In this week's issue of New Yorker, an archival of comedy, I read, from 2002, an article about being funny. Informative and yes, funny, I found myself, twice.
I am not, nor never been, a fan of the Three Stooges, and yet all the men in our group are. Interesting to find we're not unique. And, while my great find on potato chips has been that they're a great reliever of car sickness (along with a beer), I am now told they do well with comedy.
And Me, Not So Special
Biggie contemplating this morning. We'd tried, 4 years ago, to sequester the guys to the office when we first got them. That worked for one day before they escaped. It was the basement then, which was good, because they now have a safe place to run to when visitors come.
Was Biggie thinking about his imprisonment or wondering why the door had been shut for so long? (Reason for door closure? They'd made their mark on the easy chair in there.) Or was he thinking about the Wild Thing that now occupies that chair, protecting it?
What He's Wondering
A fellow friend of New Yorker noted this cover. Reading about the illustrator, I am thinking we should be heading to Massachusetts to see her other work.
I guess I'll ask her to see if she's interested.
To See the Art
