Read Me?

Before you ask: My butt feels okay today, inasmuch as a butt can that is apparently seriously damaged.

Some have expressed confusion at my schedule, of late and upcoming. I can't begin to imagine why. I suppose it could have something to do with the way in which I myself never actually know what I'll be doing much in advance of a week beforehand. Such is the life of the unrepresented, slightly-whorish-about-work actor. (Come on. Everyone's a little whorish about the stuff they love.) So I thought I would give an update on what I think is happening for me this summer. What I

think

is happening, mind you. You don't get to hold me to this, because I don't get to hold anybody to anything they promise me regarding work and travel. Them's the breaks.

Some of the more niggling questions of late:

By-Stander of Innocence:

Hey Jeff, how come you aren't in Italy right now?

VERY good question, helpful By-Stander. I myself am often amazed by life's little surprises. It turned out that we did not achieve our enrollment quota for

In Bocca al Lupo

, and thus it seemed we weren't able to go. Then David Zarko, artistic director of

The Northeast Theatre

, asked us if we could apply for grants and pay part of our airfare as actors. To the first we said yes, the second, no. We did not get the grants, and most of we lot are pretty shallow-of-pocket. Suddenly David pipes in again, saying, "Well, what the hell! I want to go with youse guys, and--being that I am gradually becoming the real estate baron of Upper Left-Hand Scranton--if we make it a two-week trip I can afford to take you." So we were on again, for the last two weeks in May. But then one of us had show conflicts with that time, and David thought we could get better prices later, so now we are positively, definitively going to be there the last two weeks of June. Maybe.

B-SoI:

Soooooo . . . how comes you hain't been writing about teaching with Wingspan Arts all month, then?

Well, when I left off teaching with

Wingspan

at the start of May, it was with the idea that I had two weeks to find a new apartment before going to Italy, and very little money to accomplish this. Now I have a little more money and Italy is put off, but I am still, technically, apartmentless. So it's best for both me and the youth of America that I NOT be compelled to invoke any disciplinary action upon them.

BSoI:

Enough said. Do you miss it?

Badly. I miss the kids, and Alex. Hopefully the timing will work out that I can see their final presentation before really, truly (maybe) leaving for Italy.

BSI:

And what of

The Torture Project

and

Joint Stock Theatre Alliance

? Are they still going strong? Are you still strongly going along with them, or have you been left at the side of Collaboration Road with nothing but a few creative notions wrapped in a handkerchief tied to the end of a stick?

Er . . . . That's very poetic, By-Stander. Are YOU by any chance involved with a collaborative theatre project?

BSI:

Who isn't?

Indeed. Well, refer to a previous entry of mine (

5/3/07

) and you will see that the above project has miraculously transformed itself unto a show entitled

As Far As We Know

, created by a theatre company now monikered as

UnCommon Cause

. Same bat-people, same bat-project, different bat-names. And yes, as far as I know, I'll still appear on stage. (Speaking of which: Todd. I need those work-out tips NOW.) In fact,

As Far As We Know

shall grace one of the stages of the

NYC Fringe

in August. So we're gearing up to hustle and bustle to create the most fully realized version of the show to date. With a script, and everything. Hopefully we'll maintain some of the homey effects, like string lights. String lights make everything pretty. Currently, along with several writer meetings prior, we're planning to escape to

New Hampshire

once again at the end of July to get some focused development done.

BI:

Wait, wait. At the end of July? Won't that conflict with projects you've mentioned previously?

The Exiled

, and something with Friend Melissa's company,

Kinesis Project Dance Theatre

?

Yes and no, happily and sadly.

The Exiled

(which I keep thinking of as

Teh Exiled

; consider it, Nat...?) was not accepted into the Fringe, obviously because the Fringe only accepts fluffy, unresearched and underdeveloped material. Wait. No. Um . . . I guess . . . LOOK! A SEAGULL! {sound of hurried footsteps, fading into the distance} But never fear: Friend Nat fully intends to mount the show all the same (fan as he is of mounting things), possibly at the end of August, when all of this Fringe-related madness has blown over.

