Stick in the mud (or, perpetually unamused).

She showed me this video on her phone of a clip she had previously verbally described. Verbally, it was fine and amusing and I chuckled. I only ever chuckle, it seems, when I see viral stuff that is supposed to be funny. I rarely roar. Most stuff is not just roar-worthy.

So she showed me the clip on her phone and I really don’t like looking at stuff on phones.

People do this all the time. They see something they call “funny” on their phone and they feel they must show you. They thrust that damn little smart piece of shit in your face and there you are, squinting to watch their purported hilarity in the miniature. Having to work harder, physically, just to see something that is theoretically funny makes the experience less than funny, and much less than fun. I don’t have a smart phone for many reasons, and one of them is because I just don’t care to see shit on puny screens. That’s why I have computers at home, so I can see this stuff at my own leisure in 23″ or 16″ blocks of space. Texts are another bullshit thing people feel they must share with you on their phones. They sit there, reading texts and laughing, and this private little conversation is not enough for them to contain. They must draw you in and expect that you will be just as amused as they…but you never are. There you go squinting again, trying to work to see the text, and harder yet, to understand how in the world they think this is remotely funny.

Sorry, I don’t get it. I don’t enjoy watching videos except in my own home. She told me she would send me the Youtube link since the phone screen was small and the sun was washing out the video. I said, “Nah, don’t send it here, I don’t want to watch it at work.”

“Oh c’mon, don’t be such a stick in the mud.”

Thing is, I am a stick in the mud. A big ol’ stick. I don’t enjoy the frivolity that others do and rarely am amused by anything people show me on their phones or computers, for that matter.

And it’s not just small-screened smart phones. My office mate sometimes breaks out in shrill laughter. She laughs so hard, it sounds as if she’s about to cough out a lung or a funny bone. So histrionic and overblown…her laughter echoes off the walls and by now I recognize this as an attention-grabbing and conversation-starting ploy, more than anything really funny. “Come here, look at this!” she promises and motions me to watch something on her computer. Sure enough, it’s usually a Youtube video that I watch, mouth agape, and never find so funny that I need to laugh loud enough for the building to hear.

I am difficult to amuse. Most amusement comes from within my head, not from others.