I had an unexpected call from a stand-up comic today who would like some writing help in editing and honing his material. If we go ahead with it, this would be a first for me, and, as such, offers a creative challenge that I would enjoy, provided we find a comfortable mode of working together (and he can pay my fees). So as I moved about my daily doings, including physical therapy, everything I encountered seemed to suggest humorous possibilities, some of them a little far out. When the guy exercising on the pilates machine — he was six feet seven inches tall, but prefers to tell people he stands five feet 19 inches tall (see what I mean?)– gave it up to me, he quipped that they should send the machine to Guantanamo Bay. Perfect for torture, he said with a straight face, and a good position for waterboarding. Maybe this isn't funny. I won't suggest it to the stand-up comic. Anyway he's supposed to come up with the jokes. I'm just supposed to improve his material.
What's also funny is that the therapist said that my muscles are in great condition. Hah! Who knew? And it's also funny that everytime I think about retiring, something I might like to do comes up.