Kinesis

, however, I had to bow out of, owing to conflicts at both ends of the project's development. This makes me very sad, as it is hardly the first time I've had to abandon both Friends

Melissa

and

Patrick

--creatively speaking--and their faith in me probably can't take much more. That's not to their discredit AT ALL. Quite the contrary. I just basically owe them a percentage of all the cash I make from other shows I end up doing during the time we had planned to work together. Guys, your checks for 72 cents are in the mail.

B:

Okay. I'm starting to get the picture here. So you'll be around more than usual this summer?

Yes (if by "more than usual" you mean, "at all"), and I have aspirations of many open acrobalance sessions in Central Park as a result. I will, of course, keep my hungry public updated on the progress of that as it develops.

B:

Great! So the rest of the summer, you'll be busy, but around--

Ah, not quite. There is also a week at the start of July--from the 2nd to the 6th, to be precise--when I will be in Pennsylvania teaching children ages six to sixteen about the glories of physical theatre and acrobalance.

b:

I see. BUT, apart from that, your summer will be spent in and around the Big Apple, and of course in the fall there's so much going on here you'll need to stay local--

Er. Um.

b:

. . . What?

I, uh. Starting August 27th I'll be out of town for over two months collaborating on the newest

Zuppa del Giorno

show,

Prohibitive Standards

.

: . . .

Sorry. Sorry. It's like this: See, I work really hard at my craft. The only thing that limits me in this is the opportunity to do so in any context that supports the rest of my life, which opportunity is unpredictable in occasion and duration. So when I get to do it,

and

in a context in which I really, personally care about the work itself . . . well, it's not to be missed, no matter how much it may rattle the equilibrium of my life at large. Hence the mad schedule, and feeling all warm and fuzzy inside the more theatrical obligations I have to run around to. It doesn't make sense. It does, however, make me happy.

By-Stander of Now Somewhat Less Innocence:

But how's your butt feeling?

Quiet, you.

Let the Games Begin

So I'm still thinking muchly about

Camp Nerdly

and with what I came away from it. The connections between it and some of my other work--in a theatrical milieu--are striking. Here are some of my thoughts on this . . .

As Far As We Know

: A show developed through the combination of elements from

actual events

and improvisational explorations of the ramifications of those events on the people involved. I was reminded of this show whilst playing

Dogs in the Vineyard

, what with the cultural fact/fiction overlap and the issues of faith and violence that are predominant to that particular game. I played a character taken from Mormon history, who believed in blood-letting being good for the purification of the soul. (This is based in biblical quotation, believe it or not. Mormons do not believe this now.) It was hard to find a way to play this character with sincerity, since his beliefs were so different from my own, and I feel very strongly about issues such as missionary work, the concept of sin and the pursuit of violent means for a peaceful end. Playing a soldier in

As Far As We Know

has helped me explore some of these issues, and so playing

Dogs in the Vineyard

was made more difficult for me given my inability to disassociate from the implications of its story. This difficulty made for a good game, because it's a game that thrives on conflict, internal and external. Rather like theatre.

In Bocca al Lupo

: This isn't a show, but an entire program involving traveling to Italy, taking Italian classes and teaching commedia dell'arte to American students, all of it culminating in a show in that style performed in Italian, for Italians. The Camp Nerdly experience was reminiscent of last year's first contact with Italy, in that at first I felt incapable of contributing anything due to the language barrier, but eventually I learned to express myself to good effect. Moreover, I had two experiences directly relevant to the work I do in

In Bocca al Lupo

: I was constantly trying to pick up the rules as I went along, and I got to participate in an improvisation class as a student (whereas lately I have invariably been the teacher). There is much to apply from these experiences to my teaching. (Is there no word, in any language, to encapsulate the phenomenon between student and teacher in which both are constantly learning from one another?) Mistakes can be learned from in terms of improving one's craft, but still others can serve to simply blow the doors off conventional wisdom, and thereby make new rules. Game-playing generates desire in addition to goals, which in turn can fuel a performance. And what of the element of chance? We in theatre talk a good game when we spout off about audience interaction and ad lib dialogue, but most of our efforts at creating theatre are concerned with removing elements of chance. How many of us would be willing to trust a plot change to a chaotic mechanic element?

