The Parable of the Printer and Papermaker on Michaelmas

One day while teaching, Josh was asked, ”Teacher why do some Saint’s Days, like Valentine’s Day, live on, while others, like Michaelmas, fade away?”

Josh spoke thus:

A printer and papermaker was mashing pulp.

“Pass me an apple,” the printer and papermaker said to the printer and papermaker’s apprentice.

“Are we making apple paper?” the printer and papermaker’s apprentice asked the printer and papermaker.

“What is apple paper?” the printer and papermaker asked.

“I don’t know,” the printer and papermaker’s apprentice said, “You were making pulp to make paper, and you asked for an apple.  So I thought maybe you were going to make apple paper.”

“You mean put the apple in the pulp?” the printer and papermaker asked.

“We’re not making apple paper?” the printer and papermaker’s apprentice asked.

“I wouldn’t know where to start to make apple paper,” the printer and papermaker said, “And I wouldn’t know where to start to tell you what a dumb idea that is.”

“So what kind of paper are we making?” the printer and papermaker’s apprentice asked.

“We’re making window paper,” the printer and papermaker said, “Every year at Michaelmas, instead of making paper to write on and paper to print on, we make window paper.  We make paper and we put it over our windows, to keep out the winter chill.”

“If we didn’t pulp the wood, and we burned the wood, that would keep out the winter chill,” the printer and papermaker’s apprentice said.

“We pulp wood chips and sawdust,” the printer and papermaker said, “And sawdust doesn’t burn.”

“Wood chips burn,” the printer and papermaker’s apprentice said.

“And we will burn wood chips,” the printer and papermaker said, “If there’s one thing there will never be a shortage of, it’s wood chips.  If there’s one thing there will never be a shortage of, it’s wood.”

“Thank the Lord for wood,” the printer and papermaker’s apprentice said.

“Thank the Lord for paper,” the printer and papermaker said, “And pray that the Lord never finds another way for us to cover our windows.  This window paper is a godsend.”

“There’s glass,” the printer and papermaker’s apprentice said.

“I know there’s glass,” the printer and papermaker said, “You think I don’t know there’s glass?  But glass will always be too expensive for normal people to put on their windows.  People are better off sticking with paper.  There will always be paper.  Because there will always be trees.”

“Amen,” the apprentice said, “So what did you need the apple for?”

“What does anyone need an apple for?” the printer and papermaker said, “I’m hungry.”

The Parable of the Model of Car a Car Salesperson Sold

One day while teaching, Josh was asked, ”Teacher, do the congressional Republicans actually know what it is they want from the budget negotiations?”

Josh spoke thus:

A car salesperson was deciding what model of car to buy, the model of car the car salesperson sold, or the model of car the car salesman wanted.

“You want this car,” the car salesperson said to a customer, while trying to decide what model of car to buy, “There’s nothing in this car’s class quite like this car.”

The customer asked the car salesperson what mileage the model of car the car salesperson sold got.  The car salesperson told the customer what mileage the model of car the car salesperson sold got.  Or perhaps the car salesperson told the customer the mileage that the car the salesperson wanted to buy got.  The car salesperson got the two confused sometimes.

The customer said that the mileage figure the car salesperson quoted for the model of car the car salesperson sold was a good figure.  The customer asked whether the mileage the car salesperson quoted for the model of car the car salesperson sold was the best mileage in the class of car that the model of car the car salesperson sold was in.  The car salesperson assured the customer that the mileage that the car salesperson had quoted for the model of car the car salesperson sold was the best figure in the class of car the model of car the car salesperson sold was in.

The car salesperson didn’t tell the customer that the car salesperson couldn’t remember whether the mileage figure that the car salesperson quoted for the model of car the car salesperson sold was the mileage figure for the model of car that the car salesperson sold or was the mileage figure for the model of car the car salesperson wanted.  The car salesperson could honestly say, though, that the mileage the car salesperson had quoted for the model of car the car salesperson sold was the best mileage of any car in the class of car the model of car the car salesperson sold was in.

