Octopus Nuggets

April 28, 2015August 27, 2025 Rilaly3 Comments

We love octopuses! Clicking on this article is a tantamount admission on your part that you probably love learning about the octopus as much as I do. To say they’re fascinating creatures is an understatement. To those of us who love lists, and we all love lists, we might list octopuses as our second favorite animal, but there are so many unique features and unique personalities animals possess that it’s difficult to narrow down the rest of that list.

If we read through one of those top ten most fascinating animals lists, we learn that most animals have one, maybe two, fascinating features, but there are three animals that have such a wide array of unusual characteristics that they’re the most fascinating. The platypus has so many different features that they confused zoologists for decades, and the history of that confusion is so compelling to me that I would list them as my third favorite animal. The octopus might have the second most unique features that continue to fascinate everyone from those of us on the lower rung of enthusiasts to specialists, such as Marine Biologists, Neuroethologists, and Cephalopodologists. (Did you know there was a profession that focused specifically on cephalopods? Neither did I. They’re rare, but they are out there.)

There is one animal more popular than the octopus, the platypus, the monkeys, the lions, gators, and panda bears. Don’t see where I’m going, I’ll give you two hints: every animal has a love/hate relationship with them, and when archivists compile a list on the subjects of most books, fiction and non, this species dominates the list, and it’s not even close. If you guessed humans, you’ll get nothing, and you’ll like it.

Even those of us who love the octopus and the platypus so much that we want to write something about them know that if we’re going write an article about them, we better involve humans in some way, shape or form. Most people aren’t so interested in octopuses that they’re going to click on an article about them if that article is solely about the octopus. Such an article would feel too dry and “too sciency”. In this vein the inclusion of a human interest angle might be the difference between hard and soft science. Writers of soft science articles know that to personalize an article, we have to include people in some way.

This problem is somewhat similar to one that plagued famous author Kurt Vonnegut. His problem wasn’t related to octopuses, or articles about them though. His problem involved a dog, or a problem he had with his dog that he perceived to be a problem. Vonnegut’s perceived problem was that his dog was too human. The dog loved being around humans too much for Vonnegut’s taste. The dog was so happy around them that he wanted to be around them all the time. The problem, Vonnegut perceived, was that he felt his dog was spending so much time around humans that he was losing touch with his canine nature. Mr. Vonnegut thought this was his fault, because he rarely put his dog in canine environments. He believed his dog should explore its canine nature more by interacting with other dogs more often, so that it could remember where it came from.

To rectify this, Vonnegut took his dog to a dog park to introduce him to the wonderful world of canines. The dog initially greeted those other dogs in the park with pure joy and excitement, and he did everything a dog typically does when it meets a new dog. When that initial euphoria died down, Vonnegut’s dog turned to the dogs’ owners, the new humans there were to meet in the park. For the rest of their stay in the dog park, the dog’s attention remained stubbornly exclusive to humans. His dog only wanted to meet, greet, and play with the humans who were in the park. Vonnegut was a little frustrated. He tried to do everything he could think up to get his dog to play with other dogs, but the dog only wanted to play with their owners. “As frustrated as I was, I kind of understood,” Kurt Vonnegut wrote, “for I, too, spent a lifetime trying to understand these curious creatures.”

The moral of this story, for me and other young, aspiring writers, is that although creative writing is one of the freest art forms ever created, it does have one concrete, almost inescapable rule. No matter what the subject matter is, the writer had better find a way to involve humans, if their target audience is the human demographic. If we’re going to make a cartoon about dogs, sea creatures, or monkey, for example, we’ll have to anthropomorphize those animals. We’ll have to have them speak, typically in English, have them interact in ways humans understand, and even include some sociopolitical inserts that we all know plague the puffer fish. Even if humans are not our target audience, a writer may not want to take the chance of writing about other animals in the most authentic manner they can conjure up, devoid of human interest, because most animals are as fascinated with humans as humans are, as Kurt Vonnegut found that day in the dog park.

If a writer is going write about something relatively obscure, like the octopus, they better find some way to tie their story of that octopus into the human experience, if they hope to capture the human demographic. The writer may want to find a way to compliment their fellow humans for the various ways in which they co-exist with this cephalopod mollusk. The writer may want to find a zoo that declares the octopus to be their most popular attraction. They may even want to find a way to compliment their fellow humans for the ingenious ways in which they serve the subject of their piece to their fellow humans for consumption, or use them in various medicinal products if there are any.