Zuppa del Giorno

: This is the connection that felt most fruitful for me. In fact, it may merit an entire entry of its own some time this month, but for now a few observations. For our first show as

Zuppa del Giorno

(the mad-cap contemporary commedia dell'arte troupe) each actor was asked to build four characters from scratch, based on an appetite or desire and with certain details fleshed in. These characters were applied to a scenario we had already begun to conceive of, and there was a back-and-forth between the two as we tried to work out the entire show. It was a rather painstaking process, particularly because we were doing it for the first time, but eventually we developed a show called

Noble Aspirations

. Playing

Inuma

with Clinton R. Nixon while at Camp Nerdly, I and my fellow journeypersons created an entire world in under two hours, and somehow without once screaming at somebody for holding up the process. Now, that hardly compares--in terms of priorities--to the work of

Zuppa

. We have many additional pressures upon us, not the least of which is to create something accessible to a wide community of audience members. Yet there was something in the

Inuma

system that was highly effective, and which must be applicable. Our

Zuppa

shows are almost always created from very specific given circumstances (see the development sites for

Operation Opera

and the burgeoning

Prohibitive Standards

), just as the

Inuma

system works. Even putting

Inuma

aside for a moment, most role-playing games have something interesting to add to the method of creating a character, either from scratch or from the given circumstances of a script.

One interesting thing to note when comparing role-playing with theatre is a term used in the former's circles: conflict resolution mechanism. This term refers to the dice rolls, or the card draws, or what-have-you device used in determining things otherwise undetermined, such as whether or not you can succeed in leaping from a moving car and survive. In theatre,

very

generally speaking, there is no conflict resolution per se, apart perhaps from the comedies that supposedly end happily when everyone gets married off. Conflicts can transform, but the moment they become resolved is the end of the show, because the audience came to see a fight. "The show must go on" is not simply an axiom expressing an actor's work ethic, but the spirit of theatre in general. Is it any wonder that so much of our entertainment (including role-playing games) is motivated by battle or violence? It's a tireless metaphor for individual struggle.

If a "conflict resolution mechanism" existed in real life, we'd have nothing to tell stories about.

"I'm Not Even Supposed to Be Here Today..."

Everyone knows that one:

Clerks

. Why quote

Clerks

? Some of you may guess by the first sentence of the next paragraph.

Yesterday I took the New Jersey Transit to the end of the line (this particular line endeth at Long Branch) to participate in a reading of

Justin Warner

's play

American Whupass

at the

New Jersey Repertory Company

theatre. It's a play I've been involved in readings of for some time now, and I was lucky enough to fall in with Justin when he was just starting to do readings of it in his apartment. I say lucky because I really enjoy the script. It's not like

As Far As We Know

(formerly known as

The Torture Project

) or Zuppa del Giorno; there's no need for me to sell my first-born to make it happen. It's got its own momentum, and it's being spearheaded by Justin. I just show up and try to do the best job acting that I can.

The which is interesting work, because every time I read the script it's a little bit different, and adjustments are required. It's a comedy, with very broad (and occasionally coarse) humor, nevertheless Justin manages to make every character a believable person to one degree or another, mostly by way of giving them real objectives to fight for and real motivations for those objectives. It seems basic, but you might be surprised how many playwrights fail to do this. (Myself included.) The character I play, for example, is a new campaign manager on an incumbent senator's campaign. He initiates morally corrupt actions on the senator's behalf, but he does it and defends it with the utmost sincerity. He really believes it's for the best, whatever has to be done to get a good man in office.

That + professional wrestling jokes = Lot's o' fun per Jeffe.

