Life's a Party

I've heard it said before that drunk adults are basically just giant toddlers, and I’d like to think that this image is quite fitting for Amy Sedaris as she plays the part of the always at least mildly intoxicated hostess in I Like You: Hospitality under the Influence.  There is something disarming (i.e. naïve and charming in the way of a toddler) in Sedaris’ complete repudiation of pretension in her party-planning guide/cookbook; the title itself pokes fun at the somewhat awkward nature of entertaining guests in hopes that they will feel ‘liked.'

Sedaris, off the bat, starts her book by trying to negate the conception of parties as “so intimidating, so overwhelming, so terrifying” or “a big extravagant to-do.”  She seems to highlight the absurdity of the ‘party paradox’: an event that by nature is meant to be a societal celebration of happiness, accomplishment, etc. has the uncanny ability to devolve into the main source of anxiety and stress for the host or hostess.  As a person who was involved in one older sister’s wedding already and is now in the early stages of planning the other sister’s, I can fully attest to the truthfulness of this sentiment.

I think Sedaris is making a smart and effective social commentary in this regard, as she humorously throws the unattainable standards and expectations of throwing a party into sharp relief for her readers.  The style and form of the book itself as imitating a proper guidebook (despite its eccentric content) accentuates this commentary. I definitely see similarities between Amy Sedaris’ style and her brother’s; both are expert at making their audience feel at ease through self-deprecating humor.  This type of humor offers a collective feeling of relief or release for all parties involved and is the direction that I find most modern humor to lean towards.  As Sedaris herself says, “When a major setback occurs, don’t snap your bean. Make a joke out of the situation, turn it around.”  Sedaris manipulates this situation of omniscient hostess bestowing her invaluable guidance in order to get her whole philosophy on life across to her readers.  As with a snag in the flow of a party, you must take setbacks in life in stride.

Civilized Rituals

            Hospitality guides have enjoyed a large degree of popularity in their heyday. These pamphlets helped a host or hostess decide on table settings, menu items and methods for a general festive atmosphere, usually including a section about Smart Budgeting for the Savvy Entertainer, or some such thing. One could even buy a monthly subscription, in case the monthly party-planning required an onslaught of updated ideas. They seem to have been largely replaced by Pintrest and other online resources, but it is easy to imagine the audience who would enjoy it. Because the hospitality guide has seen such popularity, we have expectations of what they will be like and what kinds of advice they will contain.

            Amy Sedaris, in her own satirical hospitality guide, I Like You: Hospitality Under the Influence, plays with conventions in funny and interesting ways. Sedaris, who at one time actually had a small baking company specializing in cupcakes and cheese balls, lists off recipes, decorating suggestions and party games, all of which are in line with normal convention. She tells a smart hostess how to stay on a budget, and offers such economical ideas as a tip jar for all your trouble. She also includes multiple letters of introduction, personal anecdotes of all kinds, party-related and otherwise, and a short treatise on why rabbits are the best pets. Sedaris’ narrator persona puts a personal spin on her book, and draws the reader in in a way that other hospitality authors can only dream of. I’ve rarely enjoyed a list of party ideas so much, and I will certainly be making Mr. Nosey tissue paper ghosts at my next event. Her self-consciously ridiculous approach is unconventional and highly entertaining.

            The combination of bright, happy pictures and short, ridiculous anecdotes in this book lends it a kind of humor we haven’t discussed before. It included a juxtaposition of visual humor, as demonstrated in the pictures of Amy rolling in sprinkles or of the suggested “felt peas” party craft, with the tales it includes, like her theatrics of poverty for her rich uncle. This made the book difficult to read all in order, and I found myself skipping around and opening to a random page whenever I picked it up. This made it easy to find new things funny in every session, and allowed her to include all kinds of humorous things, which would have been much more difficult in a longer form. Her choice of media allowed her to include an idea for a felt butter project, and did not require her to explain it at all. I think this was very successful as pure entertainment, and because it is not all that far from the truth, it certainly highlighted the ridiculous rituals we humans go through in order to call ourselves “civilized.”

A New Kind of Humor...Visual!

            Amy Sedaris uses humor in a way we haven’t witnessed yet in other books: visually. Her pictures throughout the book, her various drawings, and the way the book is laid out as a whole, makes her content humorous.  

            For example, in the very beginning she illustrates five different party invitations and critiques them all in order to express to the reader the proper way to send invitations and invite people to parties. The layout of the menus and recipes is very visual as well: her dishes being named according to what type of party it is make things humorous such as “Pork Medallions” and “Carrot Coins” for rich uncles that undoubtedly have many medallions and coins for themselves.

