Yucking It Up At Work

 Is being funny an asset in your workplace?

A recent article by Allison Linn on MSN.com reports the results of a survey of Chief Financial Officers:

“The survey of 1,400 CFOs, conducted on behalf of staffing firm Accountemps, found that 57 percent think an employee’s sense of humor is somewhat important when it comes to fitting in with the company’s corporate culture. Another 22 percent said it was very important.”

Humor can be an asset in the hallowed halls of my school, and I do what I can. Once a student told me that she took my class because a friend recommended me as a teacher. “But she didn’t tell me you were funny!” the new student added as she walked away.

Hmmn. I still don’t know just which meaning of the word funny she meant. Funny as in “causing amusement or laughter,” or funny as in “peculiar; odd?”* Or both?

Are you funny at work? Do you think humor is necessary at your job, or should we cut the shtick and focus on the tasks at hand?

*dictionary.com definitions

Bring Back Silly!

Do you sometimes feel as though you’ve been an adult for WAY too long?

Are you tired of doing the laundry, cleaning the cat box, flossing your teeth, dragging through from day to day, always the good little worker bee, doing the nauseatingly right thing? Being responsible, paying the bills, clipping coupons, getting the tires rotated, and postponing gratification got you down? Does “fun” seem an abstract, amorphous term, a long-lost acquaintance vaguely recalled?

Perhaps you need to get silly. The silly that is definitively NOT: steady, serious, sober, staid.

Silly is sheer delight. It’s free, mood boosting, burns calories, and lowers your carbon footprint (study results pending).

Alas, silliness, almost by definition, is hard to plan. We can’t program into our schedules: “Friday, 1:30-1:45 p.m. Get silly.”

One must get silly when the occasion arises. Carpe sillidum. I can even get silly by myself, if need be. I can chase my cats around the house, throwing cat toys, as their furry feet slip sideways, skittering around corners. I can dance my 50+ version of the robot to Cee Lo Green on Pandora. I can Tweet nonsense to the universe.

However, getting silly with others is still best. When the chance to be silly comes up while teaching a class of college students, I may take it. Learning can resume in a minute or two.

During first day of semester icebreaker interviews, a student explains that the young woman she interviewed has a tattoo of buttered toast. We went for it. The tattooed girl wriggled out of her cardigan sweater down to her sleeveless shell, and there, in full glory on her bicep, was a life-sized piece of toast with two pats of butter. I asked her if she could make it wiggle, so it would look like the butter was melting. We had a very fine silly moment. Ice was indeed broken, loudly, so much so that curious passersby peeked in the classroom door to see what they were missing.

Silliness is an art form, but it can be learned. The steps to silly:

1.       Be prepared; be alert. Silliness can happen at any time, anywhere. Silliness may even occur online, in blog posts and comments.

2.       Once a potential silly situation arises, quickly assess the value to risk quotient. Silliness in front of supervisors, mental health professionals, law officers, or pastors must be carefully weighed for potential damage to career, loss of freedom, or possible excommunication.

3.       Once cleared through the value/risk quotient, engage in silliness.  

4.        Stretch silliness to maximum length, but the short silly is typically preferable to the long silly. Leave the silly observers and participants wanting more, rather than feeling silly-sick-over-sated. Less is more for the silly scenario.

5.       Cell phone photography is encouraged, but if any video clips go viral, sharing of any royalties earned is encouraged and expected.

6.       Caution: extended sillies can cause elevated heart rate, facial flushing, or increase in eye rolling. Before silliness, check with your doctor if you have heart disease, glaucoma, or wear contact lenses.

7.       Once the silliness has subsided, resume normal adult behavior while scouting for the next silly opportunity.

The world needs more genuine silliness. Should you agree, come on! We’ll chase the rainbow of silliness together, flying our silliness flag high. We’ll face the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune all the better for having more silliness in our lives.

When was the last time you were silly?

Breaking Bad

I’ve been entirely too good lately.

It’s partly this whole teacher gig, the good wife and good daughter roles, the Miss Nicey-Nice to the point of gagging persona I seem to have unthinkingly branded myself with. I mean, I am mostly nice, but that’s not all there is to me.

What can I do that’s somewhat bad, risky, or at least a bit out of character, but not (totally) illegal?