If the writer seeks to condemn their fellow man for all the ways in which they harm, or otherwise destroy, the cephalopod mollusk, and its environment, on the other hand, they may want to find creative ways of telling their fellow humans how evil the are. Humans love that too. It makes them feel guilty and powerful at the same time.

If the writer’s research does not support such material, the writer may want to write about their personal experiences they’ve had with the subject. Humans, for whatever reason, enjoy reading about another human’s process. We enjoy silly, little anecdotes about how the writer grew up with an octopus wall tumbler toy, and how the writer’s obsession with the octopus grew by leaps and bounds after those formative years. Humans may want to read about some interactions the writer has had with the species they plan to cover, and how that octopus displayed cute, anthropomorphic characteristics. The human-interest angle is what they call it in the biz, and if a writer is not willing, or able, to add some element of humanity in their documentary, book, or article, they may want to find another way to make a living.

The Plural War: The ideal plural tense of the word octopus is octopuses. Some reports suggest the plural tense Octopi “was created by English speakers out of a mistaken belief that the word octopus was of Latin origin and hence pluralized with an -i. But the word octopus comes from ancient Greeks, where its plural is octopodes, and though it came to English via scientific Latin, it was never a native Latin word and didn’t exist in that language until scientists borrowed it from the Greeks in the 18th century (and if it were a Latin word, it would take a different form and would not be pluralized with the -i ending).” So, while the word octopi “can’t be justified on an etymological basis, it is not wrong. It is old enough and common enough to be an accepted variant.” Those of us who loath the idea of accepting a variant, because it’s common, might prefer to use the plural form octopuses based on its Greek origins, or octopodes if we’re trying to sound professorial, but we should not correct our peers when they say octopi. It’s not incorrect, but it’s not as correct as the other two, and its asterisk is arrived at by common usage. The only definitive point I arrive at is that I agree with those attempting to learn the English language when they suggest that it is one of the most confusing languages to speak for all of its various rules and acceptable variants.
Octopuses have no bones. This makes them a very tasty morsel for the many predators in the ocean. Their survival, therefore, depends on a number of ingenious tactics. The most fascinating of which is the pseudomorph. Most people who watch documentaries on the octopus have witnessed the “inking” defense in which an octopus leaves a cloud of ink in its trail, then switches directions after they leave an ink cloud to confuse a pursuing predator. The pseudomorph is similar, but more complex, in that it contains mucus. The mucus gives the excreted defensive substance a little more staying power than the typical ink cloud, and it gives the octopus enough substance to create an image that mirrors its own. The pseudomorph, also called the “blanch-ink-jet maneuver”, is what many researchers believe is a self-portrait the octopus leaves behind to further confuse the predator. It may not be a self-portrait as rich in detail as those Van Gogh left behind, but it’s similar enough to serve its purpose of confusing predators. Predators have been so confused by this image that not only does it alter their attack, but some have attempted to bite the pseudomorph with the mistaken belief that it is the octopus.
Octopus’ ink can also cause physical harm to enemies. The ink, reports the Smithsonian, “contains a compound called tyrosinase, which, in humans, helps to control the production of the natural pigment melanin. When the ink is sprayed in a predator’s eyes, however, tyrosinase can cause a blinding irritation. It also garbles the predator’s sense of smell and taste.” The defensive concoction is so potent, in fact, that if the octopus doesn’t escape the cloud that they create, they could die. As we’ll learn in Octopus Nuggets II, there are fascinating and illuminating reasons these otherwise defenseless globs of boneless matter have survived a reported 296 million years.
A Sodahead.com commentator states that the octopus has separate and distinct brains in each of its arms, as “two-thirds of an octopus’ neurons reside in its arms, as opposed to its brain. As a result, one arm can be sent out on a task of opening a shell fish, while the octopus, and the other seven arms, are busy doing something else. The arms even react to stimuli after they’ve been completely severed. In one experiment, severed arms jerked away in pain when researchers pinched them.”
