STAND UP AND HAVE A GOOD LAUGH AT LIFE
As far back as I can remember (not counting when I was Attila the Hun in another life) I have always had an unshakable interest in the study of human social behaviour (as opposed to when I was Attila and I just pillaged and burned villages).
My obsession met a brick wall one day when I was thrown out of McGill University’s Faculty of Psychology, many moons ago: It happened five minutes into a final exam in which the essay question was, “In 500 words, describe the relative hyperactivity theory of the parasympathetic division.” I raised my hand and asked if writing my name and date would count as five words.
While showing me the door (not that I didn’t already know what one looked like,) the professor explained to me that psychology was a learned science and not an exercise in humour.
I challenged him: “Is humour not more important than science (i.e., doing homework?)”
Rather than choosing to debate the subject with me, he stripped me of my student ID card, my bus pass and my Canadian citizenship. Then, he had me tied up and delivered to the dean of the department who offered me this advice: “Your personality is based on how much yin and yang you carry. In your case, I’m afraid it’s a no-yin situation.”
Stranded with no other options, I completed a Bachelor of Chemical Engineering.
As a hobby, I started to read every available psychology book I could forget to return to the library, especially the ones with technical titles like, Men Are from Krypton and Your Wife Will Never Be Happy with the Clothes You Choose to Wear. I even planned to write my own book on the secret to happiness. It was based on extensive research: I asked each of my immediate family members, “What is the secret to happiness?”
My brother: “I do it my way.” My brother-in-law: “I do it her way.”
My wife: “I do it without him.” My sister-in-law: “I do it without him also.”
Eventually, I just took up a relevant sideline: I started doing standup comedy. There is a sharp exhilaration to joking on stage in front of a roomful of extraterrestrials who do not find you funny. It is an act of self-purification, an elimination of emotional baggage, affording catharsis. In other words — an absolutely stupid thing to do.
Once a week, for two years, I joined a lineup of aspiring comedians on Open Mic Nite at a downtown Montreal comedy club where of the 100 seated patrons, 98 were comics awaiting their turn to go on.
You could always tell which ones were the paying customers:
1. They were strangers.
2. They were drinking alcohol. (On a good night, a comedy bar can make up to $12.)
Performing standup comedy allowed me to get in touch with my inner child while adrift in a pool of humourless sharks. (Redundant.) It was tough but I learned this much:
Life is like a standup routine. Sometimes you have to bomb to uncover your issues and be comfortable in your own skin. It’s about being yourself. It’s about having fun while finding work that is important to you. It’s about being alive.
As the great Charles M. Schultz once said, “Life is like an ice cream cone. You have to learn to lick it.”