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.