TELL A TALE

Has anyone ever said to you, “Tell the story about—“and then she gives away the punchline?
Of course, the logical answer to her request is, “You just did!   Story telling is a creative art form, just like a classic piece of literature, art or music. It is important that a  humorous story be told well, and classic funny stories can be told over and over again, because they pass the test of time.

Good story tellers know how to manipulate a conversation toward a place where the story seems to be logical.  The worst way to tell a story is to announce it, because you are challenging people to laugh. The best way is to slide it in for a humorous home run. Sometimes it works. Sometimes it doesn’t, but it’s worth the risk. Also, the best stories usually have an element of truth.

My Father was a gifted story teller. He and Mom retired to Florida and lived near the ocean. One of their neighbors was a doting grandmother who enjoyed taking her little grandson to the beach everyday, and my parents took much pleasure watching the child from their balcony as he played in the sand.  He always looked so cute dressed in a sunsuit, and wearing his little hat, while carrying his little pail and shovel.

One day a storm suddenly blew in. The child was playing too close to the water, and a big wave washed him out to sea.  The Grandmother fell to her knees and implored God, “Please bring  my grandson back to me.  He is such a good child, such a sweet child, such a blessing!” And, like a miracle a wave came up, and deposited the child back on shore wearing his little sunsuit, and clutching his little pail and little shovel.  At that, the Grandmother fell to her knees, threw out her arms, looked to the Heavens and cried out, “He had a hat!”

First time I heard this story it was told by Zero Mostel on a TV talk show.  Lucky for me,  no one can take a copyright on a joke. The comedian, Milton Berle was famous for his files of “stolen” jokes. However, if someone steals a complete comedy routine, he could be facing a lawsuit.

I must admit that sometimes I get some of my best material just eavesdropping on other peoples’ conversations.  I figure if people are talking loud enough for me to hear them—Go for it!  And, if they are talking softly, I can always turn up my hearing aid. There seems to be good material all around me.

Four men, who live in my senior community, enjoy eating dinner together. One evening I overheard them having a one-ups-man-ship argument about which one of them had the, historically speaking, oldest profession. They are all retired—an agronomist, a doctor, an engineer and a local politician.

The agronomist said, “My work is the oldest. When God drove Adam and Eve out of Eden, he told Adam to til the soil so he may eat bread by the sweat of his brow. So, farming is the oldest profession.” The Doctor said, “Well, if you are going to go back that far, you are still wrong. In the Garden of Eden, God anesthetized Adam, and when he was asleep, took a rib from his side to make Eve. This is the oldest record of a surgical procedure.” The engineer then said, “Well, even before that, the Bible says that God separated the sky from the earth, and the sea from the land—both first rate engineering jobs.” The politician, quiet so far, finally spoke up. “Gentlemen, you are all wrong. Very early in the Bible we read,’In the beginning there was Chaos.’ Who do you think was responsible for all that Chaos?”

There you have it! Some old stories do pass the test of time.

Esther Blumenfeld

DAY OF THE MOON

Laughter makes the good times better and the bad times bearable.

My book OH, LORD IT’S MONDAY AGAIN (co-authored with Lynne Alpern) came from our humor column in  Business Atlanta Magazine.  For the column, I had written a parody on the non-existent book, “How To Lose Customers and Antagonize Them For Life.” For the bogus book, I had also made up an author named Manfred MacAbre, and a publishing house called “Flummery Press.”

The spoof book really hit a nerve, because the editors of Business Atlanta Magazine were swamped with callers asking where they could buy, “How to Lose Customers and Antagonize Them For Life.” One frantic secretary phoned and said, “I have scoured every bookstore in the city, and my boss told me not to come back to work without that book. So, to save her job, we decided to write a funny book about work titled, OH, LORD, IT’S MONDAY AGAIN.

Readers of my website, who have been with me for a long time, are already familiar with the book, but what I have never disclosed are some of the answers I gave to radio and TV interviewers when they invariably asked, “How did Monday get such a bad reputation?”  Of course the obvious answer would have been that, “Monday is the first day of the work week” but that is more of a tragic answer than a comic one.

George Burns said, “Ad Libs are always better when prepared ahead of time.”  I took this to heart, and last week while browsing through my work files, I found, hidden in back of the filing cabinet, some of the ad-libbed  answers I had prepared for interviewers so I thought it would be fun to share them with you.

HOW DID MONDAY GET SUCH A BAD REPUTATION?

