OMG I am chuffed to fuck, as they say in the British Army, or at least, they did when Felix was enlisted. Why? Well, as I often do when I'm at odds after a bout of the vapours, I visited the ERWA to see if I could find inspiration amidst the "Author's Resources" pages. There, I was drawn to a piece by Shanna Germain called Building Your Online Boudoir, Part 1
in which Shanna, talking about alluring sites, wrote this:
Madeline Moore's site is an inviting pink and cream collaboration, accented with photos, all of which makes for a warm and welcome online space.Hey! That's my blog she's writing about! With a link to it and everything.
Shanna, you discerning dollface, thank you for the shout out. And you know, coming as a surprise made it extra fun, like when the cute ice cream gal gives you an extra dollop on your cone when you weren't even flirting with her. Bonus!
This got me thinking. What if I posted regularly, instead of every so often. My webmaster, and I do have a webmaster now because I have a website at http://telltale.ca/ tells me I must post regularly so I will get more followers and become more popular and sell more books.
My problem has been I don't always have anything important to say. But then again, does it have to be important? Perhaps not. Perhaps it can be a mishmash of thoughts, snippets of information, shout outs to fab writers, and stuff I think is sexy or funny.
This post will be about being funny
Steve Martin is a comic genius. The first time I saw him on TV he had the arrow 'piercing' his head and was playing the banjo and singing "Rambling Man." But, instead of singing, "I'm a Raaaaaaaaaaaaamblin' man'
he was singing, "I'm a Rammmmmmmmmblin' man,' which was hysterical. They cut to commercial in the middle of the song and came back at the end. I was apoplectic. Later I realized it was done on purpose, to be funny.
His humour relies a great deal on 'the smart guy' holding forth on some topic and not realizing that he's coming across as 'the dumb guy', which is my favourite comedic approach. And then there's his physical comedy. A piece about him in The New Yorker described the way he leaned into the wind at a 45 degree angle that, according to the author, simply could not be done.
His work is sometimes featured in The New Yorker now, and those pieces are hilarious, too. I recall, in particular, when he wrote about a serious shortage of periods. The entire story was one long, artfully created sentence with, at the very end, a single period.
I've read all his books. In his autobiography, Born Standing Up, he tells marvellous tales of the early days when the venues he played were small and he would suddenly announce, "Everyone next door for pizza!" Or, "Everyone into the pool!" The audience would follow him outside, in the latter case to fill an empty pool into which he dove, to be held up and passed about by his fans while he feigned swimming. Oh comic marvel!
We've all seen his movies. I'll never forget the scene in DIRTY ROTTEN SCOUNDRELS where his character pretended to be Ruprecht, the moronic brother of Michael Cane's character, in order to get Michael out of his upcoming nuptials. Who can forget the cork on the end of Ruprecht's fork? Or THE JERK, from beginning to end, one big ol' laugh after another. My favourite scene in that movie is when the phone book arrives and he finds his name in it and bursts into paroxysms of glee, "I'm somebody! I'm somebody!" To this day when the phone book arrives I look up my name and, upon finding it, leap about in ecstasy. "I'M SOMEBODY!"
He's a produced playwright and, get this, he won the 2010 Grammy for "Best Blue Grass Album" for THE CROW: NEW SONGS FOR THE FIVE-STRING BANJO.
I enjoyed his first novel, Shop Girl, and the subsequent movie. So when I asked Santa for his new novel, An Object of Beauty, and got it, I settled in for what I imagined would be a sure-fire good read.
It escaped me. On the back, Joyce Carol Oates says "I was reminded of Edith Wharton's 'The Age of Innocence.'" so I guess she liked it. It's about the art world, pre and post 911. I guess J.C.O. and S.Martin are lots smarter than I am and that's okay but I don't get the feeling Oates is trying to prove it, in her work, while this latest book of Martin's felt like he was really pushing the "I know I'm funny but I'm also a genius" thing a little too far for poor old me. I'm funny too, but I'm spared the burden of trying to prove my genius by not being one. I feel like saying to Mr. Martin, "Relax man, we get it. You're a comic genius and a regular genius, too."
Any one else have an opinion on the book?
And hey, who am I to say I'm funny? I have proof! During the 1980 Screen Actor's Guild of America strike a lot of actors travelled up north to get whatever work they could in Canada until the strike was settled. Jamie Farr was in Edmonton, Alberta doing, if you can believe it, dinner theatre. This was when M.A.S.H. was still being produced. He showed up at The Bistro Praha, where the small but dedicated, black-clad artsy crowd of which I was a member hung out. A bunch of us wound up drinking champagne with him all night, at the end of which Jamie Farr said to me, "You are the funniest person I've ever met." Now you might say it was the champers talking but I say, "Thank you Jamie!"
All my life I've been told to a) get into stand-up and b) for God's sake write a comic novel. I have done neither. It's no secret that funny people, Jim Carrey being perhaps the most famous example, are often depressive. Bill Murray, who kills me every single moment he's onscreen, except in those unfunny flicks he makes, is likely another.
You know what. Getting the absurdity of life can be as tragic as it is hilarious, and you don't have to be a genius to be all too aware of that.
And there it is, my Thursday post. I'll be back for 'Eye Candy Monday'
and every Thursday there'll be a new post on 'Madeline's Musings.' All you gotta do is show up!
xoxox Mad
Picture credits:
Rafael Nadal and Serena Williams: hcfoo.com
All the rest: photoshop, etc.
