What's Smart Comedy?

OK - so we all get it: I like comedy. Stand-up mostly, but most any laughter will do.

Recently, I've been feeling very ... high brow ... about my comedy. Topical humor - state of the world, state of the state, religion, life the universe and everything (42).

But tonight I had dinner (well, I think it was more a dinner date) with a friend who is fiercely intelligent. And, while I fancy myself a fan of politically- or socially- informed comedy, I was HORRIFICALLY offended by his lack of familiarity with Mel Brookes' History of the World. Looking back (and I easily did so via YouTube,) the humor is classic slapstich. Who's on first, yadda yadda. But I still have to laugh. An avowed Jew making light the insanity of the Spanish Inquisition. Humorizing the Last Supper. Throwing homosexual innuendos into the uber-Victorian sentiment of the French Revolution.

It made me realize that humor doesn't have to be overt to be smart. Sometimes tap-dancing nuns say just as much as Bill Hick's rant on Kennedy or Ellen DeGeneris take on God. I guess what all of this shows is that it takes different things to reach different people.

What this boils down to is the following: liking comedy doesn't make me a stupid frat boy. It can carry more weight than (in the words of Bill Hicks and many others) dick and fart jokes. But it also means that sometimes comedy can carry really important messages without sounding so preachy. Preachy can be funny. And slapstick can have a message. But neither of them carries the weight of the 1980's morality show.

I'd much rather watch George Carlin than an after-school special about the dangers of dating the wrong boys.

So, Jews In Space? Thank you, yes I will.

Poltergeists

OK - so it's no secret that I don't really want to move. I mean, sure, I'm moving into a space that has awesome energy and fantastic friendship. But it's not Gloucester. And Glouester has become my spiritual home.

Still, there are things; Last night the fire alarm would NOT shut up. Landlord seemed pissed that I'd torn it from the wall. Shit, in my "cornial ulcer" state, she's lucky I didh't unload a round on the disruption.

Tonight, there was a flood. seems to have been caused by cat-food lids. Which i find slightly inconcievable, as some of them might and probibly, been caused by catfood containers blocking water flowage.

But I am trying really hard not to take on my landlords insecurities onto myself. I didn't make tthe fire alarm scream unbearably. When I was shown the apartment, I was not warned of the potential water drainage issues.

Landlor's inability or inconvenience isn't my problem. That's why I'm a tenant and she's a landlord. I have tried a lot to help her. But at the end of the dqy, I write my checks out to her. So, to say it crudely, 'Suck it up!'4

Memories, they keep coming through...

I KNOW that I should be looking ahead. After all, the future holds unknowing wonders for me. The Universe will point me toward what is right.

Still...

Today I walked along Niles Beach. I remember calling friends and saying: "Do you hear that? That's the ocean. I live here." I remember walking up to visit "my rock" in a raging snowstorm thinking: Things will be OK. The Universe brought me to this place I love.

I know that I should - must - concentrate on what is before me. Living in the space of a beloved friend. Being close to .. everything ... and closer to friends I love.

I should honor the loss but also embrace the future. So why does it seem so hard?

In some way, I feel that moving is an acknowledgement of surrender. If I'd be making ye olde Pearson salary, maybe I could float the entire rent. If I'd dealt with roomie earlier, maybe I could have found a suitable replacement. But realistically and objectivelly: yes, there were things within my control I could have managed differently. There were also many factors beyond my control that I might have responded to differently. The lesson here is for me to take away knowledge from each.

So, I deal with this knowledge. But I still find myself:

Standing on Niles Beach, remembering the first time I felt: "That's the ocean. I hear the waves. I live here."

Standing on the Back Shore in full-on snow gear, watching the water froth over "my rock" and believing "The Universe wants me here, so I'll find a way."

Running in the morning, smelling the muffins baking at The Last Stop and seeing the sun rise against the backdrop of the Twin Lights.

Going for a bikeride and pausing at Bearskin Neck for a Gatorade and a glance at the Lobster Boats heading out to sea.

A friend of mine asked me recently, where would I be heading. I told her my destination and how happy I was to be moving into a safe space, But then I added, "But I'll come back. Because my heart - my soul - is here." And, yes, I started to cry.

