The Best Medicine

I've had some thoughts swirling in my head about laughter. My wife can make me laugh like few other people can, especially because we have in-jokes that NOBODY else could possibly understand. Just watch when we're home for Christmas, she'll make a seemingly obtuse reference and I'll drop to the floor giggling.

The like it that everyone has different types of laughter. I know for myself I have a hearty Errol Flynn-style laugh at the best of times, though I'm embarassed to say that I can bray like an ass or cackle like a hyena, very unattractive laughs from very unattractive animals. Brianne has several different laughs: one's musical, one's a low bellow, one's girlish, one's a snort.

Here's a list of random characters; can you recollect their signature laughter?

- Bert
- Ernie
- Oscar the Grouch
- Woody Woodpecker
- Steve Urkel
- Janice from Friends

I hate forced laughter, as does my father. There's something hollow and grating about it. I've known people who simper, bark, hack, whistle, wheeze, or hiss when they laugh, and it's a singularly unpleasant experience to hear in each case.

The idea of forced laughter is actually what started this train of thinking for me. Who has the most forced laughter associated with him? Santa Claus, of course. "Ho Ho Ho" is not a declaration, it's not a statement, it's not even a motto, it's supposed to be an easily-recognized representation of the good-natured laughter of a large older gentleman with a deep soothing voice. (I've never seen James Earl Jones play Santa, but I'm sure it would be a mystical experience.) It irks me when I see a Santa belting out three syllables of forced laughter and expecting us to believe in St. Nick, when I know in my mind's ear -- somewhere deep childish heart -- what real Santa laughter is supposed to sound like.

Remember, you can be pretend to be serious but you can't pretend to be funny - just as you can't pretend to laugh.