            I’m not exactly sure how visual humor functions—or if it’s a real thing, I could’ve just made it up. Some people may find visual things more humorous than others may. When I say visual humor I’m not talking about watching humor—such as watching a funny movie or TV show, like the clips we’ve been bringing to class—but rather the idea that humor can be found in pictures and in specific layout choices that give visual appeal to a book. I think that this possibly-made-up-not-actually-a-humor-theory is the best way to describe Sedaris’s book and she achieves this goal of visual humor very subtly: making her book as a piece of humor that much more successful.

            Some of her things are meant to blatantly be funny such as pictures of her with plant labelers—the only visible one being weed, and also her salt and pepper shakers that are labeled cocaine and heroin. But there are other pictures that are in the book that are just point-blank part of the recipe book but are put together and placed in such a way that causes the reader to experience humor: such as the various things with googly eyes—crafts that are listed throughout the book but that are funny to look at in reference to old people needing glasses (not to mention the choice for larger text for the old people section) or the picture sequence of making an angel food cake that eventually (after 20+ steps) looks like a total disaster. It is in these little visual moments that humor is formed and Sedaris sneakily achieves her goal to make us laugh.  

A "Recipe" for Success

Mark Twain tells us that when we want to tell a story, we need to focus on the manner in which we tell it, at least in American humor. We need to be sincere in our telling of even the most comedic anecdote. Amy Sedaris brilliantly chooses her content so that when following Twain’s rules for storytelling, her “sincere” manner will seem all the more humorous to her audiences.

At the beginning of the book, she writes a little letter to her readers. She does use a sort of trope in this opening letter, when she tells us how serious she is and how truthful she is. In the second paragraph, Sedaris says that the book is her attempt “to share with you something I take very seriously: entertaining in my home, my style” (Sedaris) She begins the final paragraph of the letter, “This is not a joke cookbook. I don’t like joke cookbooks because I can’t take them seriously. This book is full of real information” (Sedaris). She says this, but then at one point in the book, she tells us how to make felt peas! We should also note here, the recurrence of the “it’s all true” tactic. This joke, for me, was one of the weaker techniques used in the book, partially, I’m sure, because I have heard it in an abundance of other writing and storytelling (including her brother David’s work).

Throughout the book, she makes fun of herself, and people who attend and host parties, but due to the nature of the content, we are not in a position to be truly offended, and she can freely tease and prod. Note that the section on entertaining the elderly is in large print. This is a hilarious marriage of form and content, as she reminds us of all of the restrictions the elderly have, restrictions which we may one day have. However, I found the large print particularly funny, because now the elderly can read all of the mocking, insulting things that she says about them!

Another successful tactic Sedaris uses is that of truth. Oftentimes, the truth—or at least, a story rooted in truth—is far more humorous than any fictionalized account. Sedaris is not afraid of pointing out the feeling that a lot of hosts felt was taboo, or were too embarrassed to talk about: dreading parties. We’re supposed to be social beings, right? But Amy Sedaris does not allow us to deny that anxiety many of us feel when hosting. “For most people the word ‘party’ conjures up an image that is so intimidating, so overwhelming, so terrifying that they just want to skip the whole thing—it’s too much pressure” (17). While Amy dramatizes this feeling, she is not wrong for most people.

In fact, I googled variations on the theme of “fear of hosting party,” and “frequency of anxiety over hosting party.” Google showed me an abundance of articles with such titles as: “Overcoming Your Fear of Houseguests: A Beginner’s Guide to Stress-Free Hosting,” “Dinner Party Barriers and Why We Don’t Do It,” and “Overcoming Party-Hosting Anxiety: Experience Life.” These titles too, sound so dramatic. We laugh most likely because of the incongruity theory combined with the relief theory. We are terribly nervous about this specific kind of social interaction, and Sedaris gives us a specific outlet for this release. The incongruity comes into play because it is so absurd that we fear this simple social thing. Sedaris also makes us laugh via the incongruity theory when she tells us that a good idea for entertaining the elderly is to “toss a balloon back and forth,” or shows us how to make felt peas, but does not explain why they are useful (Sedaris 149).

