A Serious Case Of Unseriousness

The other day, I posted a quote that I absolutely adore. It's by Yakov Smirnoff. I'll share it here so you know what I'm talking about:

I believe there is a direct correlation between love and laughter. 

And I do.

The quote received some interesting replies, mostly jokes revolving around how Smirnoff is often linked to love (it's a joke because Smirnoff is also an alcoholic beverage). That said, one comment left me humming and hawing. (Just a side note, whenever I write hawing, I think of a horse braying. I myself can't bray very well, but I have been known to do an excellent whinny.) To sum it up, the person said that they love to laugh, that laughter is funny, but life isn't. 

Except, that can't possibly be true, because I find myself laughing at life every day. Even in times of true and utter heartache I've laughed. Through tears and misery, through twisted moments of sheer horribleness, I've seen humour. So, then I got to thinking, I'm I backwards? Is life serious and I just didn't get the memo? 

Now, I know I have a skewed sense of humour. I can thank my father for that. Also, I have an over active imagination. What other people might not find giggle-worthy often has me out right guffawing. (To be honest, I have no idea what a guffaw looks like. I imagine it is something Jughead would do from the Archie comics, or Shaggy from Scooby-Doo. A weird stupid noise. The only reason I am using it in this instance is because I just don't want to abuse the word laugh. No one likes repetition. Well, except for that Daft Punk song Around The World. Everyone likes that little ditty.) 

Let's just pause for a second and take it for a spin: 

I just did a rather amazing chair dance. I'd show you how I broke it down all robotic like, but I've been mocked enough since I showed my sweet, sweet moves in a vlog that featured Le Tigre's song Deceptacon. 

What were we talking about? Oh, right. Laughter, life and keeping things serious. 

Maybe all of this comes down to perspective. 

The other day I went out to a show at this club down town. Often when you go to shows, you get patted down and your bag searched, especially Mary Poppins type bags like mine. This occasion wasn't any different, except prior to the show I'd popped out to pick up some new underwear. Being the environmentally friendly girl that I am, I insisted I didn't need a bag for my undies, because plastic is the devil, and I just shoved them right on in my bag. Because I like to make everyone's job as easy as possible, I started rummaging through my bag, to give the bouncer-guy a decent gander at all the goods I was toting around with me. Well, in my enthusiastic shuffling, I'd accidentally dropped my underwear. On the ground. At the bouncer's feet. 

He went to pick them up. 

I practically shouted, "Oops, I dropped my undies." 

To which he replied, "This is a first." 

And I said, "Really? Happens to me all the time." 

He laughed. I laughed. Everyone surrounding us laughed. And I thought to myself that the whole situation was pretty awesome. I mean, it was unplanned and unrehearsed. And life delivers these sorts of moments every day. We all do ridiculous things, no exceptions. I embarrass myself on a regular basis. Daily, if not hourly. The key is to own it. Embrace it. And spread it around. If I can make someone laugh, then my job is done. I know a lot of people who hate being the butt end of a joke and are mortified when they are made to look foolish. So what. The truth of the matter is, I'd rather be a joke than a depressing statistic.  

Perhaps it is ingrained in us to worry over how quickly our lives are being eaten up, to fret and toil over the bad things and to keep a straight face when things fall apart. I find this most unproductive. I mean, death and bad things happen. They always have. They happen whether we laugh, take life seriously or live in a bubble of fear over being hit by the Broadway B-Line (which really does rocket) on our way to Commercial Drive. Worrying and wearing your big boy serious pants all the time won't stop the clock, though. Old Father Time and the Mister Grim Reaper are in cahoots and they are cashing in our chips, even if we haven't finished playing our cards. They don't give a damn if you have a rummy in your hands or twenty one or a straight flush or whatever. They are random dudes and aren't going to wait until we're ready.

People always say life is too short. It really is. Even with all these drugs that have allowed us to keep living, and living, and living. I mean, the average life expectancy 100 years ago in Canada was 58. Now it's 81. Can you believe that? We've managed to give ourselves 23 more years to live. Twenty-three years of diapers, walkers, false teeth, and being rude to teenagers simply because we've lived longer. Sign me up! That said.It goes by far too quickly. If this was 1912, half my life would be over already, and when I think about the last ten years I have this "where the hell did my youth go" feeling. But I can't take it seriously. 

There is no guarantee on tomorrow. Which is why I highly encourage people to laugh and act silly and play like children. Kick leaves. Blow bubbles. Eat dessert before dinner. Laugh at yourself. Laugh at others. Have fun. I mean, I'm not saying there aren't times for seriousness, but for the most part a serious case of unseriousness is in order. Because I'd rather go out laughing and light hearted than worrying and weighted down by things I cannot change. Seriously.