Give the Jokes

Today I was tromping around town wearing this polyester gem of gown:

when a man waiting beside me at the corner of 57th and 5th turned to me and said, "I think that may be the most beautiful dress in all of New York."

He was a black man in a pink dress shirt and flower print tie.

I turned to him and said, I think quite reasonably, "Are you making fun of me?"

"No. Are you an artist?"

"No. I am a performer though."

"What kind?"

"I am a comedian. You know, stand up."

"Oh, you give the jokes?"

"Yes."

"You know what they say, don't you? The people who give jokes, they live long lives."

And then he walked away.

Well, slap me on the ass and call me Michael Landon, I think I just received one of those little-talked about but well-known Angel Visits! I have had those often in my life's journey, but none quite so succint and quite so in front of the legendary Plaza! Talk about a stroke of good luck! Can you believe this? "Those who give the jokes live the longest." Wow. I mean, what an incentive to give the jokes!

Also notable today:

While I was sitting in the cafeteria, reading a NYT article about those scary-smart, scary-young Google programmers and their endless quest for a "better search" ("Keep going kids!" I say. I'm still trying to track down some key employment information on some ex's ex-girlfriends so KEEP ON IT!), I was rudely interrupted by a Jamaican lady yelling "Hey Lady! Yo Lady! You with the paper!"

"Yes?" I say, finally catching on.

"Where's Wisconsin?"

"Above Chicago."

"It's not Massachusetts? He's sayin' it's Massachusetts or something!" She gestures to a cross-eyed Indian man sitting next to her.

"No. It's...it's not Massachusetts. It's...above Chicago."

I say Chicago because Chicago is a generally recognizable city here at the hotel.

"Okay! Thank you!"

I guess I don't know jack shit about Jamaica so I should just shut my prissy trap.