Her humor works because she picked a relatable, but still typically light topic. This way, her seriousness in writing tone (especially juxtaposed with the pictures) makes us laugh, and she is able to make jokes and jabs at herself and people in general without offending anyone. While she does not bring up a huge social issue, she may cause us to think about why we fear something so absurdly rooted in our nature as a social gathering, and how we may fear these less or help each other to feel more comfortable.

Code-Switching

Tyler Perry is often accused of “selling out.” What does it mean to “sell out” in modern America, and how do language, race, and class intersect in the answer to this question? I don't have any answers, but a number of observations, based primarily on Perry's own code-switching and the racial comedy of Key and Peele.

“Back around the 1970s,” Perry writes in the Foreword to Don't Make a Black Woman Take Off Her Earrings, “the Madeas in our neighborhoods began to disappear and they have left an unmistakable void” (vii). Perry, while talking about Madea in the third person, also suggests that she is an extension of Perry's own thoughts, thoughts that in the 21st century, a man is no longer supposed to say. “Sometimes I'll have something I really want to say and then I'll just hear it coming out of Madea's mouth, in her own words” (ix). Ultimately, Perry believes that Madea is a moralizing figure, as he makes clear in his Epilogue that Madea's humor is meant to lead us to become even better human beings (254). Tyler Perry's use of Madea as a moral figure enables him to completely enter into the character (by cross-dressing) without offending. When Madea says politically incorrect statements, it's clear that Perry isn't mocking the “Madeas” of his youth who spoke like this, but attempting to emulate them. In this regard, Perry's moralizing humor is not too different than many of the other forms of satire and social commentary that we have read in this seminar.

In playing the character of Madea, Perry blurs the lines between fact and fiction, yet always leaving his audience in on the joke. Not only in this book but on-screen, Perry seamlessly transitions between himself and the character of Madea. I think that Perry is doing more than simply “acting,” however. He's code-switching. As this interview between Perry, Oprah, and Madea shows, Perry code-switches between the persona (and speech patterns) of an educated black male in 21st-century America and an old-fashioned “Madea” from his youth.

Madea's spoken language, clear from the interview above with Oprah, is not precisely American Standard English. However, despite this book's simpler language, “Madea” is grammatically correct when she writes. (In Perry's audio recording of this book, a sample of which can be heard on Amazon, the voice of Madea often modifies the proper grammar of the writing and adds more slang.) As she makes clear, Madea approves of “acting white” as long as it is defined as “speaking the king's English, getting a good job, and being able to afford what you want and have the American dream” (92). This seems to be Perry's philosophy, too. In his own life, Perry speaks “the king's English” (like Oprah), as do many of the characters in his films. Perry has been accused by many in the black community of “selling out” by profiting from the promotion black stereotypes, but others in the black community undoubtedly would accuse Perry of selling out by “acting white,” by speaking American Standard English and making more money than anyone in Hollywood.

The intersection of race, code-switching, and humor has been explored in recent years by comedians Key and Peele, who capitalize on their life experience as bi-racial men to write humor that questions stereotypes but is willing to laugh at seemingly insensitive topics. In an increasingly diverse country, the nuances of code-switching will become increasingly more complicated. NPR has even created a blog named “Code Switch” that explores the “frontiers of race, culture, and ethnicity.” In one sense, code-switching is essentially about knowing one's audience. Does one use a formal or informal pattern of speech at work, at school, on the street, or with relatives? Code-switching also raises questions about preserving cultural heritage, a topic which we've explored in this seminar through readings on indigenous peoples. If Perry is attempting to preserve black heritage through the character of Madea, one has to wonder why Perry speaks in standard English in other areas of his life. At the same time, Perry's audience is apparently the working-class black church community; and with this audience in mind, Perry tries to balance the values of education and wealth with the value of growing up in a primarily black community. I can't speak as a member of the black community in the United States in 2014 (nor can any individual black man or woman), but it seems to me that Perry's humor epitomizes some of the conflicts faced by a black man or woman today. Should every young black person aspire to be Barack Obama, or is the President a sell-out to white culture, to white values, and to “the man?” In this sketch, which pokes fun at Obama's code-switching, Key and Peele raise this question, mining the situation for its humor but not providing an answer. I think that their overall message suggests President Obama is acting white, but is most comfortable being black, that is, using the speech patterns and dialect of his black supporters. A more cynical take on the sketch is that the President does whatever it takes to get votes, the same way Perry does anything to make more money.

