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LJ Idol 9.1: Jayus...
Mar. 17th, 2014 12:54 pmEverything that needs to be said about human communication can be summarized in Wiio's First Law, "Human communication usually fails, except by accident." Nowhere is this more true (or not, see: Wiio's First Law) than in the area of humor, where people often do not laugh at things that are insanely hilarious, or else rupture their sides laughing at things that, by any reasonable standard, contain not a single molecule of funny.
I say that from the perspective of a now-and-then public speaker, whose native abilities were burnished to a high spit-shine by a "trainer-to-the-stars"—someone who coached not only celebrities, but also corporate types (like me, at the time) how to comport themselves in front of the public and the press. I learned a lot, and I recall being told I had made a lot of progress, with good things said about my sense of humor: "Your timing is good, you're able to improvise, and most important, you don't overdo it."
I spent the next few months giving presentations all around the country, promoting the exciting new features of my company's revolutionary software products. I was then tapped to be part of the team that would introduce these products to a European audience and provide briefings to local reps. The schedule was tight, consisting of a series of one- and two-night stands.
So there I was in Prague, on a weekday morning, getting ready to speak to an audience of several hundred programmers. The local reps had done a great job with organizing the event. The hall was large, airy, and comfortable, my audio-visual equipment was state-of-the-art, and a pair of interpreters were on hand in a specially equipped booth to interpret my presentation simultaneously into Czech, without my having to pause at the end of every sentence to give the interpreters an opportunity to speak.
The presentation went very well, if my audience's reaction was anything to go by. I said what I had to say, my jokes got laughs, and I heard satisfying mass intakes of breath from the audience at key points of my presentation where I demonstrated some great new feature of the software. On a success scale of 1 to 10, this event had turned out to be a solid 10.
The local reps and I got together that evening for dinner, which was quite tasty, as I recall. As the dishes were being cleared and we prepared to leave, one of my hosts—whose name was Radek—decided he could not keep a secret any longer.
"Alex," he said, "now that we have broken bread together, I feel I have come to know you somewhat better, and so I think you will not take offense at what I have to tell you, yes?."
"What?" I said, wondering what it was he could possibly say that would offer me offense.
"You recall how, this morning, the audience reacted to your jokes?" asked Radek.
"Ye-e-s. They laughed," I said. "What about it?"
"Well, I was listening to the interpretation, you see, and in truth," said Radek, "several times, the interpreters simply told the audience something like 'The speaker has made a humorous remark. Please laugh appropriately.' And so they did."
Two things happened to me at once. First, I got the distinct impression everyone at the table was looking at me a little nervously, in anticipation (despite Radek's words) of my reaction. Second, I burst out laughing so hard that half the restaurant turned in our direction to see what had happened.
I got it. I needed no explanation. I knew enough about the vagaries of language to know that most attempts at humor don't translate very well, certainly not in the "immediate" time frame in which simultaneous interpreters work. I laughed so hard, tears came to my eyes. Seconds later, everyone at the table was laughing, too.
When I eventually regained my composure, I thanked Radek for sharing and asked him to convey my best regards to the interpreters, who had employed an effective way of keeping my presentation on track. I didn't know it at the time, but I would someday use the same "resource," myself, as a simultaneous interpreter working in the interpreter's booth!
In truth, there is no telling what will or will not make people laugh, but telling them to laugh will almost always work!
I say that from the perspective of a now-and-then public speaker, whose native abilities were burnished to a high spit-shine by a "trainer-to-the-stars"—someone who coached not only celebrities, but also corporate types (like me, at the time) how to comport themselves in front of the public and the press. I learned a lot, and I recall being told I had made a lot of progress, with good things said about my sense of humor: "Your timing is good, you're able to improvise, and most important, you don't overdo it."
I spent the next few months giving presentations all around the country, promoting the exciting new features of my company's revolutionary software products. I was then tapped to be part of the team that would introduce these products to a European audience and provide briefings to local reps. The schedule was tight, consisting of a series of one- and two-night stands.
So there I was in Prague, on a weekday morning, getting ready to speak to an audience of several hundred programmers. The local reps had done a great job with organizing the event. The hall was large, airy, and comfortable, my audio-visual equipment was state-of-the-art, and a pair of interpreters were on hand in a specially equipped booth to interpret my presentation simultaneously into Czech, without my having to pause at the end of every sentence to give the interpreters an opportunity to speak.
The presentation went very well, if my audience's reaction was anything to go by. I said what I had to say, my jokes got laughs, and I heard satisfying mass intakes of breath from the audience at key points of my presentation where I demonstrated some great new feature of the software. On a success scale of 1 to 10, this event had turned out to be a solid 10.
The local reps and I got together that evening for dinner, which was quite tasty, as I recall. As the dishes were being cleared and we prepared to leave, one of my hosts—whose name was Radek—decided he could not keep a secret any longer.
"Alex," he said, "now that we have broken bread together, I feel I have come to know you somewhat better, and so I think you will not take offense at what I have to tell you, yes?."
"What?" I said, wondering what it was he could possibly say that would offer me offense.
"You recall how, this morning, the audience reacted to your jokes?" asked Radek.
"Ye-e-s. They laughed," I said. "What about it?"
"Well, I was listening to the interpretation, you see, and in truth," said Radek, "several times, the interpreters simply told the audience something like 'The speaker has made a humorous remark. Please laugh appropriately.' And so they did."
Two things happened to me at once. First, I got the distinct impression everyone at the table was looking at me a little nervously, in anticipation (despite Radek's words) of my reaction. Second, I burst out laughing so hard that half the restaurant turned in our direction to see what had happened.
I got it. I needed no explanation. I knew enough about the vagaries of language to know that most attempts at humor don't translate very well, certainly not in the "immediate" time frame in which simultaneous interpreters work. I laughed so hard, tears came to my eyes. Seconds later, everyone at the table was laughing, too.
When I eventually regained my composure, I thanked Radek for sharing and asked him to convey my best regards to the interpreters, who had employed an effective way of keeping my presentation on track. I didn't know it at the time, but I would someday use the same "resource," myself, as a simultaneous interpreter working in the interpreter's booth!
In truth, there is no telling what will or will not make people laugh, but telling them to laugh will almost always work!