So I take this seemingly endless (hour and a half) ride out to the theatre, and when I get off the train it is so non-urban I panic immediately. Will I understand the directions to the theatre? Will streets be numbered, or just named? Fortunately, 3rd Avenue is indeed 3rd Avenue (not even "Third," but "3rd") and I make good progress. As I walk, I reflect on my experiences of New Jersey, and begin to better understand it's reputation elsewhere for being a little, er, blah. The sections of town I'm coursing through are very reminiscent of those parts of Scranton that have yet to receive the benevolent wand of gentrificated (is so a word) commerce. Only with shorter buildings. It reminds me, at times, of the environment

Clerks

was filmed in. Which makes enough sense, seeing as how Kevin Smith and that whole crew hail from somewhere close by.

I finally get to the theatre--a modest enough building crammed full of performance space and show photographs--and am instantly reminded of several things I really should have thought of before making the trek. Specifically:

• The Laramie Project had its New Jersey debut there.

• Friend Briana worked there for an entire summer, thereby earning her Equity card.

• The core of UnCommon Cause (the artist formerly known as Joint Stock Theatre Alliance) probably attended this theatre whilst growing up in the Garden State.

So I go into the building, and am very kindly pointed back to where the actors are convening in the main space. There are only a few there yet, and I greet the returning actors, and I deal once again with not one of them recognizing me from previous readings (a regular occurrence in any venue, I assure you). Then I greet a new guy, and he looks familiar, and I almost start the inane "You Look So Familiar To Me Have You Ever Done Shows In The Yucatan?" game. But I don't. Some brain cell in me still operates to save my foot from being consumed by my mouth, occasionally, and fortunately it kicked in just then.

Because this guy was this guy.

Yeah. Brian O'Halloran was in the reading. As well he should be, because he works with the theatre all the time, and Friend Briana actually did another reading which I believe he directed shortly after her stint at N.J. Rep. So I should have put it together faster. As it was, I spent a good deal of time stealing looks and trying not to look as though I were trying to decide if he was who he is. Friends will attest: I am terrible at recognizing celebrities off the screen. Just awful. So I doubt the heck from myself at all times on such matters. Eventually the work of rehearsal took my mind off it completely, and then we broke for a ten. I was starving, having only had a light breakfast, but there was only time to get something from the theatre's concession stand. It was day time on a Monday, so no one was working it, and I could not espy me a money box, or jar, or bear-trap (Oh, you want to be a capitalist, do you? No hand for you!). Just as I was contemplating leaving me booty atop the counter, in swept Mr. O'Halloran to save the day. He took my money and handed me my Milky Way and presumably put the money where it needed to be. I only know one further thing about the experience:

Dante Hicks sold me a candy bar.

Yes. I have been officially Clerked. It was good for me. I'd do it 36 more times, if I could. But seriously, folks, it was at that moment, that divine conjunction of circumstances, that I became certain of his identity. Here's the thing: That's how down-to-earth he was. There was, as far as I observed, no mention during the day of his cult status, and he did a bang-up job with his part. His role was to play a variety of callers-in to various radio shows, and he made them each different in funny and convincing ways. To sum up: Modest, funny, talented and generally nice (insofar as one can tell over eight hours) guy.

And I managed not to ask him which he liked better, Jedi or The Empire Strikes Back.

The reading went very well, I think. I did feel I had done a better job in rehearsal than in actual performance, but we got a lot of of positive feedback from what we were assured was a very critical group. The whole thing was done in conjunction between Justin, N.J. Rep and a company also from New Jersey called Luna Stage. Apparently there's some hope that the show will be produced by one or both some time approaching 2008 (the big election year). It's interesting to consider a possibility so far in advance. Of course, I'm certain I would have to audition for a full production, so one never knows. If it was meant to happen, it will.

"A word of advice, my friend. Sometimes you gotta let those hard-to-reach chips go."

Holler if you Hear Me

I just want to give a shout-out to my peeps.

Actually, I hate

Peeps

(TM). They're just glorified puffed sugar, like diabetes-inducing rice cakes. But I know some people who love the Peeps(r), and I love the people who love the Peeps(patent pending) so, ergo, ipso facto, I love the Peeps(k) too, and must shout it out unto them. This entry, thus, is for ma'

Peeps

.

