I will not profess to understand how one goes about being "funny." As far as being unfunny, though, it seems like up there on the list, albeit below screaming a hideous racist tirade at one's audience, is failing to appreciate the distinction between anecdotes that are actually humorous in the retelling and those for which you had to be there.
So, some people have asked what the deal is with me and the Mexican wrestling mask that I was wearing in the video of me riding a mechanical bull, especially since there are other photos of someone Jeremy-shaped wearing the mask on Flickr. The deal is that when I got to the conference in Dallas, Sal presented me with the mask as a gift he had bought when he was in Mexico. I am not sure if he bought the mask for me in tribute to my own hallowed past as a high-school wrestler, or because he thought it might help my aesthetic capital. The idea was, ha-ha, that I would put on the mask and maybe get a photo. If there is anything about me, of course, it's that if I am in for a penny, I am in for a pound, and perhaps even in for a few dozen pounds, especially if there are drinks involved and I can put it on my credit card. So I had the mask on for much of the weekend.
Dinner with colleagues:
Playing shufflepuck at the hotel bar (at which, for the record, I rock):
Hanging out with various women in cowboy hats:
Using my laptop while chillin' in my hoodie:
Talking to a hotel cop to get back my man-purse after accidentally leaving it behind in the hotel cafe:
And checking out the area behind the famous picket fence atop the grassy knoll in Dealey Plaza:
You've long since gotten the idea, I suspect. I make no claims to its secondhand funniness, or even its firsthand funniness to anyone but Sal, who seemed as an objective matter to find it hilarious. I have another friend who finds masks terrifying. But Sal, you want to make him laugh, put on a Santo mask and he's in stitches.