Interestingly, I think that code-switching raises questions of superiority and justice. As a white man who grew up in a white suburb, I never had to learn how to code-switch, and when I enter places or groups whose primary dialect is different than my own, I expect them to code-switch so that I can understand them. When I've spent time at a local prison just outside of Baltimore, I know that the prisoners code-switch so that we “outsiders” can understand them. Two weeks ago I served as an example in the brief lesson on education given by an older prisoner to two young men (younger than me). “Brother Curtis,” as they call him, told the two younger men that they should imitate my educational aspirations and the way that I carry myself. His advice was nearly indistinguishable from Madea's (and probably Perry's too). And, if these young men want to be released on parole, complete their high school degrees (and hopefully move on to college), and find a good job when they are released, I'll admit that they will best succeed by following Curtis' advice. They need to speak more like me. They need to “act white.” It's not because they aren't intelligent when they speak in ebonics. It's not that intelligent thoughts can't be conveyed in other English dialects. It's that the educated and powerful, both yesterday and today, have spoken the “standard” dialect, and so it becomes the dialect that is passed on and continues to be use in the workforce and in the classroom. In order to advance in America, you need to speak and act a certain way.

Perry doesn't write in dialect like Zora Neale Hurston. Madea uses standard grammar. But Perry does have Madea speak in a way that is not exactly “acting white.” Although I can't explain precisely why Madea can be simultaneously hilarious and infuriating, perhaps it comes from Madea's packaging of “white” values in “black” language. Many people in the African-American community don't seem to mind, and even promote, this approach. But others (like Spike Lee) have criticized Perry. In a recent interview with Rolling Stone, Spike Lee offers comments on his 1989 film “Do The Right Thing,” a “high-brow” movie about tensions between Italian-Americans and African-Americas in a black neighborhood in Brooklyn, Bed-Stuy. Lee doesn't mention Perry. But he is asked about changes in Bed-Stuy over the last quarter-century, to which Lee responds that gentrification continues to occur, and it isn't only affecting people of color, but anyone who can't afford to live in their own neighborhood. Over the last twenty-five years, “white” values have shifted from valuing suburbs to valuing cities (this comes after the mid-century period when most wealthy Americans moved away from cities to the suburbs). Questions of race are invariably tied up with questions of wealth and class.

I don't know how to bring all of these observations together. I imagine that centuries from now sociologists and philologists will have an easier time explaining the cultural forces at play in 21st-century America. We currently live in the midst of these debates, but I'm only on the margins of the code-switching controversy. In Don't Make a Black Woman Take Off Her Earrings, “Madea,” in the introduction, tells her audience: “If you are not a black person and you don't understand something, read that part to a friend who's black and ask for an explanation. If you don't have any black friends, make one on the bus. If they see you reading this book with my face on the cover, they will want to stop and talk to you” (xiv). Two observations: firstly, where I'm from, white people don't take the bus. It's “sketchy.” Secondly, I find it interesting that Madea doesn't predict is how my new black friend on the bus will speak to me.

Madea and Masks

            From the outset of his book, Tyler Perry emphasizes that he and Madea are two different people. Madea, herself even makes this clear in her introduction, saying that she “received no help at all from Mr. Tyler Perry in writing this book. He had absolutely nothing to do with it. These are not his opinions” (XIV). Before readers even begin reading the actual text to follow, this idea is drilled into their mind that the opinions and statements to follow come from Madea, not Tyler Perry at all… even if his name is the one on the cover in big blue letters.

            This separation between the two individuals is made even clearer through the way in which they refer to each other. In the introduction, Madea writes about knowing Perry and his family when he was a child. Perry talks about Madea, too, as knowing her dearly, although, as he explains in the foreword, they hold “extremely different” ideas on life (IX). It is evident that Perry is the one writing and that Madea is a character he developed, but with all of this emphasis on the separate opinions and stances of the two, it seems that he may have created Madea as a mask he can where in order to speak the truth without confidence.

            I am not saying that there is anything wrong with this mask, because we all do it. Madea writes later that “Everybody’s got denial going on. Nobody wants to hear the truth, especially when you’re in your own world” (67). This seems to me to be a likely reason why Perry says all the things he does through the mask of Madea. She can get away with her blunt observations and opinions, because of her character, whereas Perry, himself, may not. So by hammering so hard on the idea that he and Madea are separate entities, Tyler Perry creates a sort of insurance on himself and his writing so as not to face all of the wrath of those in denial, not wanting to hear such brutal honesty.

