Sometimes I am alone in my humor.
But I think the way Jay-Z writes a song and the way that I try to be funny are pretty much the same:
“I spend a lot of time fighting myself to stay out of the way of a great song. It’s hard for me to leave a song alone, in its natural state”
Oh yeah. I know how you feel Mr. Z. I too try not to cage the spoken word — Snorkel snorkle, dribble is free! That ostrich gots to fly, son!– although, sometimes people don’t get it.
Like that one time I was at a bus stop and quipped, “I found religion!” after seeing this sign:
Blank stares from companions. I tried to save it, “you know? Like Marx? And China, don’t forget China. Mao…for peasants…Uh, it’s funny, Lenin…Ringo…canoe”
“Cookie, that’s not funny.”
But it’s not that I have such a sophisticated sense of humor, no. I like potty jokes and words that repeat themselves, like this:
Poo and puns, folks.
But, I think it’s okay. I get to laugh at the little things that much more. And people sometimes find my endless cackling charming. Or something.
Anyways. Sometimes I am also alone in things that I think are cool.
When I see things that I think are rad I freak out. I want to know more about it, I pester people for their thoughts, I take tons of pictures, I read everything I can. I run in circles around my unfortunate consorts, boisterously sounding off sundry trivia while they tell me to relax.
But I can’t help it! When I wants to know, I gots to know!
Especially on days where I stumble upon mysterious parks. Enter the Şairler Sofası Parkı, Beşiktaş, Istanbul or the Sofa Poet’s Park:
It wasn’t so imposing a place, kind of out of the way and easy to miss. nestled in a bunch of snooty shops, wedding boutiques, and high-end interior design businesses. I just kind of passed through it without realizing it.
But once I sat down, next to an old man with a newsboy cap on, it really started to grow on me.
I found out later that it was designed by Erhan İşsözen (and really, I have no idea how to pronounce that)and it commemorates, in its simple way, some of the 19th and 20th century poets who lived around the area.
The ten artists honored are the “Sofa Poets.”
Unfortunately, the geek train stops there. With all of my internet snooping and probing of local art gallery curators, I am limited by the fact that I can’t speak Turkish and that others just seem to find it a part of their lives, but not really part of it. The curators were curious about why I was pushing so hard for this park to be something it’s not, it’s just a park. For your simple pleasure. With some statues. Simple as that.
I guess I can wax poetic about baked goods, but when it comes to actual poetry…well, ho-ho, higgledy-piggled, shut your mouth and dip me in pancake batter because I just need to sit back and enjoy.
Sometimes, it’s just the simple delights of poo-related humor that sustain our maniacal laughter.
Sometimes it’s just a stroll in the park that can feed our hungry quest for adventure one day more.