Wednesday, January 23, 2013

My "Stupid" Humor


Road Trip Wednesday #165: Laugh Factory

This Week's Topic is: Good for a laugh: who is your favorite comedian or funny book and/or movie?

During my journey of discovering this "wonderful" world of blogging, I fell upon (and so grateful I did!) the YA Highway for young adult writers and readers. Every week I follow, and read, and have my own thoughts about wednesday field trips. I've finally mustered up enough nerve to submit my own response. And what a perfect topic to get started with: comedy!

After thinking about all my favorite books, I had a very difficult time remembering any that are remarkably funny. Being a drama queen in my own life, I tend to navigate toward serious, dramatic novels. Good thing this topic includes movies!  

However, my taste in funny movies is also very interesting. I like the weird dumb humor that only I really laugh to. I do this often as a teacher, I tell a joke to my students, and they all end up me, of course. My friends and I call this "stupid humor". It's so stupid, it's hilarious!

Ok, so finally, let me get on with this. My favorite funny movie, which most people have either never heard or or have never cared to watch it because it looks so stupid, IS...
Rainn Wilson (as my students would say) is EPIC in this movie. He's a thirty-year-old "has been" rocker, living with his sister and her family. His teenage nephew's band needs a drummer and ask him to join. It follows their journey to fame. Three teenage kids and a 30 year old drummer? How could they NOT rock?? 

If you are looking for stupid humor, watch this movie! You will love it! Just make sure to have no expectations, then you will love it!

Sunday, January 13, 2013

The Butt-Fart-Death-Grip

Ever since I could remember, anyone and everyone, would always ask me this question, “What was it like to grow up with four brothers?” I always felt a little speechless with this question, and a little annoyed. I mean, how would I know anything different? To me, growing up with four brothers was just normal. Well, “normal” for me. So, here I am, attempting to answer the question with memory of a common interaction between me and my oldest brother. Here's a little picture of what "normal" was like for a girl stuck in the middle of four boys!

Firstly, I need to communicate just how much bigger my oldest brother was than me. He was a good four years older than me, and was not some stringy, thin older brother either. And I was definitely a girl, meaning I was, in no way, stronger than him. 
Secondly, I was "mostly" (yes I do realize I was probably the typical annoying little sister) an innocent bystander to his "shenanigans".  Most of the times, I would be sitting on the couch enjoying a TV show that wasn’t football, basketball or baseball, minding my own little business. My oldest brother would come along, see that I was just sitting there, obviously enjoying myself a little too much, and most likely irritated that I had gotten control of the channel box (aka remote control). Then, all of a sudden, and completely out of no where and beyond my control, he would tackle me down on the couch, manage to get his butt on my face, and release a big, nasty, full of intestinal odor, fart. No kicking, yelling, punching, or squirming could release me from the butt-fart-death-grip. Unfortunately for me, this was a common interaction between me and my oldest brother and until he moved out and on to college did I see the end of these butt-fart-death-grips. 

Tuesday, January 1, 2013

It Is The Music

We all know that there is a song for every mood, every moment, that just captures the emotion and heart that words nor anything else can. I have felt this way my whole life. My father trained his whole young adult life to be a concert pianist. He is probably one of the most passionate men I know, and I admire him greatly for that. He won't do anything that he doesn't love. I hope, and some have told me, that I have inherited this quality from him. To me, there's no point to life, to every day life, if there's no passion in it. I love feeling passionate and I love seeing other people be passionate. So I grew up around a father who was very passionate, about life, about his reason for being in this world, and for music. One of my favorite memories growing up, was when my dad would sit down on the piano and start banging away on the keys. From "Saturday in the Park" by Chicago to "Let it Be" by the Beatles to any one of his classical exploits (that I don't remember), I would dance away in the background as he would rock back and forth with his fingers flying across the keys. Then I would get tired or embarrassed because one of my four obnoxious (but very wonderful) brothers would appear and I wouldn't dare give them another opportunity to tease me, if I could help it. I would sit on the stairs, pretending that I couldn't be seen, and just listen to his music. It was one of those moments, where I felt on the outside looking in, looking in on something magical, something passionate.