The joke's on us

On these recent summer nights, our household has been arranging itself as follows: Noel and I in the living room, watching TV, working, knitting, and/or reading; Cady Gray in Archer's room, watching Twitch, playing Steam, chatting with friends online, drawing, roleplaying; and Archer in the front room, keeping up with his various YouTube-based "camps." Every once in awhile Archer will pop up from the couch and go running into his room to tell CG something, or come into the living room to tell us something -- he's had a thought about how Ten Words of Wisdom is working out, or has just learned an amusing fact on Numberphile.

Last night he jumped up, hustled down the hallway, burst into his room and said "Hello!" Except CG wasn't in his room. She was in the living room with us, talking about Romeo And/Or Juliet. All three of us watched and listened, bemused, as he ran past and shouted "Hello!" to an empty room. Then we burst into laughter.

Archer came in and stood in the doorway, smiling uncontrollably. We were laughing at his mistake, at something he had done that turned out to be funny. But -- and here's the important thing -- he wasn't angry or frustrated with us, or even embarrassed about the mistake. He was enjoying the fact that we found it amusing, because he found it amusing too. He grinned and commented happily on the error, recognizing that his assumption had gone hilariously awry. He knew we weren't laughing at him, even though, y'know, we were laughing at what he did. He was having as much fun as we were.

I looked at that smile and thought how remarkable it was. For a boy who had to consciously practice being aware of how others saw him, putting himself in their shoes, and tailoring his actions accordingly, it represented how very far he's come.

And those YouTube camps he watches hours upon end? They're part of it. He emulates the YouTubers who play gamemaster to their subscribers, creating "object shows" where cartoon icons like Golf Ball and Cat Bed compete in Survivor-like competitions, earning points and being eliminated. These channels don't just entertain him passively; he learns from them (and from the feedback they incorporate into the ongoing game) how to manage interactions. His earliest efforts were based on popular marble-race videos made using the software physics engine Algodoo, combined with animated Wacky Races-style cartoons like Battle for Dream Island. But at the same time as his Keynote animation skills develop, so do his interactive instincts, all propelled by his simultaneous interests in designing a good game and keeping his subscribers happy.

Just look at what's going on in his most recent camp, Battle for Regal Planet (here's a video from 10 months ago, and here's one from last week after an Undertale-inspired design reboot). He's even started narrating his TWOW-homage Realm of Fifty Characters, just like his hero carykh. Listen to how smooth and expressive that narration is. He writes it all out, but it's full of dramatic twists. He's clearly aware of his listeners and pitches his presentation to their expectations, needs, and entertainment.

Years ago as we were trying to imagine our #robotboy's future, I hoped that computer interaction, with its throttled stream of cues and information, would allow him to make progress in socialization. Today I'm amazed at how that has happened, in realms I never could have foreseen.

How football and baseball are different

George Carlin was one of the fringe figures of my youth, relegated to furtive moments away from home. I remember sharing headphones with my friends on a glee club trip, listening to Carlin do his "place to put your stuff" routine, cackling and repeating the best lines.

He's been a part of my children's lives through his participation in Thomas The Tank Engine and Cars. I suppose it's a part of an entertainer's career evolution to take on these different kinds of roles late in life -- even ones that are diametrically opposed to his previous image. In time, transgressiveness mellows into nostalgia.

But of course Carlin had a mainstream appeal even during his edgiest days, appearing regularly on network television. It was his singular genius to remain committed to speaking frankly and not pulling punches, even as he became such a cultural fixture that just about anything funny that gets passed around via e-mail eventually gets his name attached to it.

Noel had the chance to interview him a couple of years ago. People often ask Noel whom he's interviewed lately, and while many of those names don't ring a bell with people over or under a certain age, when Noel mentioned Carlin everybody was impressed.

By the way, football is rigidly timed. Baseball -- we don't know when it's going to end! Maybe we'll have extra innings!

Senses of humor: A study in contrasts

Cady Gray: Mom, I'm going to tell you a joke. Knock knock!

Me: Who's there?

CG: Bunny shoes!

Me: Bunny shoes who?

CG: Bunny shoes that are the biggest you've ever seen ... and the bunnies wear them ... and then monsters come and all break up the world ... and it's all broken up and that's the funniest joke ever!

Archer: Now I will tell you a joke. Knock knock!

Me: Who's there?

Archer: Savannah.

Me: Savannah who?

Archer: Savannah Wertz.

Make it simple to last the whole night long

Today in my writing class, we looked at YouTube clips the students picked out to demonstrate how humor works on television. It so happened that one student chose a song from a Flight of the Conchords special -- "It's Business Time."



I've never seen Flight of the Conchords -- yeah, I know, but we don't have HBO; now that it's on DVD, we're all over it -- and I thought this was hilarious. It got me thinking (and the class talking) about musical humor. To me, this is something that's so impressive when it's done well, but is transparently all too easy to do poorly. Bad musical humor: That folk musician at the local acoustic cafe with his self-congratulatory bemusement over the direction America's taking these days. Good musical humor: Spinal Tap, "(Listen To The) Flower People."



Bad musical humor: Mark Russell (as memorably satirized by Phil Hartman on Newsradio). Good musical humor: Tom Lehrer, "The Vatican Rag."



What makes musical humor so transcendent and wonderful when it works is that it marries exacting preparation with the appearance of pure exuberant spontaneity (or, in the case of the Spinal Tap song above, carefully calculated market research). There's already the potential for delight when harmonies kick in, or the chorus hits its mark, and when you combine that kind of happiness with a well-timed joke, the laughter gets an extra jolt of energy from the musical form.

What are your favorite examples of musical humor, or humorous music?