I can't believe that leaving a place can be as heart-breaking as losing a lover. And, I PROMISE, I will embrace my new living space and my new hometown. But I pledge I will return. Because the memories will just keep coming back.

Re-arranging a life

Tonight I put two and a half and a closet into boxes. Somehow it feels like a success. But also, a failure.

Moving makes us put our lives into boxes. This is Kitchen. This is Bedroom. These are Books. Those are CD's.

My inner self doesn't want to be compartmentalized like that. The person who reads Little Dombey listens to Louis CK? The person who watches Fight Club also watches Giselle?

For someone who's been in therapy for YEARS, moving puts so many things in perspective.

I am a complex human being. Fuck, we all are. And unlike my parents, I want to recognize all of those parts of me.

I also realize that there is a HUGE part of me that will miss Glostah. But there are things to look forward to. And with my new (albeit temporary) jobby job, I'll get both.

But what I need to - and am working on - learning, is that we all have LOTS of stuff going on. None of it is good. None of it is bad. All of it just is.

So, I'll continue to cry. And I'll continue to laugh. And I'll continue to navigate a life that will always be open to possibiluty

Exhaustion

Tomorrow, I work at the winery, making six out of seven days.

Tuesday, I drive my wonderful, lifesaving friend to the airport for, possibly, ever.

I have boxes scattered around my apartment, slowly accumulating my entire life within cardboard.

I'm waiting - impatiently - for a call-back on a job that would be a really exciting opportunity.

Now that my gym membership is reactivated - and given my expanding thigh circumference - I want desperately to work out. For physical but also major psychological benefits.

My mind is torn and pulled in so many directions. I want to trust the future and all of its possiblities. I know I'll mourn my excursion from Gloucester. I must believe the work situation will work itself out. But all of this trusting and questioning and wondering and fruitless future-predicting is wearing me out.

I have to take pleasure and solace in the wonderful moments I have, day to day. A laugh with new friends. A discovery of a new Pho restaurant in Woburn. An admission from my boss that she is very happy with my work and success at the winery. The adorableness of a kitty curled up in a cardboard box.

I have to get up in 6 hours. And make nice for 5 hours before I can come home and pass out.

I want to go to the gym. Desperately need to practice my yoga. But right now, my yoga is to breath in and out, remember and hold the positive closely and know that I can concentrate on lovely non-essentials when I get settled, comforted and at peace.

A Sum of Parts

I was REALLY depressed yesterday. It was partly physical (won't go into that) but also a sense of overwhelm. I'm moving from a place I dearly love. And that entails emotional closure, but also all the realistic aspects. I have to get the carpets cleaned. I have to find moving boxes. I have to rent a truck. Etc.

And then there's the fact that I once again have my place to myself. And I should rejoice in this. No more worrying about coming home. No more forcing pleasant conversation when I have places to be and things to do. But there is a sense of isolation.

Last night, I said to Good Buddy, "You're all I have." And at times I feel that is true.

But the reality is, it is not. A dear friend called me last night, not for advice but just to bitch. To hear me tell her - and it's true - that she is a wonderful mother and an amazing person. One of the most wonderful person in this existence is worried about me being comfortable in her "former" space. Girlfriend is moving overseas and she's thinking about me! I have a myriad of people who know me and like me, however "superficial" our friendship might be. I have much to be thankful for.

So, in a way, I think this depression is about the uprooting of a life. All of the little things - the ppl at the convenience store who started to carry pineapple juice just for me. The ppl at my breakfast shop who have actually named a breakfast sandwich after me. The imprint I've made with local organizations. Hell, I even have "Farmers' Market" friends who share their stories and listen to mine. And I don't even know their names!

All of this is part of my emotional state. But I also need to realize that I've started over before. And I still carry memories of the good parts I've left behind. One ex referred to the waking of morning birds as "The Dawn Chorus." Another ex loved to cuddle just after waking. "So cozy," he'd say. A friend was amused that I put jelly on one side of a bagel and butter on the other. Another friend knows how much I detest olives and will stress this point at restaurants on my behalf.

I am losing a lot with this move. But I know I will carry fantastic memories with me. As things end - sadly or needfully - we still have our memories. And those are precious. Those are the things to hang onto. When I start to cry, when I'm feeling so alone, these are the things I should remember.