When an octopus comes upon a clam shell, it immediately attempts to rip it open with its many incredibly strong arms acting in unison. If the octopus is not strong enough to rip it open, it drills a hole in the top of the clam with its tongue and injects a neurotoxin to stun the clam into opening up. The word tongue, is used here for the purpose of human understanding, for experts claim that even though it sits in the mouth of the octopus, it is inaccurately called a tongue. The radula has numerous, minute, horny teeth (pictured here) that the octopus grinds on food for the purpose of breaking it up.
The octopus has three hearts. Two of the hearts work exclusively to move blood beyond the animal’s gills, while the third keeps circulation flowing for the organs. The organ heart actually stops beating when the octopus swims, explaining the species’ penchant for crawling rather than swimming, which exhausts them. It also has excellent vision in that it can see long distances, but it is basically deaf.
Jacque Cousteau has an interesting story involving a friend named Gilpatric. Gilpatric decided that he wanted to keep an octopus as a pet. Knowing the intelligence and strength of the octopus, Gilpatric presumably decided that it didn’t matter how smart the mollusk was if he put a heavy enough lid on top. A short time later, he discovered the aquarium was empty. After searching through his house, he finally found the octopus going through his library book by book, turning the pages with its arms.
Male octopuses have a sex organ at the end of one arm, the (the sex arm). This gives octopuses a number of options when it comes to the act of reproduction. They can do it in the traditional manner, but due to the fact that the male’s hectocoytlus arm has a funnel–mantle locking apparatus that keeps it lodged in the pallial cavity of the female, the male octopus will most likely lose that arm in the process. As a result of this eventuality, some male octopuses decide to forego what they must sense is going to be a painful, and humiliating, process by simply detaching the sex arm and giving it to the female to do with what she pleases. (If this option were available to humans, some might wonder if it might solve the conflicts that arise between the genders, or if it would only make matters worse. Others claim to know human males that already engage in this process to avoid the pain and humiliation involved in the process.) Another option that octopuses have at their disposal is to build homes so close to the female that all the male has to do is stretch his hectocoytlus arm into the female’s home and hand her the spermatophores necessary for reproduction.{1} The female then accepts the spermatophores with her right arm. (Researchers do not know why it is exclusively the right arm, but they do not connect it with the reasons that most cultures will only shake with their right hand.)
There is something of a contradiction concerning the male’s life after reproduction. Some sites state that the male octopus wanders off to die after reproduction, and others claim that the male will have many mates before dying. Does the male octopus engage in a flurry of reproduction, with various females, in the space in time in which it senses their fertility, or does the male’s death fluctuate within the species? If anyone knows the answer to these questions, feel free to reply to this post with that information.
The females can lay up to 400,000 eggs, which they have been known to hang from the ceiling of their homes in a manner that resembles translucent, beaded curtains. The mother then obsessively guards her eggs to a point that she actually stops eating. This does not lead to a death by starvation, however, as it has been determined that her body begins to undertake a cellular suicide that begins in its optic glands and ripples throughout her tissues and organs until she is dead. One could guess that this might be the direct result of not eating, but researchers insist that this is not the case.
Regardless when an octopus succumbs to death, or how, it appears that even if an octopus manages to avoid reproducing throughout the course of their lives, the maximum life expectancy of a wild octopus is around five years.

To the untrained eye, this invertebrate appears to be little more than a large lump of flesh, but further inspection reveals that they are an incredibly complex species that survives and thrives with a utility belt of tools at its disposal to defend and attack. And fossil records indicate that this complex mollusk may date back to the Carboniferous period, some 296 million years ago, and that these findings indicate that the being hasn’t changed much at all during this time period.

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Further Reading on this subject: Octopus Nuggets II

{1} Horowitz, Kate.10 Hidden Talents of the Octopus. Mental Floss. May 2015.Pgs., 36-37.Print.

Rilalities V: Challenges and Insecurities

April 25, 2014December 11, 2020 RilalyLeave a comment

The 6’5” Guy

“I’m six foot five,” a man named Joe said when I met him. He did not work this into his greeting, and he did not say it in the early minutes of our introduction but it hung over his sizable head until he acknowledged it.

