About the Author: “Mike Buzzelli is a stand-up comedian and sit-down author. As a comedian, he has performed all around the country, most notably, the Ice House, the Comedy Store and the Improv in Los Angeles. He has performed as a stand up in Pittsburgh for several local charity events such as Cabaret for a Cause, The GLSEN Awards, and Brewing Up A Cure.
As a writer, Mike has published in a variety of websites, magazines and newspapers. He is a theater and arts critic for ‘Burgh Vivant, Pittsburgh’s online cultural talk magazine. Buzzelli is also a Moth Grand Slam storyteller and actor. His book Below Average Genius, a collection of essays culled from his weekly humor column in the Observer-Reporter, is now available…”
Introduction
In our daily lives, we are bombarded by negative thoughts and negative people. Around the water cooler, we discuss war, gas prices and politics. The media is replete with grim images and tales of tragedy from around the world. We are fed a constant diet of death and destruction. Push it away. I say no more for me. There are leaner, lighter meals. I have chosen to embrace comedy.
I believe in laughter, from the giggle to the guffaw.
I believe in telling a two year-old a knock-knock joke. A small girl covers her mouth when she smiles. A young boy holds his stomach and howls. I am renewed, revitalized and ready for anything.
Laughter is not only the best medicine, it is a necessity of life, the essence of joy. The true window into our soul. When other people search their lives for meaning, I have discovered that comedy is the universal truth. It is present in even the most dour soul. Everyone wants to laugh, the saints and the sinners, the faithful and the skeptics, the Democrats and Republicans, the good, the bad, and the ugly. Especially the ugly. What else have they got?
I love a dirty limerick. A skewered song. A ribald riddle.
I believe in the Sunday comics. I kneel before the gods of stand up. I still have faith in the sitcom. I believe in the joke, the pratfall, the silly face.
Through laughter we can find the light.
Come on-a my house my house
Recently, I asked a friend to a movie and she responded with, “Why go out? Why don’t you just come over to my house and we can watch a movie?” I’m stuck. Now, I have to figure out a polite response without sounding like a couch potato curmudgeon.
Here’s the deal. I know how to sit and watch TV. I’m very good at it, but I don’t want to do anything at your house that I can do better at my house.
If I can do it in my pajamas, why should I get dressed up and come over there? If I do get dressed and go to your house now, not only am I dressed, I have lost control of the remote. I am at the mercy of your questionable taste in film and television. This is a nightmare scenario for every male I know; straight or gay, we want that remote.
If I go over to your house, I have to eat the snacks you may or may not provide. I can’t go to the kitchen, find something I like and go, “Oh, little mini quiches, let’s make these!”
I have to act thrilled when you put out Chex Mix.
“Oh, you made air-popped, no-salt popcorn? Awesome!” I want to add, “Can I just chew on the box in came in?” Of course, there’s a chance (and it’s happened before) where I go over someone’s house, watch a movie, and nothing is provided but water or diet cola. No one taught social etiquette at my school, we were too busy learning algebra or geography. Our time would have been much better spent if someone sat us down and taught us that you always bring something over when you’re invited to someone’s house, and, if you’re hosting, put something out.
I go to your house, watch what you want to watch, eat what you put out, and possibly risk getting dog and/or cat hair on my new fleece pullover.
Don’t get me wrong. I love animals. I love them so much that I don’t eat them (I’ve been a vegetarian for fifteen years). I prefer looking at them on postcards, calendars, and You Tube clips. I am not so fond of them when they are jumping up on me and humping my leg.
If I’m at your house, and the phone rings, you might, and probably will, answer it. Now, the movie, that I may or may not want to watch, is on pause while you chat with Aunt Edna. I’m stuck gazing around the living room looking for something to do, and pretending I don’t hear you talking to Edna about her bursitis. The games I’ve come up with are; “Let’s keep the cat off my lap,” and “How long will the DVD stay stuck on that picture of Ryan Reynolds frozen in midair?”
I can’t wait to finish the movie, drive home, plop down on my sofa, and regain control of my own precious remote.
Excerpted from Below Average Genius by Mike Buzzelli. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.