“After six days of creation and one day of rest, even God had to get up on Monday morning and face what had been done.”

“It’s the second day of the week, and it will always come in second. That’s why people call it ‘Blue Monday,’ because consistently coming in second is very dismal.”

“Labor Day always falls on the first Monday in September. It is most ironic to honor working people on the day which symbolizes the last day of summer fun.”

“Historically, “Black Monday” happened on April 14, 1360, when Edward III decided to send soldiers out on a Monday during the Siege of Paris. Hundreds of troops froze to death in their saddles. It’s not even a good day for horses.”

“The idea to build the Edsel was proposed on a Monday.”

“While dusting a picture,  in his home in St Joseph, Missouri, on a Monday,  Jesse James was shot and killed by a fellow gang member. I guess that  means that you should never dust pictures on Mondays.”

Oh, Yes, “The Titanic sank on a Monday.”

And finally: “Monday morning quarterbacks always mouth off when your team has lost the game.”

I also found some other stuff in back of my filing cabinet, but will save that for another day.
In the meantime, as Queen Isabella said to Ferdinand, when Christopher Columbus asked for more doubloons, “Oh, Lord, It’s Monday Again.”

Esther Blumenfeld

THE NAKED TRUTH

When I was three-years-old, my parents took me to a public swimming pool and let me splash about in the nude. They were quickly informed that they were breaking the law, and little me needed to be in a bathing suit.  That was my first and last foray into public nudism.

A few years ago, one of my neighbors asked me if I could recommend a handyman. Of course, I did so. After he went to her home, he called me and said, “That was one Hell of a referral.” I said, “What happened?” He said, “ A lady, old enough to be my grandma, opened the door. Then she twirled around to show me her new skirt, but she was buck naked from the waist up.” I replied, “What did you do?” And he said, “I fixed her plumbing.” That was when I found out that my neighbor, and her husband, were devout nudists who vacationed to a nudist resort in Florida every winter.

What brought all this to mind was a story in the Washington Post by Craig Pittman (6/8/20) with the headline, “As Nudist Resorts Reopen, Clothes Come Off. Masks go on.”  According to the article, just like other businesses, Florida’s nudist industry was hit hard by the coronavirus pandemic, but now places like the Bare Buns Cafe allow limited seating on the patio with patrons bringing their own towels and following the six-feet apart rule.

The nudism business is a big deal in Florida. It is estimated that 2.2 million nudists visit resorts and beaches and take cruises in the all together, contributing more than seven-billion-dollars to Florida’s economy. That number is nothing to sneeze at—especially if you don’t have anywhere to put your Kleenex.  According to Pittman, “Florida has more nudist resorts than any other state with 29 registered clubs offering activities such as swimming, golf, pickle ball, tennis and volleyball.” Since resorts are now opening, and people are encouraged to wear masks, I guess the best way to recognize a naked friend is by his tattoo.

Before the concept of body shaming, Greeks and Romans played in the nude and the best athletes in the original Olympics were unencumbered by clothing. “Gymnos” (naked) was how athletes trained and competed. A Christian emperor put an end to the games in 393 AD. In the Renaissance period a reluctant Church had to accept the idea that God created man in his own image and that “He” had done a good job.

In the 16th Century the Puritans disapproved and went to New England and everybody had to cover up. In the late 18th and early 19th centuries there were no protestors with signs that said, “NAKED IS GOOD,” but Henry David Thoreau gave the American people pause when he took daily naked walks called “air baths,” and President John Quincy Adams regularly bathed nude in the Potomac River. I’d pay money to see Donald Trump do that because I have never seen anyone walk on water.

Americans in the Frontier went swimming naked in swimming holes, but they did not play pickle ball in the nude, because it hadn’t been invented yet.  The Victorian Era abhorred nakedness so much that people covered up from head to toe, and even piano legs were covered to “avoid sexual arousal.”  That reminded me of the story about the French artist, Toulouse Lautrec, when, in a gallery, a woman said to him, “That nude painting, Sir, is obscene!” and he replied, “Madame, the painting is not obscene. The obscenity is in your mind.”

So, back to the present conundrum of what to cover to stay healthy. This research  led me to University of Florida epidemiologist, Cindy Prins, who advises social distancing, and masks, for the clothed as well as the unclothed among us, and she adds, “As a greeting, I would not recommend the Butt Bump.”

And that is the Naked Truth!

Esther Blumenfeld

HI, THERE!