Those fortunate enough to meet Joe will discover the reason we learn about his height soon after learning his first name. The natural inclination of most is to drop their last name soon after saying their first name. Some drop their last name soon after mentioning their first name as a matter of habit, and some do it because they’re so proud of their family and heritage. Others might mention their occupation soon after mentioning their first name. I didn’t learn any of that from Joe in the brief moments Joe and I spoke. I learned that Joe was 6’5”. Joe was more 6’5” than he was Joe, and those fortunate enough to have a conversation with him that extends beyond superficial pleasantries will learn how 6’5” he is. If the conversation we share with Joe evolves into a minutes-long discussion, and the listener doesn’t acknowledge his height in anyway, he’ll break the news to them:

“I’m six foot five!”

Although Joe and I spoke for a total of about three minutes, I had the impression that the man could’ve written a bestseller, won the Heisman Trophy, saved children from a fire, or discovered the cure for cancer, and his height would still be his greatest and worst attribute. No matter what happens to him in life, I think Joe will prefer to have “Here lies Joe. He was 6’5” chiseled into his gravestone.

Joe was an interesting guy. He appeared to be conversant on a wide range of topics, and he managed to tell some stories from his life in an impressively timely manner, but everything he spoke of kept coming back to that refrain of his life.

His height was the reason he had trouble finding chairs to sit in with comfort, the reason his 5’3” mother was always on him about stuff, and the reason he couldn’t be as particular as he wanted to be about the clothing he wore:

“You can’t be finicky about clothes when you’re 6’5” and built like me.”

Joe, we should also note, was broad-shouldered. This attribute, coupled with the idea that he was 6’5” was the reason he had trouble going door-to-door to talk to people.

“Would you be comfortable discussing politics, if a man my size came-a-knocking on your door?”

His height was also the reason, he informed me, that he had such trouble finding a decent woman. That subject matter may have shocked most people, or at least made them somewhat uncomfortable, as most people would deem such a discussion inordinately intimate for a conversation between two people meeting for the first time. I had a best friend in high school who was 6’7” however, so I was well versed in the travails of being an abnormally tall male in America today, and I was used to my friend going into such intimate details with people he just met. Joe and I did try, at various intervals, to move on to other topics, but he was unable to let the fact that he was 6’5” go as easily as I was.

What struck me as odd was that I never mentioned his height, and I don’t think I provided any verbal or physical cues that called attention to it. Was that the point though? I later wondered. Was my refusal to acknowledge his height such an aberration to his experience that until I acknowledged it in some way, he would not be able to move on until one of us did?

Being a tall man has numerous advantages, but it has almost as many disadvantages. As I wrote, I was well versed in the travails of being an abnormally tall man in America. I knew, for example, that a person’s height is the first thing people notice when another is taller than 6’3”, and the thing they talk about after the person leaves. “How would you like it if no matter what you said, ’Man he is a big fella ain’t he?’ is the only thing they have to say about you after you leave?” When you’re 6’5” people pester another about in malls. It’s the reason some guys won’t mess with you and the reason others do. It’s also the reason some women want to date you and others don’t. A 6’5” man could be the most charming person in the world, in other words, and most people will have preconceived notions about them based on their height.

With that in mind, one would think that an abnormally tall male, or a woman with abnormally large breasts, would find it refreshing when they’ve finally encountered someone who seems to be genuinely unconcerned with their attribute(s). One would think that they might find it refreshing when they’ve finally found a person who is willing to talk geopolitics with them without looking down their shirt, or saying, “How’s the weather up there?” One would think that someone who broke those patterns of human interaction would receive a bright smile as a reward, and maybe even something along the lines of, “Thank you. You may not even know why I’m thanking you, but thank you!” Yet, tall men and large-breasted women, just like all humans with exaggerated attributes, become so accustomed to these patterns of interaction that they feel compelled to draw your attention to them just to complete a line of dialogue comfortably.

Most people try to avoid talking about a trait they generally considered a negative, and they will do everything they can to avoid noticing it. When they consider that person’s attribute a positive, most people think you should feel privileged to have it, so they don’t mind drawing attention to it. “You’re tall Joe!” they will say, or “I wish I had those,” and they will add something along the lines of, “You should feel privileged.”

