is basically just to fart with words and run away while readers look around and suspect one another. When one of the readers finally gets blamed for the toot (coming soon from Carl Hiassen) and mocked, the humorist will quietly sneak back in to join in the fun. Perhaps this installment of Sunny Side Up hasn’t made you laugh. I always hope to laugh while I type, but I admit that I’ve just sniffed with allergies and sweated as I’ve been typing. I’m trying to make fun, silly things happen with words that go right, but I’m not anticipating a chuckle, snort or even the terrific combination: chortle.
We indeed live in trying times when a humorist can’t get one giggle, gurgle, snigger, snicker or even titter out of himself as he types. Maybe he needs to go back to YouTube and type in Florida man. I suggest you try that as well. My most sincere apologies.
