The year 2008 is shaping up to be one of the heaviest comedy years on record in Vancouver. Of course, it’s got a slight advantage with an extra day.

Billed as a leap-year extravaganza, this weekend is like a mini off-season comedy festival. You’ve got Patton Oswalt and Doug Benson at the Vogue on Friday (February 29), the merry band of misfits known as Comedy Death Ray at the Commodore on Saturday (March 1), Paul Provenza at Lafflines on both nights, and MySpace Presents Secret Standup, featuring Mary Lynn Rajskub and Janeane Garofalo at the Media Club on Thursday and Friday (February 28 and 29), respectively. And then there’s Lewis Black at the River Rock on Friday and Saturday.

How do you choose? Well, you don’t. You see everything. That’s what Oswalt thinks, anyway—at least when it comes to his headlining show at the Vogue and Comedy Death Ray, where he’ll be guesting.

“They’re not that expensive, so just go see both,” he says by phone from his home in Los Angeles. “There’ll be different stuff every night. It’ll be really fun to watch what I do on Patton Oswalt & Friends compared to what I do on Comedy Death Ray, which is a much more experimental, fucked-up show. Why would you just want to see one? And both will feed into each other really well.”

The cost of tickets is something Oswalt has long felt to be prohibitive to expanding comedy’s fan base. He founded the Comedians of Comedy, a collection of like-minded alt-comics, in 2004 with the purpose of bringing comedy to those who might otherwise never get to experience it live, by hosting shows at small rock venues throughout America.

“There’s a lot of people who can’t go to comedy clubs,” he says. “They’re not old enough or don’t have the money for a two-drink minimum and the higher admission. So if I’m at a rock club, I can keep the prices lower and bring in a different crowd. It just helps to spread your fan base and build different muscles as a comedian.”

Not that it matters much where he performs. Despite his commercial success, costarring on The King of Queens and voicing the head rat in Ratatouille, there’s nothing Oswalt loves more than doing standup comedy. He plays small independent rooms, comedy clubs, rock stages, theatres—wherever they’ll allow him to tell jokes.

“I mean, it’s fun every time for me,” he says. “It’s no different whether I’m in a music club or a comedy club. I just love doing standup.”

And not just doing. The man is a fan of the art form. While he’s generally grouped in with the “alternative” crowd, Oswalt will listen to anything.

“I don’t have any guilty pleasures in comedy,” he says, meaning that if someone is funny, there’s no reason to feel shame. “I don’t look at comedians as mainstream or indie. I just look at whoever’s funny. There’s plenty of amazing, hilarious mainstream comedians, just as there are plenty of amazing so-called indie comics. I just don’t divide it up. I’m not like, ”˜I only want to see people that are like me.’ I want to see people that are nothing like me.”

This weekend is as good a time as any to sample different comedic styles. And the Comedy Death Ray show is a great start. Hosted by the Fun Bunch (Scott Aukerman and B. J. Porter), the show features Garofalo, Oswalt, Benson, former Simpsons writer Dana Gould, Greg Behrendt (the author of the best-selling self-help book He’s Just Not That Into You), the quirky deadpan of 24’s Rajskub, and Internet stars Tim and Eric of Adult Swim. All under one roof.

The art of standup is making the difficult look extremely easy. And this is especially true in the alternative movement, which is less punch-line-oriented than conversational and at times absurd. But just getting on-stage and rambling weirdly doesn’t cut it.

“If you’re watching so-called alternative, riffy comedy, you’re watching someone who’s been doing it for 10 or 15 years, and it’s at the point where they can do that. That’s what you’re seeing,” Oswalt says. “That comes from years of knowing the fundamentals.”

A political animal, Oswalt sometimes has to step back from an issue until he can find the humour in it, before taking it to the stage. He doesn’t want to be the guy who just gets up there and tells you what he thinks, without a payoff.

“A lot of people do that, both on the left and the right,” he says. “People get so wrapped up in something they feel politically that they lose the comedy. It happens.”

The last eight years have been a gold mine for comedians, but the current U.S. administration is no joke for Oswalt—at least, not anymore. He’s done his fair share of Bush-whacking, but feels the topic is now verging on hack.

“Pointing out that George Bush sucks is the least edgy thing you could do on-stage,” he says. “Isn’t he, like, at an 18-percent approval rating or something?”

Still, he’s got lots to say and isn’t shy about sharing. In fact, he believes comedians can, and do, help shape minds.

“Anything can make a difference: a book, a piece of music,” he says. “Even if you change one person, by definition haven’t you changed the planet?”