I CAN’T WRITE JOKES ANYMORE (BECAUSE OF MY INFANT SON)
My sense of humor used to dominate “the scene.” Peers and, dare I say it, followers would trade my jokes back and forth amongst themselves as shorthand for “let us be joyful together, my friend group, my lovers.” My ability to use comedy to forge community is why I am so successful (and strong) today.
But after 12 whole weeks of rearing an infant, I have lost my craft completely.
Can I get a laugh out of a parent in our neighborhood newborn meet up? The answer is “sometimes, it depends if the parent identifies themself as someone who cares about The Arts.”
Can I get a laugh out of my son? The answer is “once, I think, but I can’t recreate it (I’ve tried).”
Can I get a laugh out of my wife? The answer is “yes, whenever the eff I want but not from written material. She likes my more behavioral stuff.”
But can I still get a laugh out of the people? I tried writing some jokes for them but could only muster the following:
“Dating isn’t just hard, it’s also really interesting. Still, it’s all worth it if y’all end up with a little angel, like my son Henry.”
“Airline food simply isn’t as bad as it used to be. It tastes kinda good actually. Not sure when I’ll fly next, but it certainly will be a milestone if I bring this little angel along. I love him so much.”
“I used to think it was funny that Renaissance paintings depicted cherubs as babies. Now I don’t think it’s funny. In fact, I get it. Babies are little angels.”
“The differences between New York and Los Angeles are legion. Still, I find it notable that the ‘city of angels' lacks one particular little angel: my son Henry.”
“Weird dream last night but who care bout that when your literal dream come true is little angel here now who love so much.”
“Sometimes I watch movies with my infant son. He’s too young to know what’s going on. That’s ok, I just like knowing he and I are together, watching the same ‘star’ lol.”
“In speech, I tend to shorten ‘I changed my son’s diaper’ to ‘I changed him.’ Funny, because (and this aint shortening NUTHIN) he changed me. Like an angel but little, he is my son.”
“Do you think my infant son is capable of love and, if so, do you think he loves me? I love him. So. Fricken. Much.”
“Hark the Herald Angel Sings isn’t about Christ, it’s about my infant son, the little angel.”
“The other day I woke up early to go birdwatching. As I set my scopes on a scarlet tanager, I noticed something kinda funny: I miss my son. I want to go home to see him.”
That last joke only makes sense if you know the context: my son, like a bird, has wings because he is a little angel.
You can already see my problem. My edge, the same edge that built me a palace of good will in the scene, has evaporated. In its place is a huge, fatherly love for my son that isn’t relatable if you haven’t met him. All the angel stuff, for example, might come off as academic instead of witheringly perceptive. All the soft dismounts that replace punchlines, for example, might come off as me abandoning the premise, which I’m not doing. I’m elevating the truth, which plenty of comedy adjacent commentators claim is the comedian’s job. So if you didn’t before, you now can see my problem: no one understands me. And that’s new!!
I’m hoping to release an ep by the end of the year but wanted to get this demo out in time for the papal conclave, which I missed by a few days. It’s less than 30 seconds and it’s amazeballs. bandcamp spotify
I told a riddle to a crowd of theater lovers and they hated it! Here is the whole story, which ends in me being disrespected by someone who thinks I don’t know what the eff I’m doing.
If you’ve read this far and you want to ask me a question, I’d be happy to answer if the question is normal!
Thanks for reading!
-Tim
Splendissimo
lolol you are one singular sensation!