WIT STOP

Any Self-respecting Funnyman Believes a Title Like Humorist Deserves High Regard

Arizona is a great state for fantasizing. It's cowboy country, and just about every youngster in the nation wants to grow up to be a cowboy or a cowgirl. Many children probably dream of finding buried treasure or uncovering one of the state's many lost gold mines. Other tykes undoubtedly long to play ball for the Diamondbacks, the Suns or the Cardinals. Very few kids daydream about one day becoming a humorist.

That's a tough fantasy to act out. You can always find kids to play baseball, basketball, football, cowboys and Indians, or even pretend to hunt for hidden treasures. But it's hard to scare up a bunch of playmates to play humorists. What do they do? What kind of clothes should they wear? What sort of toy props should they make?

Thanks to my columns in Arizona Highways, though, I have lived that fantasy of growing up one day to be a humorist. I've earned the right to call myself a "Humorist," and I do.

At a party recently, a new acquaintance asked, "What do you do for a living?"

I said proudly, "I'm a Humorist."

My friend laughed. That's always a good sign for a Humorist. Then she said, "No, really, what do you do for a living?"

I repeated, "I'm a Humorist."

She said, "Look, if you don't want to tell me what you do, just say so. Don't be a wise guy about it."

I said, "That's what I do. I'm a Humorist."

She said, "Oh, really? And what does a Humorist do?"

I said, "I'm a funny guy."

She said, "Strange would be more like it," and walked off in a huff.

I probably would have been better off telling her I was a cowboy, a prospector or that I played for the Diamondbacks, Suns or Cardinals. At least people know what they do.

"Humorist" is rather a strange nomenclature. We deal in humor so we attach an "ist" to the end of that word. Supposedly, that describes what we do. But using that logic, a doctor might be called a "Healthist." A bank robber could call himself a "Crimeist." Even the cowboy that all the kids wish to be might be called a "Horseist." But only a Humorist is called a "Humorist."

What is a Humorist, anyway? George Burns had a pretty good explanation. He said, "If I get big laughs, I'm a comedian. If I get small laughs, I'm a HumorIt is." So, by that definition, "Humorist" is a pompous way of calling oneself a failed comedian.

Of course, George Burns went even further. He added, "If I get no laughs, I'm a singer."

But I'm proud to have earned the title of "Humorist." I just wish it had a bit more stature attached to it, like the title "Doctor" does. It annoys me sometimes when people lean on that title. "I'd like you to meet Doctor and Mrs. Wilson." If people inadvertently said, "Mister and Mrs. Wilson," they'd be corrected. "That's Doctor and Mrs. Wilson." Other professions don't get that veneration. You'll very rarely be introduced to Plumber and Mrs. Smith, or House Painter and Mrs. Jones. Just once, I'd like to hear over the loud speaker in a crowded, prestigious restaurant, "The table is now ready for Humorist and Mrs. Perret."

I'd be thrilled with an announcement like that. I'd walk to the maitre d' and state proudly, "I'm Humor-ist Perret."

My wife would probably be embarrassed by the notoriety, and say to the maitre d', "I'm Mrs. Perret. Can we have separate tables, please?"

That's one reason why I would like the title "Humorist" to have more prestige. I want the family to be proud of my calling in life. Our kids used to come home bruised and in tatters because of my occupation.

"What does your daddy do?" some playmate would ask.

"He's a Humorist," my kids would respond.

"What's a Humorist?" the playmate would ask.

"I don't know," my kids would say.

"Well, what does he do?" the friend would want to know.

"He makes jokes about whatever your father does for a living," they'd say.

"Makes fun of my father, does he?" And that's when the fight would start.

But prestige, like charity, begins at home.

My wife says, "Would you take the trash out, please?"

"Take the trash out?" I say. She says, "Yeah. Tomorrow's trash day and . . ."

I interrupt. "Don't you know I'm a great Humorist?" Notice how I upgraded my title from "Humorist" to "great Humorist."

She says, "And you've built up a great amount of trash that has to be put out."

I reply, "Tom Cruise is a great actor, Julio Iglesias is a great singer, Baryshnikov is a great dancer. Would you ask them . . ."

This time, she interrupts. "If I were married to Tom Cruise, Julio Iglesias or Mikhail Baryshnikov, I'd gladly put out the trash myself."

Apparently my spouse fantasizes about being a Humorist herself.