I spend a lot of time worrying about my anxiety. I’m only trying to quiet my disquietude, or apprehend my apprehension, or wrestle with my restlessness, or, can we just talk about something else? This is making me anxious.
Anxiety probably has a very good evolutionary purpose. When we were living out in the savanna in our birthday suits, the individuals who had heightened awareness about predators, like lions and tigers, were much more likely to survive an attack. Because you know the old saying: You don’t have to run faster than the tiger, you just have to run faster than the guy near you who is preoccupied with grooming himself to look good for the ladies by picking and eating all his body lice.
Anxious ancestors were also the ones who kept the tribe from being ambushed by enemies. Back in the day, those people who couldn’t sleep at night because of anxiety were the ones who saved the whole clan by waking everyone up to defend themselves from sneak attackers. OK, sometimes some of the younger members of the tribe might have gotten annoyed by false alarms, like when grandpa kept having nightmares and woke up screaming because he’d eaten too many fermented goji berries, but after being saved from certain slaughter a couple of times, you cut a guy some slack. Even if you don’t want to sleep in the same cave with him because of the smells he puts off.
Nowadays, anxiety doesn’t seem quite as good of a survival trait. Staying up half the night worrying about whether or not you remembered to invite your sister to your son’s birthday party, or if you have enough flour to make the birthday cake, or whether or not his friends will make fun of him because you insisted on bringing Ruffles the Clown to make balloon animals for 10-year-olds. What were you thinking? He’ll hate you for the rest of his life. When you’re 90, he’ll stick you in some old-age home and send Ruffles the Clown in every Saturday to make balloon dogs for all your fellow residents.
But good anxiety, the kind that allowed our ancestors to survive all the trials and tribulations of history, is like the canary in the coal mine. It is the early warning system that is designed to help us avoid bad situations and become aware of detrimental changes in our environment before they can do us in. The problem is my canary sings all day and night. At first, it’s a pretty song, but after hours and hours and hours, I’d like it to take a break, watch some TV, eat some sunflower seeds.
This damn canary never shuts up. Once it’s done worrying about all the big issues, and all those problems are solved, it finds other trivial things to squawk about. “When are you going to get an oil change; do you want your engine to seize up? These knives are dull; you can cut off your fingers with dull knives. Why didn’t you get your flu shot? Do you know how many people are sick with the flu? On the other hand, I’ve heard that it can kill some people who have a bad reaction. Do you hear something dripping? What if the plumbing is leaking? Maybe a pipe is cracked behind the bathroom wall right now doing thousands of dollars worth of damage. Maybe you should tear a hole in the wall and find out.”
What I need is a cat. Yes, a cat to eat my canary. Did you ever see a cat that’s anxious? They might be on alert as they prowl around looking for birds or mice to eat, but I’ve never seen one freaking out about the overdue cable bill, or if their son is wearing a nice enough shirt for his class picture. No, I need a cat to eat this canary, and then take a nice long nap, the two of us together, cuddled up on the sofa. Turn off the beepers and the warning buzzers, the alarms, the email alerts, and the tests of the emergency broadcast system, pull down the shades and enjoy the feeling of a belly full of digested anxiety. I just hope it doesn’t give me nightmares.
I have been a follower of Funny Times since the late 80’s. I’ve subscribed when I had money and gave gift subscriptions when I had more money. Now I’m retired so I don’t have much money again. But, now I set my priorities differently. I buy food, pay utilities, SUBSCRIBE TO FUNNY TIMES. and if there’s money left over, I pay my taxes. Thank you for the many years of laughter, joy and incite that you shared.
Ray and Sue, you have found your calling after your apprenticeship in life. I have enjoyed reading Funny Times since the early 90s thanks to friends who shared their issues with me before they moved away and got my subscription. Funny Times helped get me through the first Trump term. Now I am gut hurt and depressed. I still want to look forward to reading every issue knowing that I can escape reality however briefly. Thank you for bringing this intelligently written paper and illustrated with wonderful cartoons into my life.
I will sign off as a lover of democracy and humor.
I still wonder how you knew to send me a newspaper in 1985. Then I moved a bunch of times to different states and you found me again! Thanks bunches. Since the election my anxiety has ramped up so much it has impacted my life making socializing difficult at times.
On my 2025 Word-a Day Calendar is a wonderful, terrible word-Kakistocracy which means government by the worst! (Not Khakistocracy, government by those who wear khakis). On Monday at noon we will enter the Kakistocracy of America. We’re doomed. (How’s your canary now?)
Hi Ray and Sue! Before you created the Funny Times I too ate French Fries! But, I never learned to bowl. And I dropped out of my local community college. Like you Ray, I also hitchhiked around the country, selling drugs for food and sex. And I also cooked and washed dishes while trying to read a novel! It’s like we are twins or something like twins(I’m not sure what’s not like twins?)! Thank you both for the Funny Times! The times they are not as funny as they should be, but we must keep a truckin’. I figure any time soon we will all pull out our big ‘Book of Revolutions’ and pick the one that can rid us of these money grubbing, environment eating vanilla idiots our electorate elected. Until that day…keep up the good work!
I’ve been a subscriber for many years. I’m from Cleveland and when I went home for a visit, one of my best friends put me on to Funny Times. My biggest challenge is taking enough time to read it every month. Unfortunately, my issues are stacked up to the point that it’s overwhelming. Talk about anxiety 🙂 I’ll still continue to subscribe however. Laughing is the best medicine, and it’s going to become even more important now that we have to deal with the most disgusting individual who ever slithered across our country for the next four years.
Been reading you guys since it was a freebie at Arabica on Coventry in the 1980’s (shit, am I THAT old?!). You keep me sane, my friends. You keep doing you. Many thanks.
Did I help ‘will’ Funny Times into existence while drinking beer in NYC’s White Horse Tavern in late 1984 early 1985 with a friend, whose appearance I likened to old character actor Ward Bond, as I brought up the subject of needing a monthly cartoon collection of life in America, similar in monthly delivery to that which Utne Reader began bringing to newsstands in 1984? Whether I did or not, the laughter each issue pays off any debt.
Today is a day of news blackout for me, EXCEPT Funny Times, which is a balm to my tired soul. I forgot to put in a forward for mail, but I have previous copies and this online version to enjoy.
The sad, almost criminal irony of today, being Martin Luther King Jr. Day, and the travesty about to happen with that convicted felon, is so overwhelmingly awful I can’t bear it. If I could sleep all day from 11:59am I would. “I’ll take Medical Coma for $1200, Alex…”
Make good trouble, my peeps.
Since the early days of free Funny Times and scones (at little 5 points) in the 80’s until now, I’ve been imbibing on the many delightful, funny, and sometimes poignant funnies that you have offered. I appreciate all that you guys have done to keep me sane. No matter where I’ve lived, Funny Times has been my source for political humor, savvy responses to the day’s news, and laughs when I wanted to cry. Thanks…