Comedy is one of my special interests, and in true Aspergian fashion, I have spent a considerable amount of time studying what humor is, and what makes things funny. As a warning, reading this post will either make jokes better, or worse, depending on how much you like to over-analyze things, but I absolutely delight in it. My first peek under the curtain was when my dad once said that what makes things funny is the element of surprise. That's why "to get to the other side" isn't funny anymore. We know it's coming. When I heard that, I wrote my own version of the joke:
Why did the chicken cross the road?
BOO! (Surprised? Yeah, it probably works better out loud)
In more recent discoveries, I watched this video:
Which basically says that humor is learning something new. I find that fascinating. It helps that I've always loved learning new things anyway, so it would make sense that I like funny things. But this idea is extremely helpful in understanding just what humor is. Surprise is a factor: I was expecting the chicken crossed the road to get to the other side, but turns out, there's a completely different reason that I hadn't thought of before. My brain makes new connections, and I laugh. Which explains why most of my "inside" jokes involve me making a connection I hadn't thought of before, usually involving a strange and irrelevant coincidence. I smile or chuckle, but when I try to put it into words so someone else can get the joke, I realize it's a summation of a long stream of thought, and I can't really explain it.
When I try to tell a joke someone else has written, it comes off with... interesting results. See, if I think it's funny, then I often can't stop laughing, even to tell the joke. I have had some training in acting, and you would think that I should be able to "keep a straight face". I can certainly do so when I'm sad or angry. But part of my brain says "They might not even get the joke anyway, and you don't get to laugh often enough as it is. You might as well enjoy yourself!" My favorite part about humor is how good it feels to smile and laugh, your brain making delightful connections as you learn something new. If I learned how not to laugh--if I learned how to keep that part of myself "in check" like I have for nearly every other emotion I have, then I wouldn't get to be a part of the fun. I've already learned how not to laugh when other people can't hear the joke. If I stopped laughing when they do hear it, it would be like lobotomizing one of the few parts of my brain that actually makes me feel good.
So, I'm probably not going to become a comedian. But, I think I'm okay with that.
Now that we've established that I have a sense of humor (even though I tend to study it with the same attention and detail as I would a math problem), let's talk about what I don't find funny. There are some kinds of comedy I find not just humorless, but hurtful, too.
For one thing, there are some kinds of humor I just don't get. I don't know if it's an Aspergian thing, or a girl thing, or just me, but I can't laugh at other people's misfortune (usually). Slapstick, for instance. Watching people in pain, tripping over something, getting slapped or punched or kicked in sensitive areas, breaking valuable artifacts, getting covered in something gooey--none of this is funny to me. I don't get the joke. I mean, I know that it's usually fictional: some trick of the camera, or clever stunts, or at least someone getting paid to be put through the pain and humiliation. But it's not funny. And I can't see why other people find it so. What are they learning? Where is the surprise? Most comedies hint at what kind they are right from the get-go, so you know somebody's going to get a pie in the face, eventually. But I probably can't get into it, because I've spent my entire life struggling to connect with people, and when they are in pain that I can understand, I am instantly brought down by it. It doesn't matter if the person is on a screen or right in front of me: if I know you're hurting, so am I. People say I'm too sensitive. Maybe they're right. But I don't see the advantage to numbing my sense of empathy, just so I can laugh at other people.
I find myself in a confusing situation, one which I think many people have been in. I like it when people laugh with me, but not at me. I think that's a pretty universal feeling. When I tell a joke, and other people think it's funny, it feels amazing. It means that I have a connection, however brief, with the people around me. But if they laugh at me because of some mistake I made, some trait of what makes me, me, I can't stand it. I prefer to deal with pain and humiliation privately, as I re-write my previously incorrect reasoning, or figure out how to cover up the offending feature. But apparently neurotypicals aren't like this. They love pointing out mistakes and faults, to the victim and those around them, as though it's easy to have your flaws on public display. I've been mocked for my weight and skin color, my voice, my clothing, my stuttering and my unsuitable word choice, my unique perspective on the world, my taste in food and men and books, even how I smell. And it hurts, every last bit of it. A lot of them are for things I cannot change, only cover up and make adjustments to appear normal. Surviving and fitting in in this alien world is hard, and I'm constantly struggling to be accepted into the society I'm in. When I screw up, and people notice I'm not "like them," they are startled, and confused. And then they laugh. They don't intend to hurt me. They probably don't think I'm an "alien freak who doesn't deserve to be in their presence," but that's what it feels like they're saying to me. It's a tangible feeling, of them pushing me away every time they laugh at me.
