When I was young, I used to delight in friends who had wicked senses of humor. I liked to hear them poke fun at others, or be capable of the kind of snappy, sarcastic retorts that have always eluded me. It was fun to sit with them on a mountain of mockery and quietly witness these friends cutting down all comers. It felt powerfully entertaining.
I wasn’t mature enough to realize that their behavior was just mean. I didn’t realize that what I thought of as a rapier wit and a superior intelligence was actually a lot of misplaced anger and the hallmark of being a bully. I also didn’t understand that by being a silent and amused witness, I was being a bully, too, or at the very least, propping one up.
If it’s any comfort, though, I did draw the line at physical bullying. Even I had the sense to know that was intolerable. Physical intimidation is so blatantly wrong that even my clueless young mind couldn’t overlook it.
And I learned my lesson about the sarcasm the hard way. Because there’s one thing you are bound to find out sooner or later: If you have a “friend” who is cruel to everyone but you, even if it is tinged with humor, eventually their wrath will turn in your direction as well. Count on it. I guarantee it.
Now I get that words can hurt as much as physical assault. And I know that if I stand by and do nothing while it’s happening, then I’m complicit. Now, I can’t abide bullies in any form. Now, I surround myself with respectful, loving people. But it took me a minute to get there, to my everlasting shame.
Hi, my name is Barb, and my curtains don’t match. My pillowcases don’t match my sheets, either. And some of the pants I wear to work are patched because I refuse to spend money on something that’s just going to get greasy. I’ve had pretty much the same hairdo since high school, and no one else seems to dress the way I do. I can’t be bothered to be trendy. I’d rather spend my money on travel.
I don’t wear makeup, I’ve never had a manicure, and I watch a lot of reality TV and true crime crap off of Youtube. I collect rocks. I also collect misfits.
I really ought to vacuum my car, but since I don’t even bother to wash it, what are the odds of that? And I’m sure my neighbors would say that my yard is in desperate need of attention.
The reason I appreciate my friends and loved ones so much is that they are willing to look beyond that surface stuff and see who I am. Underneath all that tacky sloppy stuff is a warm heart, a loyal friend, an intelligent woman with a killer sense of humor. I’m kind and compassionate and creative. And my dog loves me.
I admit I probably don’t make the best first impression. But I’ve always appreciated those people who are willing to delve deeper. Thank you all for that.
Have you ever remarked that a kitten has gotten quite big, and its owner is surprised by that? You haven’t seen the kitten in weeks, so its growth is obvious to you. The owner, on the other hand, has seen it daily, and therefore the change in size has been subtle to him or her and therefor easy to overlook.
We experience subtle shifts every day without giving them much notice. For example, when I was a kid, I used to drink Hawaiian Punch practically by the 50-gallon drum. I couldn’t get enough of the stuff. Now, I can barely tolerate even a sip of it. It’s way too sickly sweet. I couldn’t tell you, though, the exact point in time when I shifted from being a Hawaiian Punch fan to a Hawaiian Punch disdainer. It just sort of sneaked up on me.
My perception of humor has apparently shifted as well. A week ago, if you had asked me what the funniest thing I’d ever seen on television was, I’d have responded, Season 4, Episode 4 of the sitcom Perfect Strangers. Based on its air date, I must have been 24 when I first saw it. I remember laughing so hard as Larry and Balki struggled to get a piano up ten flights of stairs that I nearly lost my breath, and I had tears streaming down my face. This was TV at its best, I thought.
So I was delighted when I discovered that Hulu was now showing every episode of Perfect Strangers. I would start with that iconic episode, and then binge watch the entire series. What fun!
I fixed myself a bowl of popcorn, got into some sweat pants and a t-shirt, snuggled in with my dog Quagmire, and prepared to be entertained.
Imagine my shock when I realized just how bad the show really was. Poorly written, cheesy, in fact. Poorly acted. Predictable. What a freaking disappointment. Needless to say, I won’t be binge watching any other episodes.
But I used to love that show. I really did. What the heck was I thinking? Who was I?
Now, if you ask me what the funniest thing I’ve ever seen on television is, I’ll respond the episode of Carol Burnett in which Tim Conway discusses the Siamese elephants, joined at the trunk. I’m happy to say that that one STILL cracks me up.
Do you ever get the feeling that your dog is laughing at you? I do. All too frequently.
Back when I still kept larger dogs, I had a Chow that liked to quietly sneak up behind me and let out one loud woof. It always made me jump out of my skin. When I would whirl around, he’d just be standing there, smirking at me.
My little dog Devo likes to play fetch with a twist. He’ll retrieve the ball, but stay just out of arm’s reach. He’ll then place the ball on the ground and back away a step or two. When I reach for the ball to throw it again, he’ll snatch it away and run a victory lap around the yard. Psych!
My dachshund, Quagmire, is quite the little clown. The other night I was trying to sleep but he kept fidgeting. After some time I decided to reach out in the dark and pat him on the head and tell him to settle down. That’s when I discovered he was trapped deep inside a pillow case and was wrestling with the pillow. I laughed so hard I gave up trying to sleep. (Another time my wake-up call was him sneezing decisively in my face. That makes for a harsh start to the day.)
