WHAT ABOUT BOB?

Author: Bob Wainwright

I really don't see any reason to start the column this week with some comic remark about the snow storm we had yesterday, because most of us are true Vermonters by now, and if there's one thing we've learned by living here it's that it really isn't all that strange to have 85 degree weather one day, an earthquake the next and a blizzard on top of that.

I do, however, feel a little sorry for the people in admissions, seeing as how they just lost about 400 prospectives to the most southern schools to which they were accepted. "Mom, dad, I know I told you Middlebury was my first choice, but honestly, I really do think that the University of Hawaii's language program is underrated, to say the least."

Moving on though, in an effort to produce something truly original this week, I've decided to write my column from a place heretofore completely unfamiliar to me. So, right now I'm in Starr Library, about to begin (drum roll please) the fiftieth "What About Bob." Who could have known back in January of 2000 that my first column, an article that, to my knowledge, was only read by three people, would eventually grow into a Features section fixture with a weekly readership of almost twice that original number? I sure didn't.

The inevitable question now arises, however, as to what is the best way to celebrate such a momentous event. (Perhaps a photo of the author on the front page? No, that would never happen.) After careful deliberation though (I just went to The Grille and ate a 'Love Me Tender'), I've decided that it might be a good idea to write a humor column on ... well, writing humor columns.

How does one go about writing a humor column in the first place? To answer that question, perhaps it's best to turn to one of the greatest humorists our nation has ever known, Mark Twain. In his essay "How to Tell a Story," Twain writes, "The humorous story is strictly a work of art — high and delicate art —and only an artist can tell it; but no art is necessary in telling the comic and the witty story; anybody can do it." Given Twain's words of wisdom, I've always known that my column must strive to be comic and witty. Humor has never been a possibility.

But what exactly makes a column funny? (Editor's note: Not being written by Bob, for starters.) The answer: lots of things, most of which I don't know. But here are some tricks that usually work. If I'm ever in a real bind, subjects such as monkeys, flatulence, dogs flying through the air and drunken giraffes can squeak an occasional laugh out of an otherwise dead column.

I'm also a big fan of the survey trick, which is this: In national news, a recent survey found that Americans' anger levels have soured in the past year. 70 percent of people polled said that they had noticed an increase in the general antagonism among their social groups, while 30 percent responded, "Leave me alone, because I hate you."

Another good trick is the editor's note, which is best used to make fun of the writer. I might say, for instance, "the capital of Mongolia is (editor, please insert the capital of Mongolia here)," giving you the impression that Ulaanbaatur is not within my realm of knowledge. Or I might simply make fun of my own column under the persona of the editor. But, I've chosen not to do that this week.

Actually having a topic to write about is a big plus in developing a column. I know this because of all the columns I've written, the ones that have no real subject really stink. Luckily for me, they don't comprise a majority of my work (falling just short actually, at 23). However, having a topic doesn't necessarily mean the column will be funny, either. Par example (to use some of my fifth grade knowledge of French), this week's subject is how to write a humor column. Therefore, a topic does exist, but I still haven't written anything funny.

A great way to get an easy laugh is to present a story that leads up to a punch line or a pun that is so bad the reader laughs more out of pity for the writer than the actual joke. I'm reminded now of two eskimos I once knew who went fishing in their kayak. The weather was extremely cold and the Eskimos were not the most sober people on the lake that day. And, well, to make a long story short, they ended up building a fire in the kayak to warm their hands and feet, but instead only succeeded in sinking it. Of course, it doesn't take a genius to tell you that the moral of the story is that you can't have your kayak and heat it too.

The only problem I have with the Eskimo story is that it's just not original enough, and if there's one thing a columnist strives to be — it's original. Sometimes it's acceptable to feed off of things you hear or see, but the real secret to comedy is originality. And that means throwing yourself, not someone you'd like to be, but the person you really are, onto the page every time you write.

This holds true unless, of course, you're writing on very little sleep, in which case it might be best to just repeat the joke you once heard from your tennis coach about the penguin whose car breaks down in the middle of Texas on a hot day.

But not right now.