But let me stop here for a moment. If humor is learning something surprising, then when they laugh, it's because they just learned something about me. I hadn't really thought of that before. Maybe laughing at someone else is just a form of acceptance? Although I would argue that bullying is anything but.
There is (in my opinion) a truly barbaric practice which I have seen in multiple occasions, in a variety of social groups. And that is insulting your friends. I first noticed this when I worked at the Mexican restaurant. Those people who were close to each other would exchange nicknames and insults in "good humor," calling each other "old man," "fatty," "ugly," and of course any number of body parts. I could not figure it out. I actually asked a fellow employee why they did that, (a girl with a unique perspective of both cultures, who grew up in the States, but with immigrant parents) and she said "I don't know. We just... Do." I assumed that this was just a Latino cultural occurrence, nothing more. But then I started seeing it everywhere.
When I returned to school, several groups of friends did the exact same thing. They would call each other names that I don't even feel comfortable typing, let alone saying it to someone I care about. They did it again and again, with a smile on their face, and everybody just went along with it. I can't understand. I know that people will just say "it's just a joke," but is it?
I suppose it's absurd of me to say this, but once I heard that jokes were used to hide the truth in plain sight. Ever since then, I believed that it applies to all jokes, told by anyone. That the person telling the joke believes what they're saying, and they want to say it in a way that won't get the physically or psychologically injured. I also concluded that when people laugh--when they "learn" this new bit of information, they are agreeing with it, and allowing it to alter their perception of the world.
If people use humor to hide their beliefs in plain sight, that means they use it to say whatever they were too afraid to say seriously. Somewhere, someone actually believes that all black people are poor, and all blondes are stupid, and all lawyers are heartless. Which is ridiculous, obviously, but those jokes came from somewhere, some stereotypical thought. When I hear women jokingly calling their friends a "female dog," I think that deep down, they really believe it. That they think their friend is a horrible person, and want to slap that girl in the face. The only reason they won't actually do it, is because it's socially unacceptable, and they don't want to "burn that bridge" just yet, so she can still extract some benefit from socializing with the "female dog."
I think that is why it hurts so much to have people tease me and laugh at me. It's the reason why I won't show most people just what goes on in my head. Every time they laugh, they're saying "this person is different from me, and since they are different from me, it is acceptable for me to further remove them from me, and belittle them as I'm doing it." I feel small. Stupid. I'm an outcast. A freak.
A couple of weeks ago, I was telling my family about my habit of twitching my head to release small bits of important information. They looked confused and surprised, which made me start to laugh uncomfortably, because, let's face it, it is a bit weird. So, they laughed too. There wasn't much behind my desire to tell them, except that I've been experimenting with expressing myself in different ways, to see if I can function with little or no filter around people who love me. They laughed about it, and the conversation moved on. But later someone brought it up and teased me about it, and it hurt. It shouldn't have: I was laughing when I told them, which is plain English for "this is funny, so you can laugh at it." But I hated that they said that. And so I stopped doing my "head twitch" thing, because every time I thought of doing it, I could remember them mocking me. It doesn't work for me anymore, or at least, I don't try it anymore, which is a shame, because it really worked for me. And there goes one more chip of my unique personality. I suppose if I continued to tell them about myself, one by one, each of my traits that make me different will be surgically removed, leaving me in the end, a "normal" person. But I don't want to do that. I've finally realized that not only is it okay to be different, it's a good thing. Unfortunately, I haven't reached the point where I can hear it from other people yet. If I say it, I'm giving myself permission to act the way I want to. From anyone else, it's another brutal stab to the chest.
In other words: I need to learn how to take a joke.
Penny
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