 Frankly, I for one, won’t mourn the demise of the handshake. I won’t miss the finger-crunching grip, or the four-finger extended limp-fish gesture, or, especially, the slobbering hand kiss. I always hated that!  I could never wait for the gentleman’s attention to wander elsewhere, so I could wipe the back of my hand on my skirt. I found it totally yucky!

Taking it one step further, I also won’t mind not being kissed on both cheeks by strangers, or enduring the California don’t-mess-my-makeup air kisses blown behind my hearing aids. So, here’s the dilemma; exactly how shall one greet people—especially if only half of your face is visible?

After researching the problem, I found out that there are many creative ways to address people, other than just saying “Hello.” Most people are already familiar with the “Elbow Bump,” that can be quite painful if someone misses your elbow. Also, taking it one step further, I must say, whoever invented the “Butt Bump” is a total idiot! The familiar “Peace Sign” is confusing, because you won’t know if someone is coming or going.

I also read that there’s a foot tap called the “Wuhan Shake.” I have never seen it. Or maybe I have seen it and mistakenly thought that someone was stepping on ants. Some people use the “Vulcan Salute” from STAR TREK. The problem is that by the time I get my fingers to cooperate, the person I want to greet is long gone.

Tipping one’s hat could work if you wear one, but miming a fist bump could get you a bloody nose, and putting your hand over your heart just might bring you an ambulance. If you have had a botox injection, raising your eyebrows is impossible, and even if you could raise them, it wouldn’t work, because no one can see if you are smiling or frowning under that mask.

Someone I know, suggested that clapping your hands, when seeing a good friend, is a nice gesture. However, if a  stranger is  coming your way, she just might turn around to look at what you are clapping at, and then run across the street to avoid you altogether.

I did find some warm and kind greetings a person can muster, that is, if you are feeling warm and kind. The Hindu “Namaste” greeting is simple. You put your palms together, under your chin, and then bow your head, but you have to be sure to eventually look up to see if the person you are greeting is still there.

The “Shake Sign” isn’t too difficult. You curl the 3 middle fingers, extend the thumb and pinky finger and shake your hand side to side.  It’s kind of like the “Vulcan” handshake except with less finger action.

Once you have selected a viable greeting, I would like to add a cautionary note: Whatever you do, NEVER ask, “How are you doing?” because you just might find out.

Esther Blumenfeld

WINNING BY A NOSE

When my son, Josh, was a very little boy, the worst punishment doled out was to send him to his room for time out. I could never understand why that made him unhappy, since there were plenty of books and toys for him to enjoy, until I cooled off, and he could get his freedom.

Now I get it! It’s not the room, it’s the confinement.  I love my new apartment, and always have plenty of activities to keep me occupied, but it’s the (hopefully) semi-permanent isolation, and distancing from family and friends, that is so hard to take.

Consequently, always looking for a new distraction, and excuse to leave my apartment, I was most interested with the notification that public health nurses would be on the premises to administer a nasal-stick-it-up-your-nose test to determine if anyone here is infected with the COVID-19 virus.  I learned a new oxymoron when we were warned that a “false-positive” might show up, and that some unsuspecting person might be infected.

Properly informed, I signed up. The exercise was free, and would take only ten minutes.Yippee! It gave me an opportunity to leave my apartment, other than taking daily walks with all the other little dogs in the neighborhood, and taking a one-person-at-a-time dip in the swimming pool.

In the meantime, I planned to watch the Broadway musical, “The King and I” on my television set. It was a re-run from last week when technical difficulties made it impossible to watch the second half of the show.  So, last week I had watched the “King” part, and was looking forward to watching, “And I.” But back to the test—-

I was the first person to sign up for an 8 a.m. appointment. The entire staff was ordered to be tested the day before, so I knew the nurses would have lots of practice with different noses. I filled out the proper paperwork with my very own non-contagious  pen, and the nurse approached me with a q-tip that looked as if it was on hormones. She shoved Excalibur up my nose, and then pulled it out of my ear. Luckily, I had left my hearing aids at home, so I couldn’t hear myself yelping. I learned that from the dogs on my walk.  She dismissed me with, “Now, that wasn’t so bad was it?” I don’t answer rhetorical questions, but all in all, I am happy that I took the test.

Hopefully, all will be well, and soon the nasal-poking nurse will be able to take wax out of people’s ears the normal way. In the meantime, I recommend that all of us make the most of the time we have while we are in. That is exceedingly  better than being permanently  out for the count.

Esther Blumenfeld