The customer asked about the leg room for the model of car the car salesperson sold, both front leg room and rear leg room.  The car salesperson gave the customer the leg room figures for  what was either the model of car that the car salesperson sold or the model of car the car salesperson wanted.  The car salesperson similarly gave the customer information about the power, the options, the color choices, even the price of what the car salesperson wasn’t sure was the model of car the car salesperson sold or the model of car the car salesperson wanted.

The car salesperson sold the customer a car that was the model of car the car salesperson sold.  The car salesperson’s boss told the car salesperson that the car salesperson had done a great job selling the customer the model of car the car salesperson sold.

The car salesperson was certain that the car salesperson had done a great job of selling the customer a model of car.  The car salesperson was less certain whether the car salesperson had done a great job of selling the customer the model of car the car salesperson sold or a bad job of selling the customer the model of car the car salesperson wanted.

The one thing the car salesperson did know was that the money the car salesperson would earn as the car salesperson’s commission for selling the model of car the car salesperson sold would be the final amount of money the car salesperson needed to buy either the model of car the car salesperson sold or the model of car the car salesperson wanted.

All the car salesperson had to do now was decide whether to buy the model of car the car salesperson sold or the model of car the car salesperson wanted.

The car salesperson felt empowered.

The Parable of the Home Field Advantage

One day while teaching, Josh was asked, ”With all the posturing among the House of Representatives, the Senate and the White House, who has the political advantage?”

Josh spoke thus:

A college athlete was sitting on the team bus, looking out the window as the bus moved in the slow pre-game traffic.

“Homecoming game!” the athlete said to a teammate, “It’s the biggest home game of the year!”

“Home field advantage!” the second athlete said, “They’re coming into our house, and we’re going to show them who rules the roost when they come to our house!”

“I’m afraid we’re not going to be very good hosts!” the first athlete said.  The first athlete reached into a pocket, “Damn!” the athlete said.

“What’s wrong?” the second athlete asked.

“I left my phone back in my dorm room,” the first athlete said.

“What do you need your phone for?” the second athlete said.

“I always text my roommate for good luck,” the first athlete said.

“Do you want to use my phone?” the second athlete asked.

“It’s got to be my phone,” the first athlete said.

“Why don’t you get your roommate to bring you your phone?” the second athlete said.

“My roommate’s not coming to the game,” the first athlete said, “It’s too far across town.  My roommate doesn’t have a car.”

“Can’t somebody else bring it?” the second athlete asked.

“It’s too late,” the first roommate said, “With this traffic, nobody can get to the game on time.  We wouldn’t make it to the stadium in time, ourselves, if we didn’t leave three hours before game time and have a police escort.  And look, two and a half hours before the game, the traffic’s already ridiculous.”

“My buddy’s just about to leave,” the second athlete said, “My buddy could bring your phone.  My buddy rides a motor cycle, traffic’s no problem.”

“Now that’s thinking,” the first athlete, “Only a person on a motorcycle could get through this traffic in time.  Man, on game days, it takes forever to get to the stadium.”

“Especially during homecoming,” the second athlete said.

“Homecoming, baby!” the first athlete said, “Home.  Come.  Ing.”

“Home field advantage, baby!” the second athlete said.

“Our house!” the first athlete said.

The Parable of the Potential Suitor

One day while teaching, Josh was asked, ”Teacher, who do you think opened the dialogue that led to the phone call between the American president and the Iranian president?””

Josh spoke thus:

A potential suitor pushed six numbers.  The seventh number remained unpushed.

This would not exactly be a blind date.  The potential suitor knew the potential suitee.  They were not intimate, the potential suitor and the potential suitee, but neither were they strangers.  They had not spoken to each other, the potential suitor and the potential suitee, but they had spoken of each other.

The potential suitor self-chastised for behaving like a middle schooler.  Thoughts of notes being passed in class, or more likely in the dining hall, sprang to the potential suitor’s mind.