Some of y'all (most of my peeps hail from Virginia [though Northern {which was going to secede just like West, until they realized they had no natural resources}]) may have wondered where the Aviary went for the past three days. Some, in fact, may have panicked, and I offer my most profound apologies to just those panicky some. It's all right. It's okay. You can cry without shame, and I will hold you just as long as you need to be held. Maybe a little longer. Why not? No one's looking. And maybe, if that's too warm for you, you can just go ahead and take your shirt off. That's cool. We're just friends hugging here. And if that hug gets a little rubby, you know, if the, fingers get curious and the breathing gets throaty, hey--

Whoa. Where was I going with that? Oh right: Jail. For lewd 'blogostomy.

Where have I been? Well, I was ill. Again. Yeah. Thas' right. Because I rule so bad. There are aspects of my reputation as a performer that I quite enjoy, such as being unerringly punctual (unless I miss rehearsal altogether, eh,

TP

ers?) and always having some outlandishly overwrought physical choice to contribute. The one I'd just as soon not have continue, however, is my proclivity for infection during the course of a show. I was wicked good at that in college (starring in

The Three Musketeers

with a swollen throat and fever of 102) and thought I had whipped it (whipped it good) in the early years of my adulthood, but the past year+ now has brought the return of the leprous liturgist. This time it was a head cold that fell into my throat, which created the intriguing aspect of never knowing if my voice would go out in the middle of

A Lie of the Mind

last weekend.

Owing to how we've staged the show, with cross-fades in lieu of blackouts, after the act break I end up lying mostly motionless on my side on a box for about twenty minutes at the top of our Act II (Shepard's Act III) before being suddenly woken to proclaim a somewhat lengthy monologue. Well, last weekend it was always a crap-shoot whether or not I'd have any voice whatsoever after my little silent nap. The worst was Friday night. I sat up and started talking, and it was like trying to rattle a piece of papyrus, my larynx had gone so brittle. I made it, thankfully. In fact, I got some compliments on how effectively I played the character's fever. Which I took. What? That's valid.

The other thing is, I plowed through my congestion to take yet another trip out to the sticks. Or, as it is more commonly known to those what live there, Scranton, Pennsylvania--home to all things

Northeast-Theatre

-like. I was there to go on a sort of first date.

Zuppa del Giorno

is beginning to collaborate with a few community groups for our upcoming projects, among them

Marywood University

and the

Scranton State School for the Deaf

. We were to attend a rehearsal for the latter's production of

Grease

, and while there show them a little something of what we do, too.

Yes:

Grease

. Yes: School for the deaf. I recognize that this smacks of a really poor set-up for some even worse punchlines. Such is not my intention, however, as the high schoolers we met that day probably have gone right out and found every single website associated with us they could. Gang, if you're reading, I can only hope I half rocked your world like you rocked mine.

As it was going to be just

Heather Stuart

and I to perform our half of the bargain, we planned to do our clown piece, "

Death + a Maiden

," and had to allot time to refresh it before unveiling its silly splendor for what we imagined to be culturally jaded teenagers. We had the theatre to ourselves, and that is a fairly big space. Well, huge from a struggling New York actor standpoint. I was reminded, between gasping for air without the use of my nose and chugging Alka-Seltzer Cold concoctions, of the sacredness of space for a performer. As Heather and I struggled to feel our roles again, to polish our beats 'til they shined like the top of the Chrysler Building, I thought of how it would be yet four more months until Zuppa rode out

our new debut

, and wondered what work lay before us.

Heather, as I have mentioned previously, has moved out to Scranton, and before we took to the stage of the deaf I got my first look at her new place. It's really nice; idyllic, in a

Benny and Joon

kind of way. The entire time I was there, she and David Zarko cracked jokes about how long I was going to wait before caving and moving out there myself. It's hard to say if they had any idea how much I'd thought about it in recent months. Still, their jokes peppered my appetite for New York adventures in a very appetizing way. Just tonight I was out past my bedtime, catching a mixed bag of short plays. How I would miss that sort of thing.

