Too Soon!

            Any visitors to Yale would surely have been perplexed and surprised by the horde of freshmen amassed at the courtyard of L-W. Perhaps most startling was the procession of students decked in multicolored lace and frills, outfits worthy of a five year old's dabbling in fashion. But there was reason behind the apparent madness: each college had a team of four students designing and presenting an outlandish outfit for Project Runway, one of the many events for Freshman Olympics. While most groups tritely mocked Q-Pac girls or referenced the shooting at Toad's, they were greeted with amused chuckles and knowing looks among the onlookers. But one college went too far, causing grins to transform into uncomfortable gawking.

            This student-turned-model put on a performance that seemed no different than the others. But from the beginning of her skit I was puzzled by the tarp lying on the floor. "It's probably just a prop for her to walk on, or maybe they're just leaving it lying around," I thought to myself. I think I was just as shocked as everyone else when, following a mock gunshot, she dropped to the floor and pulled the tarp over herself. Body bag was probably my last guess, and I could only stare wide-eyed in mild horror at this unexpected turn of events. I couldn't stop thinking, "Too soon!"

            These too-soon situations seem to be shaky ground for jokes. When is it okay to joke about these situations? Why do we get so offended in the first place? The body bag was a reference to the recent shooting at Toad's. While no one died (the man was just shot in the leg), it still feels wrong to joke about it. This is because joking seems to make light of the situation, making the comedian seem insensitive. This correlates to Henri Bergson's idea that laughter requires a "momentary anesthesia of the heart." In other words, laughter is incompatible with emotions. Yet some have suggested that laughter doesn't simply eliminate all emotions; instead, it replaces negative emotions with positive ones.

            Regardless of why we laugh, it still feels wrong. Even if we accept the idea that laughter allows us to experience positive emotions linked to that situation, we often feel guilty for feeling those emotions. Society has made us believe that when something negative happens, you should feel negative emotions. But for some reason, after a certain amount of time has passed, these events become permissible inspiration for jokes. Why though? Nothing about the event itself has changed with time. But we have changed: as time passes, we become emotionally distanced from the event. It loses the affective impact it had on us initially. This makes joking, which involves emotional distancing, okay. But this behavior seems almost silly. Oftentimes we don't even feel strongly connected in the first place to the event: I have no relation to the men involved in the Toad's shooting and I've never met any of the celebrities whose deaths people mourn as if they have lost a best friend. So why was I so personally offended by the body bag joke? And why does waiting a month to say the same joke that could've been delivered the day after the incident make it suddenly permissible? I think the difference lies in allowing people to feel that the event is no longer linked to emotion. The progression of time seems to slowly strip away the emotional value of the event. Therefore, there's really nothing left, no personal connection, to be offended by. The question remains how to locate the fine line between too soon and long enough. Will delivering the joke even just a little too soon restrengthen the weakened emotional connection? I think it comes down to when it feels like everyone has moved on. Going with your gut seems to be the safest bet. 

Karma's Not All That Funny

            I think one of the worst feelings in the world has to be when you deliver a hilarious joke...but for some reason the only thing you hear is silence. Then there's the awkward dilemma: do you try to explain it and risk further mortification or just let it slide and hide your head in shame? I guess I had it coming – I did, after all, judge two of my professors on this very blog for the same embarrassment.

            Before we delve into my comedic masterpiece, let's rewind a bit. I'm one of the five proud Berkeley ThunderCoqs trying to bring Berkeley glory and honor in the Dance-Off at the Freshman Olympics. At rehearsal, we were practicing the first half of our dance to The Pussycat Dolls' song "Beep". Seeing as it's set at Toad's, we really wanted to make it as realistic as possible: no Toad's experience would be complete without the creepers! Part of the dance involves me pushing the face of a "creeper" who's trying to dance inappropriately with me.

            Now fast forward to supper that same night, right after practice. My friend (who's a total creeper – in the dance, that is) made a comment about being creepy. While I can't my response, I do recall that at the end it involved pushing his face away, just like in the dance. We both looked at each other, smiling, for a few seconds, after which he commented, "You almost pulled that off."

            But why only almost? What was I missing? When I reflected back on it, I realized that I knew that I was referencing the dance, and I thought my friend understood too, but I couldn't be sure. Which reminded me of a Master's Tea with Steven Pinker, where he talked about innuendos and how language is recursive. That is, you and someone else can both know something, but you don't actually know that the other person knows, or that they know you they know, etc. Not knowing this makes us cautious because if it turns out that what we both "know" are two different things, our social relationship may be changed, which is a very uncomfortable experience for humans.