Buy and wear a black leather miniskirt. The legs are still pretty good, especially camouflaged in tights. Do they make leather minis in a size 12 with an elastic waist?

Try some F-me high heeled pumps? Nah, I’d fall and give myself a concussion. I did see a pair of teal suede platform ones at Belk’s Department store tonight. They were so high I’d need an oxygen mask.

See if my local bailbonds-woman needs some help with FTA’s (Failure to Appears)? Thanks to HomeReared Chef and Victoria’s View, I’m addicted to Janet Evanovich’s book series about Stephanie Plum, bounty hunter (the movie just came out with Katherine Heigel as Stephanie). Besides, I’m just dying to have pink handcuffs like BadLuck Detective.

Go to ladies’ night at Shooter’s World, our local indoor shooting range. Ba-bang, bang, bang. I’ll post the video of my superior marksmanship. Just need to get my bifocal scrip updated a bit first.

Book a trip to my local zip-line excursion park. They zip you through the trees and over a waterfall. You won’t catch me skydiving, but I’m ready for the zip line. No, really. Want to come with me?

Go skinny dipping again. It’s been way too long. Need to find a heated pool. Cold water makes my heart feel like it’s going to stop.  

Order appetizer AND dessert for once. 

Learn to cuss more proficiently in Spanish.

Sing karaoke of my several of my favorite torch songs, while wearing sequins. Lots of sequins, and reclining across the top of a baby grand piano.  Or maybe I’ll lip-sync to Greg Allman’s I’m No Angel. 

Or ZZ top, I'm Bad, I'm Nationwide?

Cause I ain’t no angel, y’all. And I could take this nationwide.

What do you do when you break bad?

Snot My Fault!: Sincerely Silly Saturdays Launch

Dear Young Sir,

Yes, you. The nicely dressed young man who repeatedly blew his nose loudly enough to stun sparrows out of the sky, setting off seismographs in nearby labs—as gently as I can, my dear man, I regret to inform you--when in public we don’t trumpet our noses at ear-spitting volume.

Far from claiming supreme knowledge of the finer points of etiquette, I admit I, too, have occasionally trumpeted in public.  Through the wisdom of my years, I have learned to confine those satisfying, proud, and productive displays of vigorous nasal strength to the privacy of my own home, car, or perhaps, in an emergency, a stall in a public restroom, or deserted woodland area (only if visibly free of vulnerable small wildlife).

I am certain you never meant to cause offense, or indeed, amusement, as you vainly tried to clear your congested passages. For your benefit, I have taken an informal survey of other witnesses to your regrettable, although enthusiastically hearty, faux-pas. Results conclusively show that:

1.       Discreet nose-blowing IS better than constant loud, wet sniffing, as noted by 94% surveyed

2.       Public nose-blows should be limited in volume to prevent hearing loss; no more than 85 dB (equivalent to a freight train @ distance of 15 meters)*

3.       Favored sinus discharge receptacles were as follows: Facial tissues (80% of respondents), toilet paper (10%), cloth handkerchiefs (5%), McDonald’s napkins (4%), other (1%). Judged not acceptable: hoodie-sleeves, shirt-tails, upholstered furniture, back of hand

4.       Sympathetic that you have a cold or allergy, bystanders agree they will gladly contribute to a fund to purchase you a generic-grade, over-the-counter antihistamine product. One observer offered to personally transport you to the nearest Walgreens.

5.       Survey participants noted although they refrained from laughter each time you trumpeted, they were sorely tested. They make no guarantee of further resistance to guffawing at any of your future nasal shout outs.

So, dear young sir, please accept this gentle lesson in the spirit of enlightenment in which it is intended. As the Russian proverb says, "There is no shame in not knowing; the shame lies in not finding out."

When snot is flowing, go gently with the blowing. Your tender nose, your friends, loved ones, neighbors, and any living creatures within earshot, will thank you.

Sincerely,

The Sincerely Silly Saturday Etiquette Advisor

**With many thanks to Virginia, the Home Reared Chef, and her rousing “nose-picking post” at BlogHer.com. Her fearlessness gave me the courage to tackle this sincerely silly topic.

*from industrialnoisecontrol.com

No-hands Spirit of Abandon

Here’s something great about Nablopomo: it compels me to notice. Driving home from work today, a motorcycle passed me on the four-lane. As it came by me, the rider put his right hand out, and I assumed he meant to move to the right, reentering the lane in front of me.