Before we even met the students at the Scranton School I felt simultaneously like I was dreaming and like I had returned to Italy. Obviously, all the faculty there use sign language. Not so obvious is who amongst them can speak as well. As in Italy, I found myself having to remind myself to look to the person being translated, rather than the translator, and as in a dream I began to sense the sense of a language and culture I had virtually no exposure to prior to the moment. It was a matter of only seconds before my mind began making connections and understanding the tone of some of what was being "said," if none of the words or symbols used. That would have been fascinating enough, but we were there to the meet actors who were native to that country.

In a gymnasium with a stage built into one end we met about twenty young actors and technicians who couldn't hear a word we said. Our introductions and conversation all flowed through the hands and lips of a translator or, often, several, as others "mirrored" what was being said in order for everyone to get what was being said. There were still kids more interested in what they had to say at the moment than what the class was discussing (one I think I even caught making something of a dirty joke with his pals) but in this context such side conversations were easy to let be . . . one just kept his eyes on the ball. Like all first dates, it was awkward at first. It was funny, actually. No one was quite sure what he or she was doing there, or what the other wanted from them. Eventually we determined that the home team would show their stuff first, so they brought us chairs as we sat back to see a scene from

Grease

.

Five girls played the sleepover scene, and broke into gesticulated song with "Frankie my Darling." ("Frankie my Love"? I don't know. I don't know

Grease

. Or sign language, for that matter.) There was no music--they were still working on getting their speakers rigged to vibrate the stage so the actors could feel the beat--but somehow the actors kept in perfect sync with one another. As they signed, a translator spoke, always about a beat or two behind their delivery. By the end of the scene, we weren't laughing at the translated lines, but at the delivery, silent and as literally inexplicable as could be, simply because we understood the characters and their feelings based on the acting and, somehow, the tone of the signing. Actually, it was some of the most naturalistic acting I have seen from high schoolers, and I wonder how much of that has to do with their living first and foremost in a physical language.

When they finished the scene, we applauded. There was an awkward silence. I mean, even hands were silent. We didn't know what was to come next; but I asked a question. Did they begin with a table reading, as we usually do? From this the actress playing Sandy launched into an explanation about how English is a kind of second language to them, signing being the first, and that there's no direct translation between the two. After all, it isn't like sign language evolved from a romantic or Latin-based language. It is its own entity, and so any time a script is performed in it, the whole thing doesn't just have to be translated, but transliterated. The interpretation an actor must perform begins at the level of the very language they choose, and thus there's an added dimension of reaching agreement between everyone in their understanding of the script. We asked them if they ever improvised, and had to spend some time explaining the very concept to them, so Zuppa may end up really giving them something different.

Finally, we took the stage with our little clown piece, and I was nervous as can be. Would they get it? Would they be insulted by the noses, or the style? Would the piece hang together without their hearing the music, getting the auditory jokes? At first it was silent. My entrance as a red-nosed Death usually elicits a healthy chuckle, but not this time, and I suddenly wondered how laughter came out of people unaccustomed to using sounds to communicate. Would I recognize it?

I did. Shortly after my entrance, I took an illustrative swing with my plastic scythe and the handle bent, hinging the blade back on itself cartoonishly for an instant before straightening out again. The laughter was some of the sweetest I've ever heard. From there in we were all set. They laughed at our courtship--an interesting parallel, the first-date scenario realized within a first date--and oo-ed at the acrobalance. When we finished, they clapped and we took our bows. There was a very brief question-and-answer session, akin to those following matinée performances at the theatre, in which one gets the impression everyone there is much more interested in lunch than information. But then class was dismissed, and every student came forward to shake our hands. When they saw we were not in a rush to go, they flooded us (in a necessarily one-at-a-time fashion) with questions. One boy said he loved "this clown stuff" and wanted to know if we'd teach him. One wanted to know if we'd be back the next day. One wanted to know if my character knew his kiss would kill the girl before he did it.

