Remember When I Was a Humor Blogger?

Pace Yourself Concert Review: Frank Turner

Remember When I Was a Humor Blogger?

Hahaha! Remember when I used to write a humor blog, back in…ten days ago? Me neither sob sob sob.

My method, in my younger and more naïve days of early 2017, was to take a subject, any subject, and find the humor spin on it. For instance, I drafted a post about the fact that my husband and I have a trip to Tasmania planned this spring – we’ll be trekking for six days in the Cradle Mountains there. I thought it would be hilarious to compare my search for comfortable hiking shoes to Goldilocks, or maybe Cinderella, because I keep rejecting them. One was too small, one was too big, and one looked like a Eurotrash astronaut’s fever dream. It looks like I’ll be packing the ten-year-old boots I pulled out of the storage area coated in a thick layer of dust. C’mon, that’s funny, right?

But I can’t write about that because what I’m actually thinking about Tasmania is: what are Australia’s immigration policies, and can we send for the girls if we first establish a beachhead?

Similarly, there was some comic potential in the Tasmanian wildlife. You and I both know that the only Tasmanian wildlife you and I both know is the Warner Brothers’ Tasmanian Devil.

My friend Hugh informed me – and I feel here I need to disclose that it was over many, many glasses of wine at a dinner party– that the milk of the Tasmanian Devil has curative properties, which led to a lively group discussion about how one would milk a Tasmanian Devil. I have also augmented my knowledge base with a guide that informed me that there are three types of snakes in Tasmania, all poisonous, but “luckily the same anti-venom works for all of them!”

Instead of making jokes about that whole situation, though, I have to ponder whether the Tasmanian Devil milk and the snake anti-venom are effective on pre-existing conditions left untreated when Obamacare is flushed down the toilet. I’ll pack some empty vials for us to share around just in case.

Finally, I could talk about how this is the trip of our dreams. We met in Arizona and my husband and I bonded over hiking into the Grand Canyon and in Utah; twenty-five years of marriage later, we finally have some time to take up an ambitious hiking trip again. The trip includes a stop in Sydney, another place I’ve dreamed of going since I bought my first Split Enz albums.

However, the actual dreams I’ve had since January 20th involve a.) losing our children in Tasmania (note: they’re not coming on this trip, so that’s extra weird,) b.) being unable to find the start of the trek in Tasmania, complete with imagery of a compass spinning wildly, and c.) the snapping of my shoelaces off the aforementioned hiking boots, on the first day. All three dreams resulted in gasping, wide-awake sheet clutching at 3 a.m., plus a bonus phone call to my sister to make her promise me that she will protect my children if something happens to me. Think I’m maybe slightly worried about leaving my kids on a continent led by a madman for 12 days when I’m on the other side of the world? Maybe just a smidge.

All I can say is I plan to keep trudging through this challenging terrain trying to find some humor. And I hope you’re coming along for the long, long walk.

Here’s a Tasmanian pop punk band called the New Wave Saints. Kind of a Blink-182 sitch here, wouldn’t you say?

P.S. I’ve had some writing on TueNight.com in the past couple weeks in case you want to check them out…

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