As my conversation with Joe continued, and he began to belabor the point of his height, I thought he was trying to assert some sort of dominance. I may have been wrong on that note, and it might have had more to do with everything I thought later, but I began to rebel against his theme by making a concerted effort to avoid the topic of his height. Our conversation ended soon thereafter, and we moved onto other people at the gathering.

“What did you say to Joe?” our mutual friend later asked. She thought Joe and I would have so much in common that we would hit it off.

“Why?” I asked.

“He says he doesn’t think you two hit it off.” When I asked her for more details, our mutual friend said, “He said he can’t put a finger on it, but he doesn’t like you as much as I thought he would.”

Without going into what I deem to be the unnecessary details of our otherwise innocuous conversation, I can tell you that the conversation I had with Joe involved no disagreements. To my mind, there were not even moments of subtle tension, and there certainly were no overt ones, but he didn’t like me. Now, I’m not one of those people who thinks every person has to like me, and if they don’t I think there has to be something wrong with them, but to my mind this conversation I had with Joe proved to be amicable if not pleasant. Joe and I also proved to be as like-minded on certain topics as our mutual friend thought we would be. The only thing I did, and that which I presume led Joe to state that I didn’t live up to the characteristics our mutual friend detailed for him, was refuse to acknowledge he was 6’5” in anyway, and I think he thought that if I was’t going to do that, I was probably a phony.

Going Clear—

Anytime I finish a book as fantastic as Lawrence Wright’s Going Clear, I wonder what I am going to do with my free time? The book gives credence to Phillip Roth’s line about non-fiction being stranger than fiction. A complaint that an Amazon.com reviewer posed was: “If everything Wright writes is factual, why would anyone want to join the Scientology religion?” This reviewer stated that this was the only point, and a central point, that they found lacking in the book. If I were this Amazon.com reviewer’s teacher, and I lived by the credo, there’s no such thing as a stupid question, I would simply require that student reread the book.

Kiss in Rolling Stone—

Anyone that thinks that being “king of the hill, top of the heap, and ‘A’ number one” means that you will be able control your press, should read the March 28, 2014, issue of Rolling Stone magazine. Kiss may no longer be the band that sells platinum records every year, and they may be more about marketing than music at this point in their career, but this Rolling Stone article was supposed to be about their soon-to-occur induction into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. To read this piece in the Rolling Stone, however, that fact means little-to-nothing.

This piece of rock journalism was so shockingly brutal that one has to imagine that Gene Simmons is still throwing some of his much detailed Kiss memorabilia at the wall when he thinks about it. All four members of the band Kiss came under attack from the author of the piece, but the author reserved most of his unprofessional brutality for Gene. This writer’s attacks were so petty and snarky that a regular reader of Rolling Stone would suspect that Gene was a Republican candidate running for office. Yet, Gene’s not even a Republican voter, as he has made it public that he voted for both Barack Obama and Bill Clinton twice.

This article would also be an excellent read for journalism students seeking answers on what not to do with subjects they’re covering in an article. Having never taken a journalism course, I would have to imagine that one of the primary rules discussed in a Journalism 101 class is: “The articles that you write are not about you. No one will be reading your article to learn what you think, unless you’re writing an opinion piece. If you’re covering a subject in a journalistic manner, however, remember that your readers are only reading your article to learn more about the subject. It’s not about you. Your readers won’t care about your opinion, your preferences, or what you think about the subject you’re covering, so be careful how you frame their answers. If your subject says something stupid, infantile, or in any way revealing of their character, put that statement on the record, but do not comment, or frame, that quote in anyway. That’s not your job.” Judging by the course journalism has followed in the last generation, I’m quite sure that most journalism schools now include an asterisk with each of these rules that states: “Unless your subject is a Republican politician.” As I wrote, however, Gene Simmons is not a Republican voter.

Inspiration—

“This guy sounds like a complete fraud,” a writer said of a fellow writer I was describing. I wasn’t even done with my description of this fellow writer, when this writer interrupted me with her blunt characterization. I wasn’t shocked by her assessment of this fellow writer. She had said as much of other, more established writers, but it was apparent to me that this woman believed that by diminishing all other writers around her, her stature as a writer would somehow be fortified. Had this been the first time I heard any writer say such a thing, I would’ve passed her comments off as flaws in her character, but I’ve heard a number of novices, and well-established writers, engage in the this practice. If you’ve ever heard a U.F.O. chaser, a ghost hunter, or some fortune teller attempt to establish their bona fides by telling you that every other person engaged in their craft are fraudulent, then you have some idea what I’m detailing here.

