As It Turns Out, I Am Very Funny Here

I imagine I had you worried after my first post. "Max is no longer funny? What? Is George Clooney no longer a gentleman?" Surely your fears have subsided these last few months as you've read my various posts: The Winking Frown, A Study of the Noob, and of course, The Strong O. But in the event you still are concerned, let me clarify things for you:

I am still very funny.

I had my doubts that my particular brand of humor (or humour, if you prefer) would receive proper response here in Italy, due to certain language and cultural differences. But as it turns out, I did just fine. And don't think it was because I was learning Italian either, because that never really transpired. No, as it so happens people really aren't that different no matter where you go (speaking only, of course, about the handful of places I've been where I can confirm that the people are more or less the same). While in Italy Sam and I lived with a family - you knew that, right? - and at first our host mother didn't know what to think of my constant talk of long-forgotten snacks, short sleeve button-ups, and the Illuminati. And here I was thinking that it had something to do with a language barrier. No, she knew exactly what I was saying, but just not why. As time went on though, she figured out why: Those things are awesome, and, frankly, hilarious.

And that's the way it goes with people and humor. A good, witty, sophisticated sense of humor is not only available in the US. On the contrary, people all across the globe (the globe of Western Europe, that is), from a hospital in Barcelona, to a home in Florence, appreciate the story of how I became addicted to Good & Plenty in high school and ended up with nineteen cavities. That is to say, they appreciate good humor.

Yes, it has been quite a four months. I saw a couple sights, got a haircut, caught a viral infection, saw a dead body - I even ate horse once. Did I tell you about this? The thing is, I really hate horses. Or rather, I thought I did. Now I'm not so sure. You know, I might have even matured a bit while over here.

Incase it wasn't clear, this is my wrap-up post for living in Italy. I'm not one for writing about anything too serious; no, that I'll leave to Sam. Allow me simply to finish by saying: this semester, well, it has been pretty, pretty, pretty good.

Apparently, I'm Not Very Funny Here

Here's the thing about humor: it doesn't translate well. Now, I don't know about your run of the mill jokes, your Knock-Knock's or your Yo Momma's, on account of I don't often make those. No, this is more in reference to jokes where you keep a straight face and people often question whether or not you're kidding. In short, sarcasm. It's hard to say whether or not Italian culture has a form of dry humor, it must, but regardless, mine is not appreciated. In these first three days of living in Florence I've found that people, for whatever reason (that reason, of course being that we are speaking different languages), take what I say at face value. They are very quick to accept statements such as "Don't worry, my pants don't even have any pockets to pick" as true. More often many of my words are lost in translation at which point the potential for pleasant banter quickly dies. And strangest of all, people here don't instantly die of laughter when you say something is pretty, pretty, pretty good. Perhaps Italians have there own sense of dry humor, but, well, I don't get it.