In June, I went to certify my acres at the Farm Service Agency. It’s an annual task after planting. As I drove to town, a foreboding line of dark clouds hung over Sleepy Eye, like a wall cloud on steroids. As I stepped into the office, you could see the blackening sky out the north windows.
I said to the staff, “That’s a scary looking sky out there. It could be a sign of the apocalypse. Do I really need to certify my acres if the world comes to an end?” It got something between a chuckle and a smile. It was the kind of goofy thing I regularly say.
Why do I say goofy things? I was thinking about that; I’m not sure the answer. I know that I enjoy the experience of being funny, or trying to be funny.
I’ve been paying attention to how much my varied conversations through a day involve humor. It’s certainly true when I’m with friends. Joking around and laughing takes a large part of my time with them. I’ve never done a scientific study, but it’s a lot. Maybe half?
I noticed something last week as I was on my way to Miller Sellner to buy a set of spark plugs. As I pulled into the parking lot, I was thinking of a funny line I could throw out when I got to the counter. I know all the parts-people. I was even considering different lines depending on who was working.
I was almost doing that unconsciously. It’s the same way with Renee at the bank or Joann at the grocery store. I usually greet them with something silly.
Wife, Pam, has had to listen to my routine for decades. At home, it’s like a stand-up routine when I’m on a roll. She’s been a captive audience to my one-man show, bless her soul. “I’m here all week, Pam. Try the veal.”
With her and others who know me, it’s part of a relationship. I like being the comic, but I also like being the audience. I enjoy laughing at the jokes of my companion.
It’s not only people I know. I say silly things to complete strangers I cross paths with. It might be a waitress or bartender. It can be someone I’m standing in line with. Sharing a smile with a fellow traveler feels good. Occasionally, I get a strange look back. But it’s a chance I take.
As I describe all these moments, it sounds like a type of addiction. Does it make me feel clever to deliver a good line? I can’t deny that ego could be part of it.
It’s a way to feel at ease with someone. Any relationship can have land mines to circumvent. Laughing together helps us tiptoe around those. It feels good when people are smiling around me. It’s a warm sensation, a connection made between me and a partner in humor.
Writing these columns, I sometimes write a line that I think is funny. I find myself smiling across the keyboard at you the reader.
Is that something on your shirt? Ha! Made you look.
I enjoyed reading Dave Barry’s columns and James Lileks when he was in the Star Tribune and Jerry Nelson now. Their works usually bring a smile. It seems a little strange, to respond like that to something on a piece of paper.
Occasionally, I set out to write a humorous column. Oddly, those are difficult to write. If I’m sitting with you at a bar or we’re walking somewhere, funny lines bubble up, organically. Humor flows naturally from the moment. But if you put a gun to my head, and tell me to be funny, I’m in trouble. Writing a column isn’t quite like that, but you get the idea.
We’re told that laughing can have health benefits. I suppose that’s true within reason. There are limits to anything we do, except maybe breathing. If everything’s funny, then nothing’s funny. But for most of us, in a world full of serious concerns, laughing with friends is a wonderful outlet.
I had surgery on a wrist once that I broke in a machine accident. I had to spend a night in the hospital and there was a lot of pain. As I lay in my bed, unable to sleep, I discovered the Comedy Channel was on my TV. There were a series of standup comedians doing their routines in front of laughing audiences. I noticed that the pain in my arm wasn’t as bad when I was laughing. I “made myself” watch hours that night, a type of therapy.
Apparently, God likes to get into the act, too. There’s an old Yiddish saying, “Mann Tracht, Un Gott Lacht.” Man plans and God laughs. I really don’t believe God on high is laughing at us mortals flailing away at life down here. But it does point to limits we face in controlling events around us.
The poet Robert Burns pointed to that with his line, “The best laid plans of mice and men often go awry.” Humor can help. Except for really terrible things that happen to us, there is something funny to be found in most situations. Breakdowns on the farm, crops drowned out, water in the basement? There’s humor to be mined in each. A small laugh can make it a little better.
Two types of humor stand opposite each other. Self-deprecating humor is where you use yourself as the brunt of the joke. Who among us doesn’t have weaknesses and foibles that can’t be made gentle fun of? I can think of some nights on the dance floor where I left myself open to wisecrackery.
That can be harmless if done in a good-natured way. A dark side of this light topic is making fun of others. And, boy, do we have a skilled craftsman of that art! Donald Trump seldom goes more than a few words without mocking someone.
When he makes fun of someone’s stutter or the way a disabled reporter walks, I suppose it’s “funny” in a way. At least his admirers think so. Everyone who isn’t fully on his side, gets an insulting nickname. If your sixth grader did that, you would properly reprimand him. If the former president does that, his approval ratings go up.
The British writer, Nate White, wrote about why his fellow Brits don’t like Trump. “We like a laugh. And while Trump may be laughable, he has never once said anything wry, witty, or even faintly amusing – not once, ever. I mean it quite literally. And that fact is particularly disturbing to the British sensibility. For us, to lack humor is almost inhuman. But with Trump, it’s a fact. He doesn’t even seem to understand what a joke is – his idea of a joke is a crass comment, an illiterate insult, a casual act of cruelty.”
Humor can be a wonderful balm. Or it can be a cruel bludgeon. We get to choose.