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Fun, Fun, Fun.

It’s getting to the point where I’m no fun anymore – Crosby, Stills, Nash & Neil

Could there be a greater tragedy? Well, probably. Still, when Dylan Thomas suggested raging against the dying of the light, I think what he was really getting at was raging against the point where one is no fun anymore. After all, who really has a problem with the passing of the unfun? We might make like we do for the sake of grieving spouses, but underneath most of us are handling it all ok. Of course, fun can take on widely different dimensions. There are absolutely those who are tremendous fun by virtue of their being insufferable pains in the ass. I tend to think that at least some of these people are entirely aware of how much fun they are, and are working daily at maintaining it. I particularly appreciate this form of covert fun, because unlike, say, Robin Williams “fun” where one is constantly aware of how much fun the giver believes he is bestowing, the covert fun give away fun selflessly, and actually encourage disdain in exchange for their fun, which is always easier to muster.

Even rarer, and perhaps most valuable, are the unintentionally covert fun. So uncommon is this quality, that I tend to think it might only exist in the minds of those deciding who these people are. And one who is unintentionally covertly fun to me might not even register with you. I put Duane Kuiper, the San Francisco Giants’ announcer, in this category. To me, this guy is a lot of fun because underneath his play-by-play, there seems to be an unspoken level of adequately-controlled depression. He can joke about the one major league home run he hit, because after all, how many of us even get to the major leagues? But his tone and demeanor make these self-deprecating barbs even more poignant, as they suggest genuine darkness and despair. Again, the beauty of all this is I’m fairly certain I’ve made it all up in my own head, and nobody else, including Kuiper, is giving it any consideration.

Everybody funny .. now you funny, too.

George Thorogood was my kind of rock star. He had that Delaware blues thing down well enough to sell albums and open for the Stones in ’81, but placed more importance on playing semi-pro baseball , and often put his promising musical career on hold to play ball. How much more delusional could a grown man get? He was lucky enough to hit the big-time selling albums with titles like “Get a Haircut” and writing songs with lyrics like “I really, really, really, really, really, really like girls,” yet cocky enough to decide that the one-in-a-million dream of being a rock star would have to wait while he pursued being a pro ballplayer. Now that’s fun.

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