As a wise ass myself, I loved Dave Barry’s latest memoir.  Despite the book’s slow start where he spent considerable time describing his family, early school years, and initial forays into serious journalism, he finally got down to the real reason for this book, i.e. the ability to reprint and re-enjoy some of his funniest columns and lines.  On the other hand, reliving his experiences with his band The Rock Bottom Remainders, his marching in the Obama inaugural parade with the World Famous Lawn Rangers Marching Band from Arcola, Illinos, and his origination of Talk Like a Pirate Day were all worth the read.

Every Sunday in the 1980’s and ’90’s I would eagerly open the Sunday Boston Globe Magazine to read and chuckle or laugh out loud at Barry’s weekly column, one that he wrote for the Miami Herald for nearly 40 years and which was syndicated to over 500 newspapers at its height.  Winning the Pulitzer Prize for Commentary in 1988 and the Walter Cronkite Award for Excellence in Journalism in 2005 were not the regular stuff of humor writers and hghlighted how Barry’s work is not only hysterical but often serious and weighty.

This book reminded me of many of Barry’s signature techniques such as saying “I am not kidding” after describing a particularly ridiculous episode of human behavior.  It’s a shame that he retired from writing his column about the same time I retired nearly 20 years ago because during these fraught times he would have  provided us with a comic counterpart to the Cassandra-like writings of Heather Cox Richardson and commentary of Rachel Maddow; and  boy, do we need some humor these days.

I could quote page after page of this very funny and offbeat stuff, heavily influenced by bathroom and juvenile humor—my sweet spots—-but here are only a couple.  In  writing about a book tour, “Women read more books, especially novels than men. Women are also better at sharing their feelings than men, who—I’m generalizing here but you know I’m right–usually are relcutant to say how they really feel about anyting other than pass interference.”  And here’s his column about how one revises a screenplay for years and years, “Two to five years later you have another call. This time there’s only one person on the other end.  His name is Liam, and he’s at most 20 years old. You can hear video game noises in the background. Liam is a senior executive in a company that bought the company that originally optioned your screenplay.  He loves your screenplay, or at least the title, which is the only part he has read.  He’s wondering how you would feel about adpating it as an episode of a series they’re developing for HULU about competing clans of transgender Amish falmingo breeders.”

You get the idea.  If you thought this was funny instead of just plain stupid, read the book and enjoy a few light-hearted moments in this time of dire reality.