Knowing how hard it is to come up with ideas, and execute those ideas to the point of proper completion, one would think that a writer would bend over backwards to extend professional courtesies to anyone trying to do the same. If you think that, you’ve never sat down with a group of writers.

“You can say he’s a poor writer,” I said, “But are you saying he’s not a writer?”

“I’m saying he’s probably a hack,” she responded. She didn’t arc her nose upward after saying that, but that’s how I now remember it. It seemed like such a violation of the code, on so many levels, that it was hard to comprehend how she could be so brutal.

She cut me off before I could ask her what she meant by “hack”. I know the general term applies to writers that write just to write, and churn out poor quality submissions for financial gain, but she had never read this person’s material. She had never even met the man. Yet, he was a hack in a manner that made her appear adept at using the word.

One essential component to avoid being called a hack, apparently, is to write so little that everything you write can be perceived as enlightened, or divine in nature. If you want to avoid being a hack, you should never write what others might consider mundane. Yet, those of us that truly love the minutiae involved in writing, believe that it’s only through exploring the mundane that moments of inspiration can be discovered.

One key component to being in a position to level such a charge, and have that charge stick –I now know after reading her material— is to never allow those that hear you level it, read your material. Your charge should remain an indefinable accusation that leaves you with the dignified, nose-in-the-air air about you.

Her material brought to mind the one key component of storytelling that every writer should focus on —be they a writer of vital, substantial material, or a hack— make sure it’s interesting. Translation: You can be the most gifted writer the world has ever read, but if your material is not interesting, no one will care.

In the face of the constructive comments (see negative) this woman received from our group, she said, “Perhaps, I’m a better editor, than I am a writer.” Translation: I have little in the way of creative talent, but I am, indeed, gifted in the art of telling others how little they have.

It’s Funny. Very Funny!

April 11, 2014June 26, 2024 Rilaly3 Comments

You should read this blog. It’s funny! Very Funny!

One would suspect that such obnoxiously, over-the-top self-promotion wouldn’t work, but some productions are successfully marketing themselves with such ad campaigns today, and they have been doing it for some time.

If I were to put word out that we were going to pay a ridiculously high amount for promotion, and of the hundreds of ad agencies that began vying for this pay out, one suggested that we build a marketing plan around the idea that “It’s funny!” that campaign probably would not finish in my top 100.

“It’s funny!” just wouldn’t seem, to me, to be a campaign built for the long haul. This simplistic approach might generate some traffic in the short term, but I would think that a true, funny designation would have to be earned over time through meretricious production, and that the obnoxiously over-the-top suggestion that it was funny, would only take me so far. “We’re not even making a suggestion,” I would complain. “We’re making a statement. Isn’t there going to be some backlash to that?”

“Look, your blog is already funny,” would be the sales pitch that ad man would surely employ. “We just have to get the word out.” Or, he might pitch it under the power of suggestion umbrella.

“That’s great,” I would reply, “But aren’t there going to be some unintended consequences involved in skipping the steps in the long haul word of mouth process?”

“Haven’t you already been trying that?” I can hear him asking. “Where’s that gotten you?”

He would be right, of course, but there’s something about determining what is funny that seems intimate to me. You determine what is funny according to what fits your “my sense of humor” designation. This “It’s funny” ad campaign appears to be saying: “Look, we’ve already determined that it’s funny for you, so you don’t have to go through all that. All you have to do is watch (or read) and laugh. You don’t have to think about it. You can just sit back, relax, and enjoy. You don’t even have to tell your friends about it. We’ll take care of that too. So just sit back and enjoy it! Not only is it funny,” they say. It’s very funny!” Isn’t there a cardinal violation of the principles of that intimate decision process that every production under goes as we determine what’s funny and what’s not? Do we appreciate the idea that someone is taking away all the work we put into that determination, so we can just relax now and laugh?