When he didn’t change lanes as I expected, I looked again. He had both arms extended. He was riding with his arms outstretched, letting the wind run through his fingers. I smiled and thought—Nablopomo worthy. Then my practical side added—he must have cruise control. And excellent balance.

Like a kid on a banana bike, he was in “look Ma, no hands!” mode. It was warm today—70 degrees. The sky was an excellent shade of Carolina blue, the road was straight, and he was having a blast. I was too, just watching him go.

So here’s to blue skies, hands-free abandon, straight roads, and noticing. Thanks, Nablopomo.

Hidden Relics of a Reluctant Hero's Past

Some of you know that we lost my dad a few days before Thanksgiving. Mom and I have been going through some of Dad's belongings, and we discovered a letter Dad received in 1946. I had a strong feeling we would find medals or something related to his service in World War II. Mom had never seen this document in all the 64 years she and Dad were married. 

Like most WW II vets, Dad spoke very little of his contributions. The letter comes from his duty in Occupied Japan, where he was part of a bomb and mine disposal unit. Prior to his time in Japan, he had been in the unspeakably bloody, 35-day Battle of Iwo Jima in 1945. At the time Dad received this letter, he was 20 years old.

Job well done, Dad. We miss you.

Is there a reluctant hero in your family?

HEADQUARTERS I CORPS

Office of the Ordnance Officer

APO 301 (Kyoto, Honshu)

25 May 1946

Subject:                    Letter of Appreciation.

To:                           Charles C. Bundick, Pfc, #xxxxx,

                                United States Marine Corps.

                I wish to express my appreciation for your splendid performance of duty while engaged in disposal of explosive ordnance in Japan. During your service with units under First Corps, you assisted in the successful disposition of numerous stores of characteristically hazardous Japanese explosives and munitions, much of which was in a deteriorated and extra-sensitive condition. Your capable assistance was in many forms. You aided in the dumping of ordnance at sea, the destruction of dud U.S. high explosive and incendiary bombs, the burning of bulk explosive powders and pyrotechnics, and the classification of explosive ordnance at widely dispersed targets. Each of these was vital to the overall success of the disposal program, and your part in that task was well done.

                Your activities, marked by a ready willingness to undertake all assignments and a faithful devotion to duty, materially aided in the successful elimination of the Japanese war potential. Your excellent service has reflected the highest credit on yourself and the United States Marine Corps.

A.      G.  STONE

Colonel, Ord. Dept.

Ordnance Officer.

Why not?

Stress bunny. That’s me.

So why sign up for Nablopomo for February? I have a lot of smart alecky responses to that, but I’ll spare you and say I figured, “Why not?”

I’m not always a “Why not?” kind of person. But this stress and the funny, fluttery, pleasantly/unpleasantly on-edge feeling in the middle of my chest told me to do it. No, I’m not hearing voices, not yet. More of an urge, a yearning, a desire for forward motion.

I’m in transition. I don’t know where I’m going. I don’t know how to be at peace. Did I ever know?

If I’m not at peace and stressed out, what’s one more thing like a little old commitment to Nablopomo for February? Why in the heck not blog every day for a month?

Another thought I’ll add is that I am so thankful for second chances. Remember when I posted that I was “gone fishin’” to edit my friend R. K. Ryals book, Ransom? I flaked out on her, edited a chapter or two, got the migraine from hell that lasted two weeks, and was humiliated that I hadn’t kept my commitment to her in the way I had hoped.

But she didn’t give up on me. I got it back together and started editing again this week.  

Her work is amazing, and it truly is – I’m going to get corny here—an honor to work on her book. How often in life are we able to say that? That it’s an honor to work with someone?

Although being in the presence of so much natural talent as R.K. has is daunting to me as a writer, as someone who aspires to publish my own book-length works one day, I wouldn’t miss the fantastic experience of editing Ransom, not for the world.

Thanks for giving me a second chance, for maybe the third time?, R. K. J Second chances are sometimes even better than first chances.

Here we go, month of February, month of darkness. You’re a dark month, but you’re not fooling me. There’s a minute more of daylight every day. I’ll take that.

Nablopomo: glorious madness. Let’s tear the roof off the mother sucker.