COLUMN: The hard knock life of a columnist
There are exactly 104 tiles on my ceiling. Trust me, I checked four times. There is a picture of my roommate on our wall, and I swear on my life he looks just like Russell Crowe at the right angle. I found a funny group called Balloon Shop on YouTube, and I’ve thought of at least six different ways I could rearrange the clothes hanging in my closet.
I have a deadline in an hour, and all I have written is this paragraph. I haven’t eaten all day, but I won’t go into the kitchen in fear I’ll get caught up watching ESPNNEWS and completely forget this column exists, making for a very upset features editor. So, I choose to sit in my chair, listen to the Shins and try my hardest to think of something funny to put on paper.
An interesting phenomenon, writer’s block. It’s the bloody mistress of every columnist; it just won’t go away – a lot like Phil Brickma, that annoying manager in “Rookie of the Year.” This is the dark side of the world of a columnist.
People often ask me how I do my job – what it takes to be as successful in the world of humor writing as I am. I start off by saying I wouldn’t necessarily consider myself “successful.” More than anything I’d view myself to be capable, salvageable or most likely pudgy. From there I take time to really analyze the overall bells and whistles of my trade. Quite honestly I’ve found it really comes about in three steps.
Think of something funny. Write it down. Consider getting fried chicken.
In the grand scheme of things that’s what it all boils down to. Not exactly rocket surgery, is it? But then I have hours like these, my brain functioning at about the efficiency of an eggplant. I couldn’t think of something funny to jot down if it killed me. I careen through my mind a thousand times. The only thing with any possible merit is this picture in my head of Mr. Peanut dancing to “Virtual Insanity” by Jamiroquai on stilts, but I’m not exactly sure how to stretch that into 600 words.
I jot through my day, my weekend, memories of my childhood, past “Access Hollywood” episodes, I even examine my roommate waking up in the morning. Nothing is coming to me. Once I’ve made my mark commenting on Slurpees and sandwiches at KFC I’m fresh out of hilarity-laden ammo.
I make a quick trip to the kitchen for a drink of water, where one of my buddies asks me if I remember the show “Rocket Power.” I laugh out loud, grab a brownie and attempt, with my friend, to do that “woogity woogity woogity” handshake Otto and Twister did on that show. Maybe now my creative juices can start flowing.
While sitting lifeless again at my desk, I realize I’ve learned two valuable lessons. First, write ideas down and you’ll never be stuck on topics to write about. Second, in the event of a fire I’m supposed to meet outside by that weird black statue thing by the library with the rest of the people who live in my building. That makes me chuckle. The concept of large-group emergency plans is quite funny.
Holy crap. I just found my topic. It’s clever, it’s original and it gives me a great reason to make fun of the movie “Backdraft.” This puppy is solid gold.
But then again, I already spent a good page and a half on the useless banter of the last hour of my day, and I have a study session in 15 minutes. So this will have to do.
Moral of the story: we columnists need your help. We have our e-mails at the bottom of these things for a reason; if you give us something good to write about we’ll darn sure put it in our thought basket. We might even send you cupcakes, but don’t bet on it.
– steve.schwartzman@aggiemail.usu.edu