Can Seinfeld be in my cloud?

I read an interesting piece in the magazine Ruminate where the author talks about the "cloud of witnesses" who are present in her writing.  Voices, snippets of conversation, emotions. . . it started me thinking about the voices in my head that speak out in my writing and conversation.

Of course, there's Mom's clever use of language, Dad's sparkle in his eyes telling yet another adolescent joke (or perhaps the same one), Jerry's valiant effort to keep a straight face and psuedo-earnest gaze as he says something both clever and understated. . .

To be honest, however, I find that much of my inner dialogue (and occasional outer dialogue as well) has a distinctly Seinfeldish tone.  My response yesterday to a bumper sticker-covered car ("My son is a Marine!  I love the Marines!  Semper Fi!") was to ask with feigned interest to the anonymous (and unhearing) driver ahead, "So, what does your son do for a living?"   Elaine and Jerry chortled with me.

When Seinfeld was first popular, people worried that the show was about "Nothing--how could a whole show about nothing?  Is our existence so banal?  Is there no meaning or purpose beyond existential angst?"

Whatever (eye roll, thank you, Elaine.) 

I prefer to find pleasure in mining the absurd, the comical, the ridiculous, and the just plain funny.  It makes me laugh and occasionally feel clever.  Sometimes VERY clever.  And if my audience of one is amused, all the better. 

So. . . that's it.  No  profound point. . .