“If you like me check here,” the note might say, with a box to be checked.  I good note wouldn’t give the checker a choice of “like” and “don’t like.”  Even a middle schooler should know the old sales trick of never offering an out.  “Tell me how much you want it,” is the salesperson’s mandate, not “Tell me if you like it.”  The choice is better or best.  The advertiser knows, as does the clever middle schooler, that the potential buyer should never be given a choice of not buying.  And advertising is, at its root, middle school.

“You want to be pretty.”  “You want to be popular.”  “You want to smell good.”  “You want to have friends.”  These are the goals of middle school.  “You don’t want to be ugly.”  “You don’t want to be left out.”  “You don’t want to smell bad.”  “You don’t want to be alone.”  These are the fears of middle school.

The potential suitor looked at the phone.  It was a confident phone.  It was a smart phone.  It had the latest software, the latest maps, the latest biometrics, the latest artificial intelligence.  Surely the owner of such a phone would be confident.  Surely the owner of such a phone would be sure of success.  Surely the owner of such a phone would have a middle school brain that wanted to go on a date.  Surely the owner of such a phone would have a middle school brain that didn’t fear being unable to go on a date.

Yet the middle school brain of the owner of the smart phone was, in the end, a middle school brain, even though the owner of the smart phone was middle aged.

Even the middle aged brain is occasionally the middle school brain that won’t push the seventh number.

The potential suitor pushed the seventh number and the smart phone connected the call.

“I was afraid you wouldn’t phone,” the potential suitee said.

“Check this box,” the potential suitor thought.  The potential suitor smiled.

The Parable of the Composer and the Lyricist

One day while teaching, Josh was asked, ”Teacher, remembering George Gershwin on his birthday, do you think he’ll be remembered best for his show tunes or his orchestral pieces?  Does it matter, and would it matter to him?”

Josh spoke thus:

A composer and a lyricist were analyzing a number of newly constructed pieces.

“They’ve got to be jazzy,” the composer said.

“They’ve got to be romantic,” the lyricist said.

“They’ve got to be modern,” the composer said.

“They’ve got to be witty,” the lyricist said.

“This feels like when we were young, doesn’t it?” the composer said, “Remember those days?”

“Our Tin Pan Alley days, you mean?” the lyricist said, “When we cranked out how many songs a week, for almost no money?”

“Songs a week?” the composer said, “Don’t you mean, songs a day?”

The composer and the lyricist laughed, pleased by how nostalgia varnished poverty, hunger and overwork with the sepia of adventure.

“What would you say was our breakthrough?” the composer asked the lyricist, “Our first hit song or our first hit show?”

“The show, easily,” the lyricist said.

“The song put food on the table,” the composer said, “It would have been hard to do the show without food on the table.”

“The show made our name,” the lyricist said.

“I think you liked the show because your lyrics were so good,” the composer said, “The song was just a simple love song, but the show let you flex your lyrical muscles.”

“Everyone liked that melody in that song, that’s for sure,” the lyricist said, “It was catchy as hell.”

“The lyrics were catchy too,” the composer said, “Everybody was singing them.  Someone ended up using them to sell soap, didn’t they?”

“Advertising people were always stealing my ideas,” the lyricist said.

“They stole my tunes, too!” the composer said.

“We were jazzy,” the composer said.

“We were romantic,” the lyricist said.

“We were modern,” the composer said.

“We were witty,” the lyricist said.

“But this group,” the composer said, pointing to the television, “They’re something else.”

“How do you make clothes jazzy?” the lyricist asked.

“It’s easy to make clothes romantic,” the composer said.

“It’s hard to define what’s modern,” the lyricist said.

“And wit is hardest of all, in fashion,” the composer said.

“I love reality shows,” the lyricist said.

“We should write a show about a reality show,” the composer said.

“The songs would write themselves,” the lyricist said.

