It is impossible to make jokes with the system approaching paralysis. I have repeatedly called upon my friends, my neighbors, my parents and my wife to engage without delay in a serious debate on the issues that confront us. Despite my parents' predictable response ("Enough with your issues already") and my wife's somewhat unsettling one ("Bring it on"), I am determined to seize this opportunity to argue with them all and make them look bad.
Certainly this is no time for comedy. It is a time to reflect soberly on how we have managed our finances and to ask forgiveness of those to whom we have sold suspect securities, that our names may be inscribed in the Book of Life as the fiscal year comes to a close. I'm sure you can appreciate the restraint I'm showing in flirting with humor while not actually engaging in it.
I won't say I wasn't tempted. There are some good jokes out there these days.
I will work with the Republican and Democratic presidential nominees and members of Congress to expedite the rescue of our financial system, even if they say, "Who are you?" and "How did you get in?" I will answer, "Where were you?" and "How did you get in?" Not jokes, just questions.
I am needed in Washington. They have the Treasury and the Fed and the House and the Senate and McCain and Obama working on this.
I did not enjoy telling my 13-year-old nephew yesterday that these are not appropriate circumstances in which to play Wii. "I'm sorry, Luke," I said. "There'll be plenty of time for Ben 10: Protector of Earth after we get a better fix on the valuations of these assets."
I took no pleasure in declining to dance with my wife at a charity ball last night. But how could we waltz as Congress was struggling to forge the terms of the Treasury bailout?
"No," I answered Carla, "I am not 'Amish,' as far as I know. I've just decided to suspend my ballroom activities while the nation is in crisis."
She pointed out it was an opportunity to lead; I made no joke in response, though I could have. I could have.
At home after the ball, I practiced my debating expressions in the bathroom mirror (faux mirth, feigned surprise, boyish candor) as I brushed my teeth, then ran into the bedroom ready to demolish Carla, and surely would have if she hadn't already fallen asleep.
I have been easing off humor gradually all week long, responding to the events of the day with a gentle smile instead of my accustomed porcine bray, offering friends and colleagues thoughtful remarks on our times, in place of my usual crass barbs.
"You heard about that Swiss guy who flew over the English Channel strapped to a homemade wing with jets?" an old friend asked over breakfast this morning.
"Yeah," I said, "that was about as smart as"--I stopped myself, and resumed softly, "Yes, I did, Jane. He showed the sort of courage I guess we all need a little of now."
My barber brought up the O.J. trial, and merely by stuffing a warm towel in my mouth I was able to stanch three one-liners that were trying to get out.
It's just not the same now at my favorite Wall Street saloon. I said to a trader beside me Wednesday night, "A Frenchman, an Italian and a German walk into a bar." When I paused, he said, grinning, "Yeah?"
I thought about it some more and said, "That's all. They just walked into the bar."
Write to Peter Jeffrey at peter.jeffrey@wsj.com
