Tag Archives: friend

Short Thought 113 (IKEA)

I had a friend who said she wanted to hide in IKEA and stay in a different room every night. I thought this was a great idea! When I mentioned it again later, she had no recollection of having said it.

Dream 7 (Jane Austen)

A good friend had been talking for some time about this man she knew who she claimed was wise and knowledgeable. I understood that he had physical limitations, but wasn’t too clear on what they were. I finally had the chance to meet the man. There was something physically wrong with him, like he didn’t have use of his arms and legs. He may have been only a head, but I didn’t want to stare or look too closely and be rude.

He started talking and sagely reciting quotes. I could tell this was what had impressed my friend. See, he read and quoted from Jane Austen novels exclusively. Not only that, but he read only one of her books – I didn’t catch which one – exclusively. Every week of the year he read the same book cover to cover. Almost all his utterances were quotes from this one novel. I wasn’t very impressed.

What’s so funny?

Recently I started to read a nonfiction book called The Humor Code. It wasn’t what I thought it was going to be and I didn’t get very far before quitting. (I used to have a 50-page rule with books I couldn’t get into, but lately I’m not so stringent.) Anyway, the authors take on the idea – somewhat haphazardly – of quantifying what makes something funny. This got me to thinking about what I do and don’t find funny.

Sometimes it seems I’m out of step with what other people find funny and yet I’ve often found things funny that others didn’t. All my life, I’ve heard my own laugh in movie theaters when other people were silent. I don’t mean I was yucking it up during Tears of Endearment or other somber fare, but rather being amused by a dryer, subtler line or action in a film that didn’t telegraph this-is-funny-you-should-laugh-now. Interestingly, when I laugh, it’s not unusual for others to follow suit, as if given permission.

In college, I had a few funny teachers. I was a few years older than most of my classmates, and maybe that was why I laughed freely when the professor(s) said something funny. One of my instructors surprised me by writing, along with my final grade, “Thanks for laughing at my jokes.” Well, hell; he’d been funny! I was grateful. (As Bette Miller said, “If somebody makes me laugh, I’m his slave forever.”)

I look for things to find funny. I want to be amused. It breaks up the day, the routine, the mundane, and the ordinary. There’s a line in the old Dudley Moore film, Arthur, where he laughs suddenly and then says, “Sometimes I just think funny things.” I so got that line and that sentiment – my world is often like that. Of course you have to watch out, lest other people cast weird looks your direction and sidle away. Mostly, among strangers in public, when something strikes me and only me, funny, I might smile and contain open laughter – no need to frighten the horses.

When I’m alone at home, I can replay something funny in my mind – something I saw, or that someone said, or even what I said or wrote – and laugh all over again. But it has to be fairly recent. (There’s only a handful of funny things that I or somebody else said years ago, that I still remember.) That’s great fun – to get a second or third laugh out of a “joke.” Now, I’m throwing that word in quotes because I don’t usually like recited, stock jokes. I prefer more personal humor, something that relates to me or people I know, or situations we’ve been in. When people start “telling” jokes, that’s my cue to sidle away.

Like a lot of people, especially from a particular generation on – I mean for example, my parents didn’t do this – I too can recite movie lines at apropos moments. However, I don’t do it a lot. I think it can get old fast and it’s not all that clever when everybody present doesn’t know the references. It’s somewhat lazy too (I think). Being original takes more effort, and is funnier than recycling somebody else’s wit.

Other people draw attention to my humor. I dated a man, who, in retrospect, quite possibly had a touch of Asperger’s. (Point 1: in fact I expect I’ve dated MORE than one man like him, but that’s another story; Point 2: if I recall – and I don’t really feel like looking it up right now – the term “Asperger’s” has been done away with in recent history, but I think you’ll know what I’m trying to say about the man in question.) He did not entirely “get” my humor (which is most certainly going to be a problem in a close or trying-to-be-close relationship), and tried to analyze it. He decided, based on a bit of observation, that I liked visual humor. I could see his point – I do like unexpected imagery, which is why I find a squirrel drinking out of a dog bowl/bird bath funny.

Ever since the man I was dating pointed out this visual humor business, I’ve noticed when it was true – he was on to something. However, it isn’t the whole story, and it isn’t all that I think is funny.

Also, particular kinds of “visual” humor are lost on me. I never liked The Three Stooges, not when I was a kid, and not now. As a child, I was more disturbed by them. They were almost threatening. Full-grown men, who could be mean. Had I come across men like this in real life, I’m pretty sure I’d have been frightened. I didn’t think poking people in the eye or punching them was funny, especially the way it was delivered (very different, say, from the Marx Brothers).

