17       isn’t that fun what is good humour? borat? or rather an old movie with charlie chaplin? in reality, the question is more like: do you prefer laughing about yourself or about others? i am terribly unsusceptible to most forms of common humour. i can never remember jokes. well, that’s not entirely true. i can recite three jokes from my childhood days. but the problem is: the only funny thing about them is that they at best entertain kids. i only make adults laugh when i tell these jokes because it has a funny touch if someone older than let’s say eight has such kinds of chestnuts in store. so there won’t be any anecdotes on gitschi and gatschi, the sandwich and the cooking spoon or the gentleman in the loony-bin and his toothbrush. instead, i’ll tell you about the next thing where i’m a bit different to all the other children. i hardly laugh when i see a movie. even the funniest comedies – although they really amuse me – don’t make me laugh out loud. even less so when i’m at the cinema. it indeed disconcerts me if my neighbour dies laughing at every tiny joke. even though deep inside i’m probably just as amused as he is. owing to this fact, i’m probably the lousiest person you would want to take to see a cabaret. just a little chuckle, an amused face – that’s all. you‘ll probably never see me splitting my sides laughing in such surroundings. and to definitely expose myself as the ultimate party pooper, i have to admit that even books don’t tend to make me laugh. i can read the funniest text practically without any exterior sign of inner amusement. funny – that’s what most people would say. but for me, laughing – loud and hearty laughing – is something that only occurs in the context of interpersonal contacts. together with a friend or acquaintance i can giggle, snort with amusement, laugh till i cry. albeit mostly about my own failings and quirks. i truly enjoy telling other people about my frequent mishaps and upsy-daisies, about the clangers i drop. because i’m utterly convinced that the best reason for humour and irony is still oneself. for me, it has almost become a condition for a successful friendship to be able to not take yourself too seriously and have a hearty laugh at yourself. after all, what do you tell someone who is only amused about others? with deadly serious and oversensitive people i tend to get this horribly artificial, permanent smile on my face. i can spend a whole evening like this so that the next day my cheekbones are still stiff with tension. however, if my stomach muscles make me flinch with every move, i know that i have truly enjoyed myself. a dead certain indicator for the right – or wrong – amount of fun. martina müllner