Humainologie creative dialogue Oct 13 on Lifelong Laughter plus a short story comedy piece of mind

“When I was born I was so surprised I didn’t talk for a year and a half.” - Gracie Allen

“I get up every morning and read the obituary column. If my name’s not there, I eat breakfast.” - George Burns

“I feel that life is divided into the horrible and the miserable. That’s the two categories. The horrible are like, I don’t know, terminal cases, you know, and blind people, crippled. I don’t know how they get through life. It’s amazing to me. And the miserable is everyone else. So you should be thankful that you’re miserable, because that’s very lucky, to be miserable.” - Woody Allen

Our topic tomorrow is Lifelong Laughter, and we’ll do somecreative exercises on topic. Try writing a paragraph of a short story comedy, or even – if you’ve already achieved lift-off – an entire short story comedy. I’ve appended herewith one of my own, a tragicomedy, “Death of a Shrimp and Other Value Judgements.” Look at the first few paragraphs. You can write better ones. I know you can.

Here are some thoughts about the meaning of life from Anthony Hopkins: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=omtirf5l0Lw

And here are some characters that Lily Tomlin had developed during her brilliant life in comedy: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lily_Tomlin#Tomlin_characters

Here is the Zoom link for our creative writing laughter workshop tomorrow Wednesday October 13:

Topic: Humainologie creative dialogue Time: October 13, 2021 06:30 PM Mountain Time (US and Canada) Every week on Wed, until Oct 27, 2021, 8 occurrence(s) Join Zoom Meeting https://us02web.zoom.us/j/83728528644?pwd=VmxxbDRSdHoxbU1Jam5rYnlPbnB0UT09 Meeting ID: 837 2852 8644 Passcode: 12345

Toot sweet,

Arthur

Death of a Shrimp and Other Value Judgements

”What have you done to your face?” he asked the instant he saw me.

It was always a pleasure to see Trevor simply because he was habitually obnoxious and unscrupulous and therefore (in my game book) fair game. His exceptional talent for getting his delicate hands on other people’s money had made him a rising star in the investment world, and his success in that game fit perfectly with the other dimensions of his character.

“Trevor, lovely to see you. I’ve had a sinusitis which I probably caught from you,” I said, “and that, plus the last five years of our acquaintance, have finally put bags under my eyes.”

He had stuffed one of the sandwiches being served at our host’s mansion into his mouth right after asking about my face, and did not immediately reply. He usually took a little extra time to come up with his best response to anything that had no chance of going into one of his bank accounts.

At last he managed “Devlin, what are you doing here anyway? Jason doesn’t even know you and this is supposed to be celebrating his acquisition of an original Picasso. I suspect you were not invited.”

At that moment one of the servers, a buxom young lady with the buxom being offered along with some shrimp on a platter, interjected, “Please have some prawns.”

“I came for the shrimp,” I said, and took one along with a paper napkin. I make no more distinction between shrimp and prawns than some would make between reporters and journalists. I did look at the thing as I lifted it toward my mouth but it was shrimp to me.

Trevor’s mind such as it was had momentarily been drawn to the cleavage just above the platter of erstwhile sealife. Nonetheless, to his credit, he had enough presence of mind to ask point blank whether I had been invited.

“Yes, in fact, my friend Desiree had herself been invited and asked me to accompany her.”

“Desiree? Do I know her?” Trevor asked.

“Fortunately for her and unfortunately for you, I think not, but I’m sure you will attempt to remedy that this evening.”

“Did you see the Picasso?” Trevor was by now a little off the trail.

“No,” I said. “Ogling expensive pieces of art is mostly for wanna-be’s, at the level of watching a sports event instead of being on the playing field. Eventually somebody other than me will come up with the idea of selling fan shirts for Picasso.”

“I will share those comments with Jason,” Trevor said. “Have you met him?”

“Yes please share my comments with him and no I have not met him.”