            Humor itself becomes a kind of mask in a lot of instances where criticism is prevalent. By covering up the honesty of our statements with the mask of a joke, we remove ourselves from any possible negative reaction because “it was just a joke” or we “were only kidding.” We create these insurances and safety nets for ourselves constantly and not always consciously, taking the responsibility we might have for our actions or statements, and diffusing it by covering up with an alternate point of view or persona.

            I have seen this happen a lot recently at my service-learning site. In the theatre class I work with, the teacher often has issues with getting the students to come outside of their shells when acting in front of the class and when they feel most uncomfortable, they tend to make jokes about their situation or laugh. As adolescent individuals, these high school students are highly self-conscious and do not want to be responsible for their actions, especially if those actions may be criticized or come off as ridiculous (which often times theatre does).

            The class has been working with masks for the past couple weeks and have really come into their own as they use them. It is easy to tell by watching and talking to them that the mask, which was first foreign and weird, has become a safety net for them to act behind. This way, they don’t need to be recognized as themselves and any sense of self-consciousness is lost. All of the students are quite evidently more comfortable acting in front of their classmates with these masks on. So today when they were cast in small scenes that they’ll be working on for the next month or so, the first comment I heard was “Can I wear a mask?” to which I asked why and the girl responded, “Well that way people don’t have to know it’s me and I can just act.”

            People don’t like to be held responsible for themselves, especially in instances when they may be criticized in one way or another (and even more so if this criticism may come from their peers). In her chapter on hip-hop, Madea asserts, “If you’re a musician, you have a certain amount of power as an artist and you have to be responsible for what you’re putting out there” (97-98). I would say that this can be expanded to any artist or really anyone who creates for a public audience. Tyler Perry seems to be acutely aware of this fact and this could likely be why “Madea” is the one who puts all this information out there and not him. I’m not trying to criticize him for doing this at all, because I, and I’m sure almost anyone, can understand the immense weight that this responsibility can create and any way to diffuse it is more than welcome from an artist’s perspective.

Questionable Jokes

Tyler Perry’s humor in Don’t Make a Black Woman Take Off Her Earrings is bold, to say the least. No topic is off limits once Perry takes on the persona of Madea, covering subjects ranging from adultery to child abuse and depression. Every issue is addressed with the intent to convey what is “honest and true,” with little regard for “political correctness” (8). The result is a caricature of black femininity that places an emphasis on irreverence and violence, delivered by a heterosexual male. This is the first disruption we’ve seen to the David-Goliath joke structure this semester, and it begs the question: Does putting on a dress allow Perry the liberty to throw stones at women?

Perry goes through great lengths to separate himself as speaker from the character of Madea in the mind of the reader. He writes not only a foreword to explain her character, referring to her repeatedly as “my friend,” but proceeds to have Madea introduce herself by saying: “I want to clear up one very important matter … Tyler Perry has nothing to do with Madea. We are two very separated individuals” (14). Once this distance has been established, Perry holds nothing back, freely giving sex and dating advice as if an invisibility cloak now masks the fact that he is a man. He hits readers with “the truth,” such as: “If you want the dog to keep getting the Frisbee, don’t throw it too much … Close your legs” (29). Madea’s flirting advice includes instructions to not wear too much perfume and to make sure one’s skirt is short but not a “ho-skirt” (33, 31).  

While is true that Madea also touts a certain brand of sexual empowerment for women, Perry does more to reinforce harmful gender norms than he does anything positive. Perry has repeatedly stated the comedic genius of Madea, commenting: “I can slap Madea on something and talk about God, love, faith, forgiveness, family, any of those” (60 Minutes). However, it my personal opinion that jokes about sagging breasts on aging women are simply never funny when delivered by a man, even one who has stuffed his chest to fill out a dress. Perry possesses a tremendous amount of wealth and power and his joking on women of low-socioeconomic standing is more cruel than it is humorous.

The archetype of the Angry Black Woman continues to be portrayed in countless television programs and throughout the media. One can think back to a young Chris Rock’s no-nonsense mother on Everybody Hates Chris, or to countless representations of violent African-American women on reality television programs, including but not limited to Real Housewives of Atlanta, Love and Hip-Hop, and Bad Girls Club. This is a trope essentially defined by Perry’s characterization of Madea in Don’t Make a Black Woman Take Off Her Earrings. Perry defines Madea not as a lone, outrageous character but as a representation of a woman “on every corner in every neighborhood” during his youth (7). Thus, while he may describe Madea with affection, the entire book is a selfish effort, serving only to improve Perry’s personal wealth and fame while perpetuating norms harmful to black women and society as a whole.