            I think this idea can be applied to certain failed jokes, particularly ones that reference a shared experience. If both parties laugh, it can be assumed that you were both on the same page[1]. However, if laughter's lacking, there's clearly been a gap in communication. This, in turn, leads to uncertainty. The receiver of the joke may either understand what was being referencing and just not find it funny, or could have simply missed the reference. This puts the joker-teller's ego in a precarious situation. By explaining the joke, you risk further embarrassment upon realizing that the other person knew what you were talking about the whole time – they didn't find it funny the first time and unfortunately nothing has changed upon reiterating it. Even if they didn't get the reference the first time, explaining it is no guarantee that they'll even find it funny. Instead, it could just serve as a reminder of how bad the joke was in the first place.

            In this way, it's this issue of not being on the same page as the joke-receiver that leads to uncertainty and discomfort. It's possible that my friend understood my reference but the joke itself wasn't funny. Or he may have just failed to understand that I was referencing our dance – however, while explaining this may have led to an outburst of laughter, it's also possible that the situation could have become even more awkward if he told me that he did understand and just really did not enjoy the joke. The potential pain my ego would feel if this were the case trumped the slight chance that I would be able to redeem myself if he had simply missed the reference.

        Certainty leads to a confident delivery, and this is key for a joke to be appreciated. While it hurts when your joke isn't as well-received as you envisioned it, you're probably better off just letting it go instead of risking further mortification.

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[1] Even if you weren't on the same page, you still ended up laughing. Therefore you would have no idea that you laughed at different things, so this point is irrelevant.

A Not-So-Funny Situation

            We've all heard our share of bad jokes before – in fact, we've probably told quite a few of them ourselves. But after hearing such a joke, we often force ourselves to laugh half-heartedly anyway.

            But then there's those jokes that are so awful, you can't even pretend to laugh. A stifling, awkward silence takes over the room as people try to figure out how to respond.

            While Mike "The Situation" Sorrentino (from Jersey Shore) attempted to exercise his funny bone on Comedy Central's The Roast of Donald Trump, he failed miserably with not only one, but a four minute string, of terrible, painful jokes.

            A few chuckles could be heard after the first few jokes – they certainly weren't going to get The Situation requested anywhere as a stand-up comedian, but they weren't particularly offensive or awkward. As the jokes progressed, however, the crowd's response transformed from silence lasting 4 or 5 seconds to booing and groans. One particularly awful joke The Situation's observation that "People are always hatin' on him because Trump's always firing people, but it's kinda ok because he completely let himself go anyway." Not only did deafening silence overtake the room, but a panning camera revealed two other celebrity guests, one with her hand covering her mouth and her eyes wide with shock, the other with his head down, shaking it slowly in disbelief.

            What did The Situation say that turned his joke into such an awkward, horrible situation? In order for a joke that's intended to mock another person to be found funny, it needs to draw on a trait or action of that person that is true to life. People may be unconsciously aware of this quirk, but the comedian is able to showcase it: this becomes the laughable element. While Mike did accurately reference the fact that Trump is known for firing people on "The Apprentice," the second half of his statement, which was intended to elicit laughter, just didn't make sense. Because it failed to make reference to reality, the audience was wrenched from their enjoyment of the joke. His statement was so at odds with the widely held perception of Trump that people were forced to think about what The Situation was even referring to. Lacking a clear relation to how we perceive Trump, The Situation's joke lacked any funny element.

            This idea leads to another element of comedy: too much thinking can spoil a joke. As Bergson claims, "laughter is incompatible with emotion." While I don't agree with this idea completely, I do think that having to think too hard about a joke makes its lose its ability to extract laughter. Part of the hilarity of a joke comes from the quick delivery of the punch line, or funny element. You don't have to process it for subtle meaning or read-between-the-lines for deeper suggestions. The message is right there – you hear it and laugh. Mike's joke lacked this completely, because when he did deliver what was to be his punch line, it forced people to analyze what he was saying. With heightened levels of thinking, the audience was more likely to critique other flaws that they may have previously overlooked. As a result, no detail of Mike's performance was accepted without being judged.

            So even though Mike's joke failed to amuse, it inadvertently demonstrated a lot about what it takes to be funny! The Situation certainly has gym, tan, and laundry down, but he has a lot to work on when it comes to comedy.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zy6DS935wcE

The All-American Joker

            September 2009. It was on a hot, sticky Florida afternoon that I stood on the lawn of the Cruzan Amphitheater in West Palm Beach at the Blink-182 concert for my best friend's 18^th birthday. While I was excited to hear that one Blink-182 song that was always stuck in my head when I was in middle school, the band I was really happy to see was the All-American Rejects. Not only do I love quite a few of their songs, but after seeing their lead singer, Tyson Ritter, in the movie "House Bunny" I couldn't wait to see him in person. But after some really strange behavior on stage, I almost wished my impression of him had remained just the one from watching the movie.

