I Miss Dave Barry

I miss Dave Barry. More specifically, I miss reading Dave Barry’s columns in the paper. It’s been several years since he retired from his syndicated vocation, and no humorist has come close to replacing him. Not with me, anyway. Dave Barry has the brand of wit that I adore: Irony and gross exaggeration. I employ these in my own writing, but never to as great an effect. When I would read a Dave Barry column, seldom did I make it through without laughing out loud. More often than not, I would have to stop reading and wipe away tears of laughter. Occasionally, I would wet my pants laughing. You’d think I would have learned to visit the powder room before picking up his column, but when you’re sitting comfortably in your chair with a cup of coffee, you just don’t think you have to go.

My husband can attest to my overzealous responses to reading Dave Barry. My high-pitched laughter would interrupt his own reading, as would my foot stamping the ground or my hand slapping the table -- my body’s attempt to dissipate a build-up of laughter that I could not release fast enough through my mouth. At times, I would writhe in my chair like a child being ferociously tickled. Bill would go back to his reading, knowing that when the outburst abated and I caught my breath, I would tell him exactly what was so funny. And even though he had already read and enjoyed the column himself (without the pant-wetting part) he would at least pretend to listen to my giggle-laced rendering of the bit that set me off.

Dave Barry could target my funny bone. His sense of the ridiculous has endeared him to me forever. I would shake my head and wonder how he comes up with such off-the-wall ways to describe things, that while conjuring up the most ridiculous image in your mind, would nevertheless hit the nail right on the head. Whether it was the relationships between men and women, parents and children, or golfer and golf ball, he could find the hilarity in it. And though he was often self-deprecating, he could describe a behavior with which we could all identify and make us laugh at ourselves. I have clipped my favorite columns from the paper and purchased collections of his writings for my bookshelves. Short bursts of cheer that are always readily available. For me, it is like hoarding laughter in a treasure box that you bring out from under your bed when you need comfort.

Why the sudden nostalgia for Dave Barry columns? I recently acquired a used book-on-tape that was a four-cassette collection of “The Best of Dave Barry.” Since my beloved used car has only a cassette player, and since most books-on-tape are now in CD format, I am always thrilled to encounter anything that will save me from the drivel of FM radio. And because I do not enjoy listening to suspense thrillers and bodice-ripping romances in the car, I rarely find titles that interest me. But what could be better than little helpings of humor delivered as you drive alongside all the morons that, regardless of their apparent inadequacies, have been able to obtain a driver’s license? This very morning, I popped the first of the tapes in as I set out on my errands. Even though it was not Dave himself doing the reading, I pressed the start button with great anticipation. After all, could anyone make a Dave Barry essay seem not funny? Well, as it turns out, someone can.

I will not mention the actor by name. I’m sure he did his best. After fifteen minutes with barely a chuckle, I realized that something was very wrong. It wasn’t the material that was unfunny (as if Dave Barry could BE unfunny!) but the way the person was reading it. I began to heckle him from the driver’s seat. “ You are reading that with way too much expression! You are making this sound ridiculous! It’s not supposed to hit you in the face like watermelon at a Gallagher show! It’s supposed to float in and sneak up on your sense of the ridiculous! You are being too flamboyant with that exaggeration! It should seem perfectly normal for that golf ball to weigh as much as Rush Limbaugh! My god, my god, you are totaling ruining this! Why didn’t Dave read this himself!! It is so much more hilarious when I am reading it in my head! What a disaster! You are a total hack!” Breathless with rage, I popped the tape out and threw it in the back seat. Only I could be driven to rage listening to humorous essays.

I really miss Dave Barry.