Stories

Although predicted to be arriving in the two thousand tweens, the age of "Artificial Humor," or A.H., is too quickly upon us in these waning, whining days of 2009, and contemporary artists are feeling threatened by the competition.

“We never thought it would happen to us,” said Woody Allen, once  considered the Jews’ Jewel spewer of comic genius, now competing with an avatar of his early stand up persona which is WRITING NEW ALLENESQUE MATERIAL!  “Machines originating intelligence (A.I.) and music (A.M.) seem logical, but artificial comedians? Sure, plenty of funny looking Baby Boomer kids mimicked me in the old days, but now I’ve been completely cloned by some computer.  At least they waited til Dangerfield was dead…the lucky dog.”

The late Dangerfield’s avatar has been booked to perform for a week in Vegas via a Powerpoint presentation this Chanukah, and seats sold out mere moments after going on sale.  It’s also featured as a nude centerfold in this month’s “Wired” Magazine, which is watching the "Artificial Humor" movement closely.

Despite the anxiety-producing hit that my 401K has taken, I’m quite sure that the current belt-tightening is not bad for me.  I agree with my friend Marc that “it doesn’t debit your happiness to live with less.”  Yet Marc still gets grief from his friend for driving a VW now instead of a BMW, and I recently got grief from my friend for returning a $45 pair of windshield wipers to Pep Boys when I found Consumer Reports “best buy” ones on Amazon for $12.  Only someone wealthy, arrogant and out-of-touch belittles driving a VW or saving $33.  So here are some thoughts for middle-class people like Marc and me about how to live a very good life on a VW-with-Amazon-wipers budget.

Ya gotta say:
Goodbye Neiman’s – hello Loehmann’s.
Goodbye Barney’s – hello Ross.
Goodbye Nordstrom’s – hello Nordstom’s Rack.
Goodbye Lancome – hello Neutrogena.
Goodbye mani/pedi – hello nippers and PedEgg.

When I have a party, I try to invite everyone. I really do. And if my best friend has another best friend, I invite the other best friend. I include the world. If I happen to run in to you (random person reading this) a week before said party, I will invite you even if we’re not the best of friends. I even like it when people crash my parties or when someone calls me and says boldly “Do you mind? I hear you’re having a party and I’d really like to go.” What I LOVE about that is that the person who makes that kind of call, does know me. They know, I’m so happy to include everyone.

I believe I got this from my mother who would say, “You have to invite the whole class, not just some.” Or my dad, who carried his entourage around with him, leaving no one out. Both my parents never let anyone’s feelings get hurt.

One day, in maybe the 5th or 6th grade, a girl named Debby had a party and it seemed like she invited just about everyone. Except me. And maybe the worst part was that she included my best friend Susie. It felt like a real slight. On that particular weekend of Debby’s party, I remember feeling very alone on Saturday night. Susie and I were pretty inseparable.

Yesterday I sat through two and a half of the most excruciating hours of my life. Sat through, twisted my torso through, felt like throwing up through. But I stayed there riveted, horrified, sickened and saddened beyond belief.

I was at a movie, "Twelve Years a Slave." A movie that should, in my humble yet convinced opinion, be required viewing for every American over the age of fifteen. It is based on the true story of a black man, a father, a husband, a violinist, a cultured, educated, middle class citizen of Saratoga Springs New York in the 1840's who is kidnapped, brought to the south and sold into slavery. It is the story of what he witnessed, endured, and survived for twelve years before being rescued and reunited with his family.

The movie, directed by Steve McQueen, gives it to us full strength, undiluted. The camera lens takes us into the open, oozing, purple wall of the wound. Close up and into the bubbling beads of fresh blood made by the long taut leather lashing out, slashing, ripping red rivers into chocolate skin.

It's a story of a despicable part of our history and needs to be told correctly for many reasons. And it is torturous to sit through.