“Oh I hope not,” the composer said, “I’d hate not to have some part in them!”

The Parable of the Passenger on the Wrong Train

One day while teaching, Josh was asked, ”Teacher, is government policy linear, like time?  Is going backwards only an illusion?”

Josh spoke thus:

A passenger had gotten on the wrong train.  The passenger approached the conductor.

“You have to turn the train around,” the passenger said.

“We can’t turn the train around,” the conductor said, “It’s a train.”

“You’re the conductor, aren’t you?” the passenger asked the conductor, “You’re in charge, aren’t you?  You say when the train stops and when the train goes?”

“When we are in a station, yes,” the conductor said, “I’m in charge of ensuring all the passengers are on the train, and that the train is ready to get underway.”

“If you’re in charge, stop the train,” the passenger said.

“The driver is the only one who can stop the train,” the conductor said.

“But the driver does what the conductor says,” the passenger said, “So tell the driver to stop the train.”

“I have no reason to stop the train,” the conductor said.

“You have a reason to stop the train right here,” the passenger said, “I’m telling you to stop the train.  You need to stop the train and turn the train around.”

“I can’t turn train around,” the conductor said.

“Yes, I understand,” the passenger said, “The driver is the one who turns the train around.  So tell the driver to turn the train around.”

“It’s a train,” the conductor said, “Trains don’t turn around.”

“So if you take a train on a trip, you can never go home?” the passenger asked, “There are no roundtrip tickets anymore?”

“Of course there are roundtrip tickets,” the conductor said.

“I have a round trip ticket,” the passenger said, “And I want to round out my trip.”

“When we get to the next station, you can get off the train and take a train back, if that’s what you want.”

“What I want is for this train to go back,” the passenger said.

“It’s on rails,” the conductor said, “It has to stay on the rails.  It has to go where the rails go.  And the rails go to the next station.”

“And then?” the passenger asked.

“And then they go to the next station, and the next station and the next station after that,” the conductor said.

“But I don’t want to go to the next station, and the next station and the next station after that,” the passenger said, “I want to go back and catch the right train.”

“The right train is gone,” the conductor said, “You’ll have to go back and take the next train after that.”

“But that’s not the train I want,” the passenger said.

“Well that’s the train you’ve got,” the conductor said, “Unless you decide you want to go where this train is going.”

“Where’s this train going?” the passenger asked.

The conductor told the passenger where the train was going.

“No one goes there!” the passenger said.

“This whole train is going there,” the conductor said.

The passenger looked around at all the other passengers in the car.

“All of them?” the passenger asked.

“All of them,” the conductor said, “It’s a train.  They got on the train because that’s where the train is going.”

“Well they must know something I don’t,” the passenger said, “I’ll go there too.”

“You can’t go there,” the conductor said.

“Why not?” the passenger asked.

The conductor replied, “You didn’t buy a ticket to go there.”

The Parable of the Actor on the Press Junket

One day while teaching, Josh was asked, ”Teacher, if a senator stands and pretends to filibuster when the senator isn’t filibustering, isn’t the senator filibustering?  If not, what is the senator doing?”

Josh spoke thus:

An actor was on a press junket.  On the first day of the press junket, the actor was scheduled to meet with 25 reporters.

The actor knew the routine.  The actor had been on press junkets before, many times before.  The actor knew all the questions the reporters would ask.  The actor knew all the answers the actor would give.

Once in a while, the actor knew, a radio reporter from a local radio station would ask a joke question.  “What kind of cheese do you like?” was a question that was popular among radio station reporters a few years back.  The actor would be good natured about such questions.  The actor enjoyed the variation from the routine of predictable questions--even when the variation was almost as predictable as the routine.  Also, the actor genuinely enjoyed making up trick answers to the trick questions.  The actor was proud of the actor’s sense of humor, and the actor was proud of the actor’s gifts for improvisation and repartee.