            Everything seemed normal until Tyson walked out on stage. He was wearing a white lab coat and a cast, and was being supported by "ninja assistants." He tried to joke around with the crowd while discussing how he just had surgery on his leg to to remove a cancerous tumor but told the doctors who tried to get him to cancel the concert, "F*** you doctor" because he loved his fans too much. I had no idea what to feel: appreciation at his dedication? Disgust at joking about cancer (if he was in fact kidding about the leg)? Confusion was the only emotion I could be sure about. As he danced around with his ninjas, I wasn't sure if the ninjas were just show-props or actual physical aids. Whether or not the story behind his leg was real, it was clear by his wild dancing and theatrics that he was trying to joke around with the audience and get us light-hearted and laughing. He certainly didn't get the response he was looking for from me.

             While a lot of jokes are actually funny because they're based on reality, it's clear that they're meant to be jokes. In this case, the situation very well could have been realistic (in fact, to this day I still don't know whether or not he was kidding), but Tyson's actions made his intent unclear. On the one hand, he spoke very seriously about his leg, yet on the other hand his antics on stage were pretty wild. With such conflicting behavior, it was impossible to determine whether he was joking. Because of this uncertainty, I found nothing to laugh about.

            In order for a joke to be funny, there must be some clear indication that laughter is the appropriate response. While laughter does indicate that the audience finds a joke or situation funny, you first need a cue to actually signal the laughter. This becomes difficult with realistic jokes or laughing situations because it's hard to distinguish where reality ends and where the joke or source of comedy begins. This, in turn, makes it tough to determine what exactly you're laughing at, and when it's ok to laugh. In this case, if Tyson were serious, we would be insensitive and unfeeling if we laughed, even if Tyson was making light of his situation. However, the fact that he was joking around seemed to signal that it was ok for us to laugh, whether or not he really did have a tumor. And yet, it felt wrong to laugh in either situation.

            So what does this imply? Are some situations always off-limits to laughter? Is cancer so serious that we should never use it as a source of amusement, even if the person suffering is laughing? Or do we just need to lighten up?

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ofFRc5gLg0o

A Painful Delivery

           I think some of my professors need to work on their sense of humor, because yet another professor's failed attempt to elicit laughter has made its way to this blog. This (also nameless) professor often tries to get students to laugh in class: most of the time she'll get a few chuckles, sometimes even hearty laughter when she cracks a good joke. But one "joke" in particular stands out as not necessarily a bad joke, but one that was poorly delivered.

            As the professor lectured, students sat dully, hoping for class to end soon. The professor, noticing our boredom and inattentiveness, tried to engage us and awaken the room by making small jokes, but to no avail. However, none compared to her failed attempt to make a joke out of her response to a student's question.

            This inquiry wasn't anything out of the ordinary or particularly memorable. But a strange air seemed to come over the professor as she prepared to answer. Her eyes darted from side to side as she glanced at the student. Nervousness seemed to overcome her, yet she seemed to be attempting to control it and act at ease by speaking in a level, unemotional tone. As a result, I certainly didn't expect a joke to ensue.

            While the exact wording of the question and response escapes me, essentially the professor compared the student's girlfriend to a dog. Rather than beaming confidently, however, the professor bore a wavering half-smile while she stared out at the class almost questioningly, as if she wanted to gage our response. The "joke" itself wasn't a knee-slapper, but it definitely had potential if properly delivered.

            The professor's lack of confidence, as well as her reliance on the audience's response to validate the funniness of her joke, explain why it failed to elicit even mildly amused chuckles among the students. Instead, the class remained unresponsive and uncomfortable because we could sense that not even the professor believed that her joke was funny. We were more struck by the inappropriateness of the joke (a professor commenting on a student's relationship) than by its potential comedy. Had she delivered the joke with confidence – a strong voice, direct gaze, and, most importantly, a sure smile – students would have been more inclined to interpret her comment as a joke. These signals would've clearly indicated the professor's intent, allowing students to overlook the potential awkwardness and inappropriateness rather than focus on the fact that the comment crossed normal lines between a professor and students. Furthermore, the contrast between the joking intent of the professor's response and her serious delivery made it difficult for students to decide how to respond to the joke – laugh or silently sit in uneasiness. Because our professor didn't even seem to be sure that the joke was funny, we were much less inclined to laugh. Instead, we focused our attention on the poor delivery and her obvious discomfort.

