Got the chance to spend some time in an old stomping ground of Portland, Oregon this month and beyond the chance to spend time with the many longstanding friends we’ve missed for some years, we were able to personally witness the the situation our faux-king President has referred to as “War-ravaged Portland.” You’ve no doubt seen images of the protestors outside the ICE facility in Portland, the inflatable frog costumes, the unicorn dancers, the mocking marching bands.

In case there is still any doubt, any and all violence we saw or read about was initiated by the gun-totin’ rootin’ tootin’ play soldiers. I’ve always loved the city, as only a transplant can, but all this reminded me what a potent tool humor can be.

Confession—I love to make people laugh. There is something deeply satisfying about saying, doing, or writing something that causes hilarity. I think of it as a form of connection. I tell you something I think is funny, you think it’s funny, and we connect over that shared sense. This is why we love comic performers, who connect with us through bite and sarcasm and deflating humor. This is also how we defang stereotypes. Can you believe a street is part of a war zone when it is full of plastic-clad animals?

Writing humor is hard. You don’t have the other person in front of you, to watch their face for cues, to adjust your joke on the fly. And sometimes the best humor is inadvertent.

I read a piece at a Noir at the Bar recently that I hadn’t thought of as particularly funny and it generated a good deal of laughter, surprising me. And, of course, pleasing me no end. But I’m not convinced I could have consciously drawn that laughter.

However you get there, making people laugh is a noble goal, even if only as seasoning in the most serious work. You don’t have to dress up like a unicorn and dance in the streets to lighten someone’s load.