Quiet humour.

Yesterday I listened to this, which is a humorous essay on opera by Armando Ianucci. (Armando is a harmonized Scottish/Italian blend, which I think is nice!)

Armando! This horse cannot play clarinet AT ALL.

I am also reading The Best of Modern Humor by Mordecai Richler (1986). Both of these things are meant to be funny, and they are! But for the most part I have not been injuring my ribcage over them. There has been nose wrinkling, and I've had to re-read some passages; sometimes it seems like I'm the one being laughed at, for being generally knuckle-headed. Sometimes I make a face like I've just been handed a particularly lurid piece of birthday cake. Sort of a stifled grimace of amusement.

I get a strong sense that this kind of humour is maybe the most sophisticated writing there is, and maybe it is up to all of us to try to appreciate a little bit of it, lest our civilization's funny index be abandoned to the evil whims of John Travolta's hairpiece.

But it's not a chore, I swear! You will love not laughing at things.