George S. Kaufman, Metrosexual

GEORGE: Say, we had the loveliest new dessert tonight!
BOB: Oh! What was it? It’s awfully hard to find a new dessert.
Marc: (With emphasis) Is it?
GEORGE: Well, it was sort of a prune whip. You make it out of just nothing at all. And then, if company comes when you don’t expect them –
BOB: I want the recipe.
MARC: How many eggs?
(John up at the rear of the table. Turns on this speech.)
JOHN: Does it take much butter?
GEORGE: Oh, no – very little. I’ll bring you the recipe Tuesday afternoon.
(MARC feels a rough place on his chin. Rubs it, then takes a good-sized mirror out of his pocket and stands it on the table. Examines his chin. Then takes out a safety razor and starts to shave. After that he takes out two military brushes and combs his hair. The other pay no attention to this. JOHN is at the rear of the table, with his back to the audience; BOB is seated, fooling with the cards; GEORGE is seated, calmly smoking. After MARC has put everything away, BOB breaks the silence.)
BOB: Are we ready?
JOHN: No! Wait just a minute! (He brings down the fancy table cover, which he spreads on the table.) There we are!
MARC: (Feeling it) That’s nice, John. Where’d you get it?

Ah, the satire of the early twentieth century. Back then, it was enough to swap the sexes in order to turn a situation in its head and lend people laughter.

Today, maybe, we’ve got something similar, what with the metrosexual movement – if it can be called such. And today, George S. Kaufman’s playlet “If Men Played Cards As Women Do” would get such treatment, sometimes with the metro included, sometimes not. Not that there’s anything wrong with that.

Here’s the “playlet,” as performed in 1941’s “Star-Spangled Rhythm” and as introduced by noneother than Bob Hope and starring Fred MacMurray, Franchot Tone and Ray Milland:

But then I think a moment: Is such satire done these days any more? Maybe. I haven’t watched a regularly-broadcast TV show since I stopped watching “The Simpsons” in the mid-1990s, so it’s always possible.* The only “modern” parallel I can think of would be skits in the “Carol Burnett Show,” and that’s even going way back to the 1970s. So, those current with pop culture, please enlighten me.

*Not that I’m a TV snob or anything. We just don’t have cable or satellite at home; never bothered to sign up for it, and don’t really have time for TV anyway.

Nice, Uh, Hiatus . . .

While the vacation was nice, it’s obviously time to get back to work.

And since my wife was kind enough to fix my copy of “The Treasury of Laughter” in her home made book press, I can actually open up and use and read the book without fear that it would fall apart in my hands. It’s still a bit delicate, but it’s a lot more robust now after her careful repairs. (Anyone interested in seeing our home made press in action, let me know in the comment section here.)

Hiatus 2010

Yes, it's true this time. Not like last year, when T'aint settled upon me and I had lots of idle time on my hands. This year, I truly am taking a blogging hiatus for Christmas. Mostly. But here, definitely. See y'all in January.

Borrr-ing

As a writer, I know not everything I write is going to shine. In fact, a lot of it is unadulterated crap. But I like to think that, someday, I'll be remembered by someone for the good stuff I wrote, rather than the mediocre.

Then there's Alva Johnson.

If Louis Untermeyer is to be believed, "Legend of A Sport" is one of Johnson's better bits of amusing writing.

I've got to be honest: This is the first bit in the Treasury of Laughter I couldn't finish reading. Especially when I hit this old joke:

As a wit, [Wilson] Mizner belonged to two distinct schools -- the scientific and O. Henry. His scientific method consisted of bringing a calm spirit of inquiry to bear on boiling emotion. When an excited man rushed up to him exclaiming, "Coolidge is dead," Mizner asked, "How do they tell?"

And it goes on like that. For twelve pages. In small type. I'll spare you any more snoring, and leave you to go to your respective uncles to hear the old, bad jokes.

Elf Practice

Try this on for size:

When I was one-and-twenty
I heard a wise man say,
“Give crowns and pounds and guineas
But not your heart away;
Give pearls away and rubies
But keep your fancy free.”
But, I was one and-twenty,
No use to talk to me.

When I was one-and-twenty
I heard him say again,
“The heart out of the bosom
Was never given in vain;
‘Tis paid with sighs a-plenty
And sold for endless rue.”
And I and two-and-twenty,
And on, ‘tis true, ‘tis true.

That’s the entirety of A. E. Houseman’s poem “When I was One-and-Twenty,” which I suppose is comic in a way, but neither this one nor the other that Louis Untermeyer presents – “Oh, See How Thick the Goldcup Flowers,” is really all that ha-ha hilarious. Maybe it’s just me. Maybe I’m just in a bad mood writing this. But I’ve read the poems several times and while they may elicit a smile, they certainly don’t hit the Elf Practice level of hilarity (you know, Elf Practice, learning how to chuckle and go ‘hee hee’ and ‘ho ho’ and wiggle your ears, important stuff like that).

Scotch Tape

Most of what I know about the Scotch comes from: Greyfriars Bobby, Scrooge McDuck, that character in Mike Meyers’ film “So I Married An Ax Murderer” who makes fun of the size of his grandson’s skull, Chief Engineer Montgomery Scott, and a few little jokes and quips on BBC 4’s “The News Quiz,” one of which goes like this:

After this government (Gordon Brown) and Northern Rock, you won’t find anyone saying Scots are tight with money.

But Louis Untermeyer, bless him, includes a passel of Scotch money-themed jokes in his Treasury of Laughter. Here’s a little sampling:

A Scotchman, an Irishman and a Jew had dinner together. When the waiter came in with the bill, the Scotchman promptly said he would take it. The next day the newspaper carried a headline: “Death of a Jewish Ventriloquist.”

Angus woke early and found that his wife had passed away during the night. “Maggie! Maggie!” he cried to the servant.

“Aye sir?” she called back.

“Maggie, ye need boil only one egg the morn!”

In Edinburgh they tell the story of the two burglars who smashed a jeweler’s window and were arrested when they came back for the brick.

But what’s interesting about the collection of jokes is that they remain the sole oral storytelling tradition we have, and I included stand-up comedians and such in the mix. This is an old storytelling method, of course, which used to be implemented much more often before the advent of inexpensive printing, whether it was done on paper pulp, papyrus, or stone. So these terrible japes have more common with Beowulf than a lot of the high fantasy we read these days. Interesting, interesting . . .

Oliver Wendell Holmes is Content You're Reading His Poetry

Are you content?

I’m not. Well, almost. Good enough for government work contentment, that’s what I’ve got. But like Mr. Burns, I’d give up all of my billions for just a little bit more.

Oliver Wendell Holmes, Jr., understands that contentment without being content about it is part of human nature. Witness this snatch from his poem of that title:

Man wants but little here below.
Little I ask; my wants are few;
I only wish a hut of stone,
(A very plain brown stone will do,)
That I may call my own; --
And close at hand is such a one,
In yonder street that fronts the sun.
Plain food is quite enough for me;
Three courses are as good as ten; --
If Nature can subsist on three,
Thank Heaven for three. Amen!
I always thought cold victuals nice; --
My choice would be vanilla-ice.
I care not much for gold or land; --
Give me a mortgage here and there, --
Some good bank-stock, some note of hand,
Or trifling railroad share, --
I only ask that Fortune send
A little more than I shall spend.

The full poem can be found here. Or, if you’re in the mood for magenta, here.