Pull quotes, such as these, are effective. As are critical praise and peer review, but I would think that if a prospective audience member were to find out that I was the one making the claim, about my blog, that there would be an immediate rebellious backlash. I would expect to see my fellow cynical minds loading up the comments section of my blog with “You might think this is funny, but it doesn’t appeal to my sophisticated sense of humor”. Or, “You may think this is funny, but it’s not funny to me.” Even if I wrote what was unquestionably the funniest blog ever written, I could see some rebels wanting to stand out from the crowd by saying, “It’s just not for me. I can see this appealing to the common man, but I’ve read Kafka and Voltaire, and I’ve seen George Carlin at Carnegie Hall, so I know funny, but my expectations may be higher than most. I prefer cerebral, subtle humor that this author apparently knows nothing about.” One could say that such responses would happen regardless, but I imagine that an obnoxiously over-the-top ad campaign, like “It’s funny” would only provoke more of this type of rebellion.

Saying, “It’s funny” or “Very funny!” also tells me that the product in question may be funny in a universal way, in a way my parents thought Milton Berle was funny, and Bob Hope, or Andy Griffith. These guys may have been funny to them, and they may have even been very funny in that universal manner, but they don’t appeal to me, or my sense of humor. I have always preferred the risque humor that comedians like George Carlin and Sam Kinison employed. There was something bitter and angry about their humor that appealed to me. They confused and angered my parents, and I idolized them for it. And when Andy Kaufman did the things Andy Kaufman did, few people around me got it. They thought he was weird. I got it, and there was something about getting it that gave it an intangible quality that may have been diminished had Kaufman prefaced one of his bits with, “Watch this next skit, it’s funny.”

I enjoy the universal slapstick, body function humor as much as anyone else, but to get me enjoying your product over the long haul, you have to be different, and over-the-top in a manner that leads me to believe that no one has ever tried that joke quite that way before. If my parents think it’s funny, or that guy at the deli who repeats Andy Griffith jokes thinks it’s funny, I may find it humorous, but it would never achieve that long-term, “wait with bated-breath for the next episode” level of hilarity for me.

The ad campaign reminds me of the obnoxious retort, obnoxious people like Tony Kornheiser, make to comedic sentiments: “That’s funny, and I know funny!” I’ve always wanted to ask these people, if you know funny, why haven’t you ever been funny? You may know what you consider funny, but I haven’t heard you ever say anything that I consider funny.

I don’t know which team started this promo. Whether it was the promo Ricky Gervais ran for his show Idiot Abroad: “You should watch this show. It’s funny.” Or, if it was the TBS switching from the “Superstation” tagline, to the “Very Funny” one. I would think that telling the audience what to think about their product would be a major no no in marketing, but if it didn’t work, they wouldn’t keep these campaigns going, and it shows that I know little-to-nothing about marketing.

In the case of the show Idiot Abroad, one could argue that Ricky Gervais probably needed to clarify that the show was a comedy, as opposed to the serious travelogue one might perceive after reading a brief description of the show. I still find it condescending. I find it condescending in the same manner I find laugh tracks condescending. I know where to laugh, my cynical, rebellious mind responds to laugh tracks. I don’t need to be told where to laugh. and I don’t need to be told what’s funny … because you know funny.

It could also be argued that when a star like Ricky Gervais tells us that something is funny, we apparently listen to him because he is a star. We know that when a star tells us how to vote, we listen. We know that when stars tell us how to live, how to eat, and how to dress, we listen, because we’ve wanted to have people see us agreeing with cool kids since the fifth grade. When these same cool kids happen to be hawking their own products, however, we shouldn’t allow them to have any authority over whether it’s cool, good, or funny. They should, at the very least, be required to hire another star to make such a comment, just to avoid appearing obnoxious. There’s a part of me, a part that always hated the cool kid aesthetic –because I’ve never been a cool kid– that says that not only should this not work, for the cool kids that do it, but that they should be shamed for even trying it.

As I said, I don’t know who tried it first, but I saw the Gervais ad first, and my first reaction was that this must be common in England, the place that treats royalty like superhumans. My next reaction was that this type of shameless self-promotion would never work here, until I heard the American broadcasting company, TBS, do it too, saying that they were “Very funny!” I refused to watch TBS, and Idiot Abroad, for these reasons, until a friend of mine told me that Idiot Abroad was, indeed, funny, and I determined that it was, but it wasn’t the marketing that convinced me of it.