Down With Spoilsports
How are you?” asked the man with the semi-ecstatic smile.
“Fine,” sighed the glum-faced other.
“Well,” said the smiling man, “you should tell your face.”
This was an exchange that reportedly occurred frequently in the life of the smiling man, the late Leo Buscaglia. Author, lecturer and official Dr. Love and Hugs, Buscaglia’s life mission included telling people’s faces to lighten up.
Seems like there’s lots of faces out there that need telling. The grim jogger who’s forgotten why she runs, the dour driver stalled in road work traffic, the shopper standing in the 10-items-or-less lane mentally tallying the items in everyone else’s carts.
Are these people having fun? Not likely. In fact, there seems to be a serious (very serious) lack of fun in everyday life.
In the grownup world, fun is often rationed out like fat grams; belly laughs are as rare as washboard abs. Why? It’s a variation of a song that goes something like this: I’m too tired, busy, bored, old, rich, poor, stressed, responsible or dull to have fun. Fun is for later, when the laundry is folded, the bills are paid; when everything is “just right.”
Sure. The problem is, the perfect time never comes. And besides, most of the funny stuff of life is found in its imperfection. Slapstick isn’t about standing up straight, it’s about falling down in style. But even if the perfect time did arrive, there would always be somebody around to say it wasn’t quite perfect enough. Among other things, these folks are known as Spoilsports.
The Spoilsports aren’t having any fun and they don’t want you to have any either. In their estimation, not only is the glass of life half empty, it’s a chipped jelly jar. And we’re all knee-deep in Smuckers. They’re probably right, which makes them even more monotonous.
The following is a field guide to the some of the most commonly spotted varieties:
Gritchin’ Grump. Also known as Old Yeller. Focuses on bodily functions as primary conversation starters. Pursues regularity with fervor usually reserved for revival meetings. Thinks Y2K is a lubricant.
Toxic Tuna. Also known as Mitey Mouth. Livens up dinner conversation by pointing out that your freshly served meal has hormones in the beef, nitrites in the wine and fat in everything else. Predicts the dessert tray’s sugar and yeast will spawn Armageddon in your lower intestine. When food topics are exhausted, can tell you the exact number of mites currently living on your eyelashes.
Knickers in a Knot. Also known as Chignon-too-tight. Charter member of the raised eyebrow, we-are-not-amused club. Ennui (that’s French, of course, for the terminal blahs) is their middle name. Can be moved to occasional quiet twittering by the madcap wit of George Will.
Apocalypse Nell. Also known as The Red Phone. Hoards canned chili in back-yard bunker for Doomsday luncheon. Thinks current crummy state of world is worse than past crummy state. Uses this as excuse for grimly stockpiling world supply of Spam.
Wretched Rolodex. Also known as Type Triple A. Attempts to pencil pleasure into schedule, somewhere between power meetings and duty dinners. Most frequently asked question regarding fun: Can I put it on my expense account?
Doppler Dud. Also known as Thunder Boomer. All problems hinge on it never being exactly the right temperature anywhere in the world. Delivers surprised insights into seasons such as: Winter is cold, summer is hot, spring is rainy and fall cannot be trusted because it leads right into winter, which is (surprise!) cold.
Disease of the Week. Also known as Size of a Cantaloupe. Has or knows someone who has or is about to get or is just getting over a terrible, horrible, very bad thing. Will provide graphic details. Can recite forensic details of celebrity autopsies as reported in The Globe.
The best antidotes for the Spoilsports are the New Arrivals — babies, puppies, really funky shoes — anything that pushes the “play” button or reminds us that we still have one.
Eight-year-old kids can laugh until they almost wet their pants and never be able to say what exactly started it all. Every once in a while, try being 8. Then, tell your face.