            Clearly, it's not just what you say, but how you say it. The joke itself isn't the only factor in determining whether or not an audience will laugh; its delivery is at least equally important. A confident delivery can make your audience laugh even if not even you think the joke is funny.

            

The Mystery of the Shell

           You know those embarrassing stories that leave you doubled over, tears welling out of your eyes, from laughing so hard? The stories that never get old and that everyone finds just as hilarious as you do? This was one of those stories - or so I thought.

            To make a long story short, on my 8th grade trip to France I confused the nauseating stench that had been emanating from my backpack for a week as my dirty socks (I'll admit, I even feared it was my underwear!) rather than from a pink, innocuous-looking shell that happened to contain a fermenting dead animal. When I used to tell the full version of the story, wit a much larger buildup, as well as twists and turns and minute details about my every emotion and thought during the ordeal, it was always met with uncontrollable laughter. That's why I couldn't understand why I failed to elicit even a sympathetic chuckle when I told it to my FOOT group this past August. To tackle this issue (almost more embarrassing than my story itself), it's necessary to understand what causes laughter.

            Many theories attempt to describe laughter as arising from incongruity, superiority, relief, or even a corrective for rigidity, but the most applicable theory to this situation is John Morreall's idea that "laughter is an expression of pleasure at a psychological shift." In this case, the psychological shift arises from a state of curiosity, uncertainty, and suspense – due to not knowing what was causing the putrid odor – to a state of relief and understanding – from realizing what the actual culprit was. This shift was pleasant because not only is it comforting to know that dirty clothes don't give off a reek comparable to that of a rotting animal, but also because it's entertaining to realize how ridiculous I could have been for even considering that my clothes could smell so badly.

            This explanation seems to make sense - so the question becomes why did people stop laughing at my story? When I recounted my story to my FOOT group, I prefaced it by describing how I had found a shell on a beach in Saint Malo and put it in my bag. My FOOT group admitted they figured out what my story would be about as soon as I shared this detail. Using Morreall's terms, because of this no psychological shift occurred - there was no initial phase of mystery and curiosity - therefore, no one laughed.

            I guess the moral of the story is a pretty obvious one: don't give away the punch line before you even start your story if you hope to get some laughs! 

Death-Like Silence

            It started off as a typical first day of school: the professor, standing in front of the class, described the syllabus, class expectations, and homework as we all tried to keep our eyes open, no longer used to waking up and hitting the books. I had no idea that a discussion of excused versus unexcused absences would become the highlight of my day.

            The professor (who shall remain nameless) prefaced his joke by saying a colleague of his had sent him a really funny story he wanted to share with the class. While I wanted to give him a chance by keeping an open mind about this supposedly humorous anecdote, apprehension had already begun to creep in as I wondered if this would be one of those academic jokes that no one outside the field (and sometimes even those within it) finds funny.

            He proceeded to relate the joke, trying to repress his smile: apparently there is a spike in deaths of grandmas around exam time, so he informed us he would not be accepting that as an excused absence. While he probably expected a roar of laughter, a wave of silence enveloped the room as students looked at each other, puzzled and somewhat offended. I turned to my suitemate and whispered, "What is he talking about? Is that supposed to be funny?" His smile fell slightly as he tried to explain the "joke" to us, and while that got a few forced giggles, the more common response was surprise at his insensitivity. What if someone's grandma really had recently died? The subject was too sensitive to be joked about.

            The intent of the joke was to establish an incongruity between the gravity of death and the frequency and ease with which students purportedly implement this excuse. Furthermore, the professor hoped to elicit a positive psychological shift in the students by starting off with a somber situation (death of a loved one) but then making us realize that no one's grandma had actually died and it was just an excuse triggered by the doom of an impending exam. While this shift did occur - we did realize that he was kidding - it certainly was not pleasant. Being so close to my grandma myself, I was upset that he would try to make such an emotionally painful situation so light. Furthermore, it was difficult to grasp this shift: it took students far too long to realize he was joking, perhaps because he didn't change his intonation or manner of speaking. While incongruity usually causes laughter, in this case the disparity between the seriousness of the issue and the intended lightness of the message and response was too great to be comical: instead, it became inappropriate and offensive, and the only thing that got killed was his joke. In other words, there's a fine line between the amusing and offensive when it comes to incongruity. Perhaps we should think more before cracking a joke if we don't want to be faced with deafening, disheartening, DEATH-like silence.