The following incident should have happened, although it might not have. It was at the annual convention of comedians held somewhere in the Catskills. A bunch of old-timers and their families would gather round and regale themselves with stories and punchlines that were all too familiar. They each knew the repertoire of their fellow comedians so well that they had assigned a number to each joke that anybody told. All a performer in their midst had to do was grab the mike and rattle off a number to be followed by the appreciative laughter of their colleagues and their guests. It so happened one year that a fledgling performer came on stage and confidently announced, ‘number 27.’ To his chagrin, there was deathly silence – not a peep. (known in the trade as ‘Mount Rushmore.’) Mortified, the novice returned to his seat in the audience, unable to fathom why he had just bombed on stage. An hour later, a more seasoned comedian took the mike. ‘Number 27,’ he began, followed by five minutes of people laughing, guffawing, proverbially ‘rolling in the aisles.’ The young man, totally stunned by this turn of events, turned to his neighbor, a veteran jokester. “I don’t get it; I told the same joke, number 27, an hour ago, and nothing. This guy, they’re laughing so hard, they’re wetting themselves. What is he doing that’s so different?’ The older man turned to him and quietly explained, ‘It’s all in the timing.’
Month: August 2023
Does that include me?
You want a back story? I’ll give you a back story. This was years ago, and we and The Levines were standing in front of the small supermarket on Emek Refayim (in the Jerusalem neighborhood of the same name). We probably had just come from brunch at the late, sorely missed café, Tal Bagels, across the street. And there in front of the market was a volunteer for the J.S.P.C.A., offering at a modest price the organization’s calendars for the new (Jewish)year. Of course, Barbara and I wanted one, as did The Levines. Every year since then, I have made it a point to obtain a few of these treasures, which I then distribute to those who want.
The Wine Festival, One More Time
Another five or ten minutes and we would have been out the door and on our way to Jerusalem, and then it would have been too late to let us know. But the house phone rang, and it was friend Ezra. Of course we’re still home; otherwise we couldn’t answer the phone. A terrorist attack at Kikar Yahalom? And the bus schedule is all messed up because of police activity? The loop that I am out of, Ezra is definitely in it. He might even be the loop itself! The incident he was telling me about happened outside the local Burgers Bar maybe a half an hour before he called. But Ezra heard about it and, knowing of our plans, called lickety-split to let us know. OK, Barbara, said I, let’s activate plan B. Someone might be thinking out loud, Before you write about plan B, out of idle curiosity, what was the original plan A? Fair enough.
alittlebiteast 