Laugh Track? What Laugh Track?

(September 09, 2002)

I tend to just bust out laughing for what seems to be no apparent reason. If the legendary men in white coats show up, I hope they believe me when I explain that, when this happens, it isn't drug-induced hallucination. What's happening is, I'm cracking up over something that happened hours or days or even weeks ago. A propos of nothing, I'll just remember something hilarious and react to it. Regardless of what is going on at the moment. Usually I'm driving or showering or walking down the hall at work, so it's no big deal. But sometimes this retroactive knee-slapping happens at the most inopportune times.

Examples? Certainly my little chick-a-dee.

There's this. A few days ago (Wednesday, I think?) I accompanied Hub to Connecticut to have dinner at the restaurant where one of his brothers is a chef. While Hub's dad was in the middle of some long story about his boat (that's what people in Connecticut do, sit in expensive restaurants and discuss their boats), I suddenly remembered Joe's story about waking up suddenly from a power nap and, in that muddled stupor, thinking he was late for All The Queen's Men rehearsal. There followed a Cirque de So Gay that involved two or three hazy voicemails to his girlfriend and the band members, and a rush out the door, only to find that he was in fact, not late, but had like an hour to go. Post-goofball investigation found that the power had gone off and the clocks in his apartment were all wrong. The story was mildly funny, but it was Kowalski's summary line that got me: "It was like Revenge of the Polack." HA HA! Hub's dad just thought I found hilarious the science of arriving at how-many-meters-the-boat-is.

And there's this. I went to the corner store to get milk and orange juice, and laughed at Laura, even though she was nowhere around and this thing happened two days ago. Okay, so Friday night, right? My plan was to take a cab to the Linwood to see Mike Barry, David Johnston, and Shaun Wolf Wortis. I wanted to cab it because there was a Red Sox game that night, and I hate driving to the Fenway area when there's a game on. Laura, I find out, has cab issues. She insisted on driving, so she swung by to get me and Hub. The show was great, though nobody came, and we drank. So it's the end of the night, and Hub, the most sober one, drove us home. The thing to know is, we practically have to pass right by our house on the way back into Somerville. And remember, we're in Laura's car. The way it has to shake out logistically is: Hub and I have to end up at our house, and Laura and her car need to be at HER house. So one option was that Hub drives to OUR house, he and I get out of her car, and Laura drives herself home, in her car. As we neared our place, Hub suggested another option. "Lexi, why don't I drop you off home, drive Laura to her house and I'll walk back?" It's only like five minutes. "I'll walk with you," I said. So he kept driving, up the hill to Laura's. As we neared Laura's building, she piped up from the back seat, in a voice that sounded like she just had the BEST idea ever, "OH, but I could drive YOU guys home!" Um...okay, even through the fuzz of three shots of Cuervo, that made no sense. We'd just driven PAST my house, to hers...so we could switch up for her to drive us back down the hill? I muttered "Um, I don't think that...makes..." and then she and I got onto a laughing jag that lasted two minutes. Well...apparently the laughing jag wasn't over on my part, since I started up in the corner store two days later. The clerk just assumed that I found hilarious the dairy products in his cooler.

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I've got Kay Hanley's new record to review. What does one say about a Kay Hanley record. It's a Kay Hanley record.

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