I once had a dog that was a hound dog in every sense of the word. One time we were quietly standing in line at the vet’s office when he looked up at me, then gently peeled his lips away from his front teeth, and then reached out and nibbled the pantyhose of the woman in front of us. He pulled it, and then let it snap back into place without even causing a run, which I found fascinating. When she turned to us, he was gazing off in the middle distance, acting all innocent. I swear, if he could have whistled, he would have. All I could do was apologize.
My sheltie, Sugar, used to go in the back yard and howl whenever she heard a siren. For a while it broke my heart. I’d call her back inside and comfort her. Then one day I happened to be watching her out the kitchen window when an ambulance came by. She was howling, yes, but her tail was wagging and she was prancing around. She wasn’t crying. She was singing along!
The best dog I’ve ever had was an Australian Shepherd named Mocha. She was extremely intelligent and affectionate and very attuned to sound. She loved to dance to music, and she’d get very excited when you’d say particular words. Eventually I figured out that she loved any word with a hard k in it. Her favorite word was “infrastructure.” It still makes me giggle, thinking about how happy that word would make her.
So, when asked what qualities I look for in a dog, my first response will always be, “A sense of humor.” Most people are perplexed by this, but it makes perfect sense to me.
I have this theory. There’s a part of your brain that takes in what you hear and assumes it to be fact. My theory is that that goes double for what it hears coming out of your own mouth. Sure, what you say is generated by your brain, but the choice to actually say it is kind of a form of validation. In other words, if you can’t trust yourself, who can you trust?
For some reason many of us think it’s charming to be self-deprecating. But I’m telling you, your brain hears you when you put yourself down. You might be laughing as you say, “I’m so stupid,” or “Women are just not into me,” but a little part of your head is just hearing the words and taking them in as reality. In the long run, that is going to hurt you.
We are often more cruel to ourselves than we would ever be to others. That’s not funny. That’s not charming. It’s just wrong. Self-abuse is still abuse. Why don’t you deserve as much courtesy and kindness as you would afford a loved one, a guest, or a stranger in distress? You can, should, and MUST become your own cheerleader!
Every now and then I can’t sleep, and rather than toss and turn and get frustrated as the clock ticks past 4 a.m., I log on to Youtube and watch videos by Ze Frank. Not that they put me to sleep, mind you. Far from it. They make me laugh hysterically and forget whatever I had been mind-grinding about in the first place. If I’m going to lose sleep, I may as well do it with a smile on my face.
If you spend any time on Facebook, you probably have encountered the work of Mr. Frank without even realizing it. He’s the president of BuzzFeed Motion Pictures, which produces hilarious viral videos.
The first Ze Frank video I ever saw was Sad Dog Diary. How can you not love a dog that says “Dear Diary, it’s not so much that I miss my testicles. I know it’s a rite of passage in our pack, and I’m sure that my dearest human has had his removed as well, but when that one bulldog comes to the dog park and parades his testicles around, I can’t help but notice how Ginger looks at them. I love Ginger. To be fair, I will admit he has a fine smelling butt hole.”
From there I moved on to his True Facts series. True facts about the Octopus. True Facts about the Armadillo, and so on. These are not only a laugh riot, but they actually teach you some really fascinating things about nature. I’ll never look at a duck again without remembering that the males have a long, corkscrew-shaped penis, for example, or that the cuttlefish is color blind despite the fact that it can change colors for camouflage, or that the mantis has five eyes. Ze, if you read this, I hope you’ll make True Facts about the Coelacanth some day. I think it would be epic.
He also has a website that I’ve only briefly explored, and can tell it will result in hours of smiles. In addition, he’s given some of the most entertaining TED talks I’ve ever seen. This is a man with talent and humor and a great deal of heart. And dimples. I’m a sucker for dimples.
And if you’re ever feeling sad, just listen to his song, Chillout, which he created with the help of total strangers from all over the world. I dare you not to feel comforted.
If I’m introducing you to Ze Frank for the first time, then I’ve given you quite a gift. Remember that, next time my birthday rolls around. You forgot it this time. I was crushed.
As I’ve mentioned in a previous post, I love Google Doodles. They show that Google has a sense of humor and the confidence to mess with their own logo without thinking the world will come to an end. That almost makes me feel that corporations are human beings after all, as the Supreme Court ruled. Almost.
Other large entities would do well to take note of this. I’ve noticed that this type of bureaucratic humor is common here in Seattle. That “we’re all in this together” mentality makes me feel very warm toward this community.
Take, for example, the Seattle Department of Transportation. Yes, they’re my boss, but even if they weren’t, I’d be impressed by them. We are currently in the midst of a year-long painting project of the Fremont Bridge. This is causing obstructions and inconvenience for the residents of this neighborhood, but it has to be done. Now, they could have been rigid and humorless about the situation, and created an us vs. them mindset in the public, but instead they have posted these signs:
This really makes me feel good about being a part of this organization.
Maybe if AT&T and the US Post Office and the IRS adopted a sense of humor and humanity they wouldn’t be so universally disliked. But it takes courage. To do it, you have to take a step away from your safe, conservative little hidey-hole and take a risk. You have to be creative. We can’t have that, now, can we?