I can't wait to work with these kids again. Zuppa's becoming a sort of incorporation of different communities, and it's an exciting prospect. We speak of commedia dell'arte being a living tradition in our shows and workshops, and now it seems we're paying the tradition back a little for all the life it's given us. So let this entry be a shout-out to all the people who've supported Zuppa del Giorno along the way. And to our new friends at the Scranton State School, I raise the roof. You guys can teach me a cooler gesture when we work together in the fall.

Tittering over the Taxing Toil

Dewds, oh my dewds: The taxes are done. Let there be much rejoicing.

That is to say, my taxes are finally done, and without the standard, combined period of days spent fretting over how they could possibly be so much, or how my computer could break down in the middle of them, or anything. Which makes me highly suspicious. Does this bode ill farther down the line? Can such ease of filing and abundance (HA!) of funds to pay city, state and country be merely indicative of some fatal error that will summon unto me the Gods of Audit some time in July? My suspicions, however, are at present overwhelmed by relief.

Not that the rest of the world has relaxed yet. In fact, there will be scattered days of panic, as though ripples through an otherwise still pool of fiscal calm, owing to the fact that the recent "nor'easter" has allowed for some (not all) an extension of time to file. This affects me, believe it or not, because my boss' clients (at il dayjobo) will have a few more days of manic question-asking. But I am done, and it is sweet.

We (I'm presuming a lot here [for a change] to include

absolutely every human being

) spend a lot of our time too busy to find comedy in life. I don't know if it's the relief of getting my taxes done (and laundry--simultaneously--

and for my next trick...

), the recent demise of Kurt Vonnegut ("Laughter and tears are both responses to frustration and exhaustion. I myself prefer to laugh, since there is less cleaning up to do afterward.") or simply gearing up for more work with

Zuppa del Giorno

, but this seems like a really awful crime to inflict upon oneself, this refutation of laughter for the sake of efficiency or accomplishment.

And lo, in one fell swoop he simultaneously achieves hypocrisy, condescension and over stating the obvious! I am such the multi-tasker this week.

I mean it, nevertheless. Sometimes I get a little fed up with performing comedy, and begin to listen to those who claim (literally or suggestively) that comedy is fun, sure, but hardly important. Au contraire, you bastards. I argue it's one of the most necessary and noble of pursuits, both in terms of creating it and experiencing it. Further (you bastards), it's just as much a talent to be able to live in humor as it is to create it. I am blown away by people who can laugh at almost anything, and really feel it. I mean, given the wrong circumstances, sure: I want to eat their jugular vein without chewing; but more often than not such circumstances have more to do with my inability to laugh than with laughter really being inappropriate.

Because almost everything that is of a daily nature is funny. Historical events, geopolitical movements, cosmic uncertainties . . . not necessarily rich with chuckles, I'll admit. But even in these arenas there hides the secret giggle, and when it comes to just getting your key into the lock of your front door . . . well, you could spend days mining such comic richness. It's exciting to me, this limitless comedy, because I equate it with an interconnectedness (unleashing U.U. philosophy now...). "It's funny because it's true," comes of identification, and if we're open enough we can identify with just about any scenario or creature.

Not that comedy is easy to craft, by any stretch of the imagination. Good comedy is of a precise, yet instinctive nature, and how many can claim that? Whether it's

the latest block-busting Will Ferrell behemoth

, or Friend Adam working on his latest stand-up material, the comedy is difficult to build, and it takes someone rather obsessed with it to spend a good deal of time trying, someone prepared to fail just as much as he or she succeeds. Such a person also probably experiences on a visceral level an appetite for others' laughter, and to know that

and

accept defeat on a regular basis is no small task. Then again, there are also those who are funny in spite of themselves. The worst of these are those who never learned to embrace--in some fashion--their own lovable foolery. I long ago prescribed to a philosophy of defining life by my stumbles.

As with income, though, we face a trade-off between what we do and what we owe. Must we give to Caesar his due? Alas, we must. But we can do it smiling. No one can take that particular pleasure away from us.