HUMOR IS NO FUN UNLESS YOU LAUGH

Washington. In recognition of the brilliant way the worldwide virus pandemonium was, under American Leadership, brought to a stop, it appears only proper that American golf courses will henceforth  have Nineteen Holes.

Twelve score and five years ago our Founding Fathers declared it to be self-evident that all men were created equal. They were wrong, and we knew it but did not have the gumption to set things right. It took a martyr, as so often happened in history, to finally start the ball rolling. We –  no — the world owes thanks to George Floyd and all who dared to protest, come hell or high water, the police, or even the United States Army, or was it our would-be dictator’s own army? He talked that way. But bless him anyway. It is a tough job for a poorly prepared man with a demagogic streak.

A few years ago there was a fad, a pet rock that would bring you luck. You bought it from some character. People mostly treated it as a joke but a few believed in it. I did not.

However, I should not be talking big. I half believe in another weird phenomenon. Perhaps you do too. I am talking about the Sockeater. Mine used to live in the garage behind the washing machine. Every so often he took one of my socks. I have proof. Half a drawer full of single socks. What else could have happened to those socks? They never showed up again.

I say that he used to live behind the washing machine. He has recently moved inside the machine. I know I put three pairs of socks in the drum.  There were none left in the hamper. And yet, only two pairs and one single came out. I practically scraped the drum clean. No sock left. Can you blame me if I believe?

There is another Gremlin out in the garage, right under my toolbox, I believe. He does not take much, and then only small things such is minuscule little nuts that so easily flip from between your fingers. You see it fall, noticing precisely where it came to rest. You bend down to pick it up and it is no longer there. He is so fast, that guy. Trouble is, that was usually the only nut that size you had. So annoying.

Do you have a favorite screwdriver? One that hefts so well and is just the right size for most jobs? You had it for more than fifteen years, the handle was getting a little dirty, to put it mildly. Come some fine Monday morning a few months ago and it was gone.  Sounds familiar? Did you ever find yours again? Of course not. It was consumed, handle and all. That is why some hobbyists lock their tools away every evening.

This brings me back to the pet rock. I must have insulted the Rock family, the Rockies, so to say. Lately I noticed that the layer of expensive white marble chips with which I filled one of my flower beds is getting noticeably thinner and thinner. I do not want to rush to judgement, but Holmes agrees with me: elementary, dear Watson. The pet rocks are seeking revenge!

I am fearless provided it does not hurt. That is how I feel about medical procedures. Which keeps me in a constant state of apprehension whenever I get sick.

Some years ago I had to submit to a bone marrow sampling. The hematologist poked me brutally. I lived in fear of hematologists after that. Recently, however, it became absolutely necessary to get another sample.

Of course I worried myself to death. All for nothing: enormous progress has been made in this procedure. It is now done under light anesthesia and I felt absolutely nothing!

I am reporting this for all men and women who, like me, fear bone marrow sampling.

You are welcome.

 

 

If, as some people believe, humor consists in the recognition of incongruities, and if, as I claim, some humor is not at all the stuff you laugh at, then I have a contribution to the debate.

I remember vividly how in 1945 my country, Germany, lay in shambles. If it had not been for the American occupation forces we would not even have had a government to speak of, our own having evaporated. As a matter of fact, just 75 years ago nothing worth happening in Germany was possible without American approval.

How much has changed in that brief span of years: now the United States lie in shambles and the “Leader of the Free World” cannot even get a conference going without the approval of Angela Merkel, the leader of Germany.

Yesterday I suggested that the time has come to give up the habit of believing this literally, as the Americans of 1776 did. Or did they? It sounded good and so it slipped untested into the Declaration of Independence.

Today I wonder who should be our leader in making these words come true, a colossal nationshaking enterprise, I would think.

Do we have such a leader?

Consider: “All Men are Created Equal!” We have been living the lie since 1776. This may be a good time to bring our soporose minds up to date.

To some, the Old Testament prophet’s  belief that there really is no purpose to life seems obvious. Doing anything, in other words, is sheer vanity, it will get you nowhere in the end.

To others, “vanity” is when you say “I had better make myself a little more presentable for this meeting.” In other word, your vanity has kicked in.

But what the word has to do with our bathroom was still a mystery to me when my wife mentioned that one of the vanity drawers was stuck. I have learned by now that vanity is the piece of furniture in the bathroom that holds, primarily the washbasin and faucet.

I can’t think of anything more prosaic than a washbasin. But “vanity” it is and I cannot change that. So far so good. But then came the day when we needed a new washbasin. In the showroom of washbasins utter boredom rules. Used to rule, I should say, for a fresh wind has blown thru this department. There was one item that stood out. Picture the pyramids of Giseh. Now turn them upside down. That’s is how this novel basin was constructed. A friend has such a unit installed. You feel as if your washing your hands in a funnel.

So far, however, her unit has stood the test and I should not complain because even large buildings have been constructed on the upside-down principle. One of them the library at UC San Diego. And that still stands.

Yet, said the Prophet, it still is all vanity. I give up. Let him have it!

 

The word is hard to pronounce. It’s the umlaut, I understand. It means something like “laid-back attitude” or “nonchalance.” In some countries that is the normal modus operandi. Not in America, of course. We are always in a rush, even when  there is no rush.

It was a leisurely city tour via trolley. There were two loops. One by the water , the other to see the rest of the city. When we came to the finish of the first loop our driver got out of his seat and stepped out. When he came back he announced that the driver who was to take over was not here. And since it was the end of his shift, he declared, he was going home. He grabbed his jacket and walked away. His last words to us, the passengers, was “You are on your own now.”

And there we sat, in a streetcar far from Desire. Gemütlichkeit S.F. style!