Trevor did not ask whether he should introduce me to the host, probably because even he was smart enough to know what my answer would be. For some reason I began mentally comparing the life of an investment broker like Trevor with the life of a shrimp. A shrimp was part of the natural world while an investment broker was part of the financial world. Would I prefer to become one with the ocean or spend the rest of my life in the equivalent of an amusement park run by potential humans like Trevor? I was thinking about this when Trevor spoke again:

“Could you introduce me to Desiree?”

“She’s over there with those three men,” I said. “You can introduce yourself.” Trevor looked across the twenty feet of floor space toward Desiree, her back turned to us, just as a fourth man was joining her entourage. I tried to read his expression. Desiree was wearing a simple evening dress that would not of itself have called much attention to her, yet the men were like iron filings around a magnet. Trevor could not figure it out, and he behaved exactly like a small metallic object in a magnetic field.

I could only guess what was going to happen when Desiree was presented with a game like Trevor. Hers was a very sharp mind inside a very attractive body and while she drew men’s attention easily she played them like a hand of cards. Men often came for her body and stayed for her mind, but a lot of them didn’t make the cut.

Desiree was her middle name. Her much more American first and last names would have been instantly familiar to anyone who reads the best independent journalism. She’d been a correspondent in war zones, taken down pretensions on the home front, and done human interest stories that reveal the miraculous in the ordinary. She was an icon with her readers and nemesis to an upper crust of scoundrels and their lackeys. As Trevor crossed the floor toward her, he was unwittingly approaching an audition. The thought of it made me wince. I turned to look for more of the shrimp.

It might have been ten minutes later that I noticed Trevor leaving the audition. The expression on his face reminded me of something from more than half a century ago. As each basketball season approached I would go to the door of the high school gymnasium to make sure my name was on the list of those who had made the team. Except for the first year I tried out, it always was. But what impressed me was the expression on the faces of those whose names were not on the list as they turned away, knowing they’d been rejected. Not all of them showed the rejection in their faces but some showed it very conspicuously. Trevor would have been one of those. He hadn’t passed the cut.

When I drove Desiree back to her place that evening I wanted to hear what she’d made of Trevor.

“Wasn’t Trevor charming?” I prompted.

“’Charming’ wouldn’t have occurred to me,” she said. “’Transparent’ would be high on my list if I had to write something quickly.”

“Can you give me a first draft at the moment?”

“I’m actually worried about his safety,” she said, ignoring my question.

“How so?”

“I asked him to tell me about himself and he did the usual thing of trying to paper the room with money. But then he mentioned he owned a private plane and invited me to join him in his friendly skies.”

“Come fly with me,” I said, catching her drift.

“Yes, and a pilot who’s got his mind where Trevor has his is not someone I would suggest flying with, seatbelt or no seatbelt. So I’m not kidding when I say I am worried about his safety – or the safety of anyone else who flies with him.”

I thought about what she said. I think of myself as observant but I would be no match for Desiree as a detective.

“Tell me more,” I said. “What did his eyes do?”

“He made eye contact only intermittently. He did look me up and down more than once.”

“Did his pupils change size?”

“I’ve never found that to be helpful,” Desiree said. “I looked for it but I didn’t notice any change in the size of his pupils.”

I let her out at her house and waited until she had unlocked the door. She turned and waved. I drove home, unable to take my mind off what she had said.

It was a little over six months later that I learned Trevor had been killed in a plane crash. There had been five people in the plane, two men and three women, all found dead and in various stages of undressed. The story that emerged was that Trevor and two other men who also had their pilot licenses co-owned the plane, which they had used among other things for “mile-high club” experiences. Something that happened on the flight must have lowered the level of vigilance essential for basic aviation safety. I could only guess what it might have been.

To be a shrimp or to be a successful investment broker, that is the question.

A woman took Trevor’s place with the investment firm. She had a social conscience and empathy, and she quickly became a role model for the profession. She was an original. She was out there on the playing field and she changed the game. Never mind Picasso.