Most of the time, however, the questions would be about the the movie/play/record the actor was promoting.  That was the point, after all, of the junket: publicity.  The junket was selling tickets, and the actor was the barker.

“Roll on up,” the actor was saying, “Come see the bearded lady, the two-headed cow, the car chase, the CGI, the 3D.  Come see the recovering alcoholic’s comeback.”  (Here the line between fictitious story and true-life gossip often interacted, intersected, swapped.  “Come see the tragedy, the comedy, the insight, the incitement.  Come see!  Come see!”

The actor wanted them to see.  The actor wanted them to see the actor.  The actor so wanted them to see the actor that the actor had called the actor’s agent.  The actor so wanted them to see the actor that the actor had called the actor’s publicist.  The actor so wanted them to see the actor that the actor had called a director, called a producer, called a cast, a costume designer, a make-up artist, a cinematographer and a digital rendering expert.

The actor had had meetings.  The actor had had lunches.  The actor had had brainstorming sessions.  The actor had had story lines, storyboards and script revisions.  What the actor hadn’t had was a movie.

The actor was on a junket.

“So what is your latest project?” the first reporter asked.

“Me,” the actor said.

“What’s the story?” the first reporter asked.

“Me,” the actor said.

“Who’s the cast?” the first reporter asked.

“Me,” the actor said.

“It’s brilliant,” the first reporter said.

“What’s your latest project?” the second reporter asked.

“Me,” the actor said.

“Who’s the producer? the second reporter asked.
“Me,” the actor said.

“Who’s the director?” the second reporter asked.

“Me,” the actor said.

“It has endless possibilities,” the second reporter said.

“What’s your favorite cheese?” the third reporter asked.

The Parable of the Cat Owner

One day while teaching, Josh was asked, ”Teacher, how does cutting food programs for the poor help the poor?”

Josh spoke thus:

A cat owner wasn’t feeding the cat.

“If you feed a cat, it won’t catch mice,” the cat owner said, “You have to keep a cat hungry.”

“If the cat starves to death, it won’t catch mice either,” the cat owner’s neighbor said.

“The cat won’t starve to death,” the cat owner said, “Cats are predators.  Cats are hunters.  Cats can feed themselves.”

“Wild cats can,” the cat owner’s neighbor said, “And feral cats can, but domestic cats can’t.”

“All cats can,” the cat owner said, “It’s their nature.  Are you saying domestic cats don’t catch birds?  You’ve seen cats bring dead birds into the house.  And field mice.  And voles.  And all sorts of things.”

“Baby birds that have fallen out of trees, maybe,” the neighbor’s friend said, “Or sick mice that probably were already dying.  Domestic cats aren’t hunters.”

“Domestic cats in barns have been killing rats since the times of the Pharaohs,” the cat owner said.

“Those domestic cats lived in the barns,” the cat owner’s neighbor said, “They were more wild than tame.  They didn’t sit on their owners’ laps and purr and play with cat toys and scratch on scratching posts.”

“My cat doesn’t scratch on scratching posts,” the cat owner said, “I had it declawed.”

“How is the cat supposed to kill mice if it’s declawed?” the cat owner’s neighbor said.

“I had to declaw the cat,” the cat owner said, “Look at my furniture.  Wood, velvet, leather.  A cat with claws would have destroyed my furniture.”

“So declaw the cat,” the cat owner’s neighbor said, “I’d declaw a cat too, but then don’t expect the cat to catch mice.”

“The mice don’t know the cat doesn’t have claws,” the cat’s owner said, “The mice see a cat and they run.”

“The mice see a cat without claws, and they laugh,” the cat owner’s neighbor said.

“Mice can’t laugh,” the cat owner said.

“And cats without claws can’t catch mice,” the cat owner’s neighbor said, “Especially in a Fifth Avenue penthouse.  There are no mice in a Fifth Avenue penthouse.  Your cat will starve.”

“Then the cat will starve,” the cat owner said, “No mice, no dinner.  I earn my keep.  The cat has to earn its keep.  And I mean that.”

