Smooth

I’ve been thinking about the way that people use humor to deal with tragedy. Like the jokes about dead babies that began to appear around the time of Vietnam reports of massacres of innocents. Or the jokes about shuttle disasters (Had dandruff? Really? Oh yeah, they found his head and shoulders on the beach).

I love funny things. I think humor is the best way to cope with insoluble problems or tragedies or misfortune, or just the difficulty of life. Sometimes it’s not related to anything in particular, and sometimes it’s topical. Best recently: Guardian article about Saddam and Bush having body doubles, and two different LiveJournals purporting to be by Saddam Hussein, and best of all, the Kim Jong Il LiveJournal, detailing how painful it is to be ignored by Bush, like some cross between international terror and Bridget Jones.

Therefore, I hereby resolve to be funnier and enjoy life more. I resolve to be a funny, charming gentleman who is always ready with a joke to lighten the mood on any appropriate occasion. In other words, I am a single man in my twenties aspiring to be a swingin’ bachelor of years gone by.

This does imply certain obligations, however. I must always keep on hand the following items: eggs, cream, oranges, (or at the very least, orange juice), and champagne (by which I mean inexpensive California sparkling wine). This will enable me to produce a fantastic breakfast at a moment’s notice for anyone who cares to drop by of a weekend morning, or to stay the night. Like maybe my parents or my brother visiting from out of town.

Sleeping around like a two-bit whore isn’t really a productive reaction to any of this, and it’s not even funny, but it beats lying around feeling sorry for myself and freaking out about the war. Besides, I’ve already priced out the work it would require to turn a barely-insulated fourth-floor studio into a bomb shelter or airtight panic room, and it’s way out of my price range.