My aversion to that kind of humor continues. I loathe the home video shows where people are being (potentially) harmed, and have never watched them. I don’t enjoy seeing strangers being hurt or embarrassed. Even if there isn’t a corpse or life-threatening injury at the video’s end, I just can’t relax and guffaw over scenes that could have ended that way. Geez, I felt this way BEFORE YouTube, back when the videos were fairly innocuous as compared to today. Laughing at other people’s mishaps doesn’t do it for me, although…

is it different when I know the people, know they are okay, and know they’d be laughing too? A long time ago, I was on a date with a man I’d recently met. We were visiting a park with a lake. There was this goose acting a bit odd, somewhat aggressively. We weren’t taunting it or anything but just minding our business, when the goose went into a rage and charged at my date, who, surprised, tried to get away, slipped in the mud and fell. I immediately made sure he was okay (he was, if not his pride), and only THEN laughed.

I contrast this with a weird incident with someone else, a friend – someone who I ultimately believed was more deeply screwed up than I realized for mainly other reasons – who laughed at me when I lost my balance on steps in his house. His immediate reaction was not to make sure I was okay and hadn’t twisted my ankle, but to laugh. I found that disturbing and telling, the more so because he didn’t “catch” himself or apologize.

Maybe unfortunate things are only funny to me when the subject thinks it’s funny too. Even when I don’t like people, I’m not going to think it’s funny when something bad happens to them. I may not think generous kindly thoughts, but I won’t be laughing.

Which is not to say I don’t laugh at pomposity, pretension, or bloated egos, because I do.

I’m not laughing all the day long. Fatigue and grief can steal my humor. In fact, I know any time I stop laughing, that something is wrong. It’s my canary in the coal mine (poor canary, I always feel bad for it). My point being, if a particular situation or person robs me of my humor, it’s a huge warning sign. I’ve learned to pay attention when I stop finding things funny, when I stop laughing, because it’s a sign something isn’t right.

Giving good relationship advice (and taking it myself)

(Many years back, a woman friend of mine was having problems dealing with a guy. I wrote the following to her in a letter. I saved not the whole letter, but just this part.)

A further thought: It seems to me that once a person knows they’re being manipulated, or knows the other person does not accept the underlying nature of the relationship (or very significant points of it) or knows the other person is misrepresenting themselves, then that [original] person becomes responsible for anything that happens after that. I’d take it a step further by saying that total responsibility would include very thorough “screening” before getting too involved; i.e., really knowing yourself and stacking up the odds in such a way that you are very unlikely to even start involvements with people who will manipulate you, or not accept the nature of the relationship, or misrepresent themselves. This doesn’t mean all the scumbags are off hook — they’re still scumbags, but I just think it’s so important to take the focus off the other party; happiness demands it for one. (I speak not just of you, but from on-going experience; I really want to get this right in my own life.)

As I said, I wrote this quite a long time ago. There’s no date but probably a dozen years back. I know I was on to something, but it isn’t as if I took my own advice. Not for a long time. There are things I don’t learn in a week, or month, or even a year, but over chunks of time. My point to my friend was that she needed to take responsibility for at least some of the problems she was having with this other person. I think we women let ourselves off the hook, maybe prematurely, on occasion, because we figure once we’ve made our feelings clear on a matter with a man, our work is done. But it isn’t – not if the information we’re getting back tells us he is disregarding our words or feelings, or is being deceptive, manipulative, etcetera. It’s easier to blame them. But once you know something about somebody, you can’t unknow it.

I’m reminded of how often (really often) Judge Judy calls women out on this very point. She has no patience for women who return to the bed of a man who has hit them, or give more money to a man who never repaid them for past loans, for oft-cited examples. I’m not talking about either of those two particular situations, but the concept generally. If you know it, it’s yours now. There’s no one to truly blame other than yourself from that point forward. Many women resist this idea. They want to talk about the man who’s done them wrong. And done them wrong again. And done them wrong yet again.

I’m using women as my reference point because I am one, and the friend I wrote the above quote to was one, but the real underlying concept is not gender-specific. Man or woman, you’re an innocent party unless and until you are not. I think people hang on after they have all the information they need to cut loose because they’re getting something they’re reluctant to lose (me included). But if you’re “getting” something from someone who is manipulating you or misrepresenting themselves, or not truly accepting the relationship as it is, what are you really getting? It’s taken awhile, but I believe I now live the words I wrote to my friend. There’s a price for that, but I find that few sound, hard-won practices come without one. It’s worth it, to me.

Dream 1

I dreamt I got a new apartment. It was spacious and airy. Then I realized it was outdoors. No roof, no walls. Sure, it was fine now, but what was going to happen when it got cold? Rained on all my stuff? An old friend came by and was being a pain. She dumped a big platter of highly sauced pasta on the ground. I wanted to throw her out. But how could I throw her out? We already were out.