“Why do you always tell people you’re 80 when you’re not?” my wife asked the other day. “And the pirate joke is getting old, very old.”
“Because I’m very close and telling people I’m 80 grabs their attention when 79 doesn’t,” I say defensively. “It’s sexier. People are shocked and make very complimentary statements, like, I can’t believe you’re 80; you look 62. Or You’re hilarious and you’re really 80? My grandpa is 80 and he’s on oxygen and drools. I’ve found that being 80 is a babe magnet. And I like to tell the joke.”
“You can’t be serious? A babe magnet? You may be looking at them but they sure as Hell aren’t looking at you,” she barked. “Another thing, you way overuse the joke and with your seriously flawed memory, I’ve watched you tell the joke to the same people over and over again. They can’t be happy to see you heading their direction, especially walking like you’ve got a peg leg. You never tell it right, either.”
“Look who’s talking,” I retorted. “I’ve heard you blow it several times, like with that waitress in Tucson. She didn’t have a clue what you were talking about. She chuckled only because she wanted a decent tip.”
The pirate joke goes something like this. Someone asks me my age and I respond, “Aye Matey.” That’s the correct way to tell it. More often than not, I have to tell them to ask me my age because most everyone considers it rude to ask a person their age. The incorrect way to tell the joke is to just say, “I’m 80” in a matter-of-fact way. Even using my best Piratese, it only elicits a look or confusion or just a smile, unless you are a waitress wanting a tip. Now I rehearse.
I love humor in most any form but stand-up comics frequently bore or disgust me. Like, the guy who dropped watermelons from the roofs of buildings to watch them explode in the parking lot below. Very creative. For many years, SNL was a great source of fantastic comedians from John Belushi and the gang to Steve Martin, Eddie Murphy and Chris Farley. But now, too often we geriatrics haven’t a clue what’s going on in a skit. I’d rather listen to a Gregorian chant than most of their guest musicians. The last SNL I seriously laughed at was a 1998 skit when Pete Schweddy, alias Alec Baldwin, sold Schweddy Balls and Schweddy Weiners to Ana Gasteyer and Molly Shannon, hosts on NPR’s Delicious Dish.
Humorous material in today’s world is not easily found, especially in the subject of politics. Occasionally, a Republican will emerge begging for a laugh. Mitch McConnell does a great gobbler or turtle. Perhaps a basset hound. Or Lindsay Graham saying, “Y’all come on down to South Carolina, hear? I’ll put a light on fer ya.” Or Sarah Palin throwing a football to Putin from her front porch. Trump evoked a lot of humorous cartoons and pundits early on, but now, he’s nothing more than the Republican frontrunner.
When I’m around them, I can almost always find humor in the Seattle 3, our three little grandsons, 8 (twins) and 10. I’ve tried to teach them all at least one line of several butchered foreign languages or dialects. For example, their dad works with a woman by the name of Genevieve. I’ve told the boys that the best way to ensure their dad gets a raise is to say to Genevieve the next time they see her, “Bonjour mon amour, Mademoiselle Genevieve.” Genevieve isn’t French. Their father was not amused, and neither was Genevieve, so the French was dropped. Italian, “Mama mia, gimme a pizzeria” is always a hit. Or German, “Ein bier, bitte.” Or a boy from Alabama to his mother, “Git over here wooman, I’m gonna larn you with ma belt.” And then they snap my leather belt accompanied by a fake evil grin. I always laugh my ass off and they laugh with me, but interested passersby usual just walk away shaking their heads. I have told their mom to buy them all miniature wife-beater T-shirts, but she refuses.
Someone hearing impaired recently asked me if I had ever considered being a stand-up comic. “Never,” I signed. “Humor is therapeutic for virtually everyone, but for me it also keeps me immature. Our daughters enjoy my sense of humor and I enjoy theirs, but the buck may stop there. For 50 years I have been asking my wife why she’s not laughing when I’ve deliberately tried to make her laugh. Her response is always the same, “Because it isn’t funny.” In front of an audience, my jokes would never get off stage.”
We have a long-time female friend who is 93 and still sharp as a tack, funny, with an incredible memory, and an unreal laugh. I love to make her laugh, in part because it’s so easy. She always says the same thing, “Oh, David, you are a hoot.” Or, “Oh David, you kill me.” Almost 50 years ago at their ranch in New Mexico, on the front porch of a bunkhouse, she and I got drunk on a bottle of cheap tequila. Actually, I got drunk; she just laughed and drank enough to laugh continuously. I still bring up the incident and she still laughs but never forgets that I was the only one drunk. After her 90th birthday party, which we attended, she privately asked my wife, “When did David go from being a Ph.D. to being an imbecile?” Aye Matey.