There are twice as many professional humorists as farmers these days as well I know. And now everybody’s son and stepdaughter are lining up to get a degree in Stand-Up. Yes, you’re right, it’s a B.S. and that’s all you need nowadays, and so I’ve had to take up teaching. And I do stand-up at nursing homes where all the jokes are fresh, even the one about the old man who came into a bar and sat next to a young woman and said, “Do I come in here often?”
I like young people so I shop at Trader Joe’s where the clientele is less than half my age and the conversation in the checkout line is eager and fresh, not full of resentment at the high prices, and I look at the cashiers and wonder which of them are actors and which writers, working p.t. to make rent and snitch some produce and breakfast cereal. You can tell the dancers by the fact that they look agonized — the truth is dawning on them: I can’t do ballet because I have the wrong body, I have hips and a butt.