“What do you mean?” the cat owner’s neighbor asked.

“Don’t think I don’t know you go to the pet store and buy mice,” the cat owner said, “I know a store-bought mouse when I see one.”

“The cat was starving!” the cat owner’s neighbor said.

“The cat wasn’t hunting,” the cat owner said.

“There are no mice,” the cat owner’s neighbor said.

“Then I don’t need a cat,” the cat owner said.

“Give me the cat,” the cat owner’s neighbor said.

“You can’t have a cat,” the cat owner said, “No one in the building can have pets.”

“So how did you get a cat?” the cat owner’s neighbor asked.
“I needed a cat to keep away mice,” the cat’s owner said.

“There are no mice!” the cat owner’s neighbor said.

“Because I have a cat,” the cat owner said.

The Parable of the Songwriter and the Equinox

One day while teaching, Josh was asked, ”Teacher, do daydreams prefer that day be longer than night or that night be longer than day?”

Josh spoke thus:

A songwriter was caught between time signatures.

The songwriter’s left hand was common signatures, all threes and fours and quarters and eighths.

The songwriter’s right hand was five time and seven time.

“I hate the equinox,” the songwriter thought, reaching out to the keyboard again.

The left hand spun tradition, folk past, pop present, synthesized future.

The right hand wove chaos, syncopated flourishes, vinyl scratches, dub throbs.

The full moon didn’t help.

“I need to concentrate,” the songwriter’s left hand demanded.

“I wish I had a pet,” the songwriter’s right hand replied.

Or was it the other way?  The songwriter had trouble determining.

“I need a diagnosis,” what may actually have been the songwriter’s right hand said.

“I saw a red sports car and a red bird today,” what may actually have been the songwriter’s left hand said.

“I’m ripe,” the summer might have said, although it might have been autumn.

“Time to plant the bulbs,” the autumn might have said, although it might have been summer.

“This is autumn’s tune,” the baseline insisted, but the baseline had trouble distinguishing late summer from early fall.

“This is the melody for summer,” the chord structure insisted, but it may have been confusing the early harvest moon for the late harvest moon.

“Which is the sun and which the moon?” the songwriter’s sense of time demanded.  The songwriter’s sense of time was confused.  When night became longer than day, and when day became longer than night, the songwriter’s sense of time either woke too early in the morning or fell asleep on the couch, mid-evening.  The songwriter’s sense of time was off-balance chemistry and off-kilter mood swings.

So now, as sunset blended with sunrise, and the moon seemed preternaturally bright behind the silhouette of the barn and oak, the songwriter had no sense of time.  The songwriter knew only the passage of time.

And what was the time signature for the passage of time?

“I hate the equinox,” the songwriter thought, reaching out for the keyboard again.

The Parable of the Water Boiler

One day while teaching, Josh was asked, ”Teacher, if we don’t call a terrorist a terrorist, is a terrorist still a terrorist?”

Josh spoke thus:

An engineer was studying the blueprints of a boiler.  It was, the engineer believed, a good boiler, but the engineer did not believe it was a good enough boiler.

“The steam doesn’t remain steam long enough,” the engineer told the project lead, “That’s the thing with steam, it doesn’t stay steam.  You heat up water, it becomes steam, great, and this boiler does that great, but when you’re done heating up the water and turning it into steam, you have to do something with that steam.”

“We are doing something with that steam,” the project lead said, “We’re turning it into electricity.”

“How?  All I see is a boiler and some pipes,” the engineer said.

“That’s all you can see,” the project lead said.

“So where’s the electricity generated?” the engineer asked.

“That’s not your problem,” the project lead said.

“It’s my problem if the steam cools back into water,” the engineer said.

“Let it,” the project lead said, “We’ll reheat it.”

“Reheat it?” the engineer asked, “Where?”

“Over there,” the project lead said, pointing at a building across the street.

“Why?” the engineer asked.

“So we can use coal,” the project lead said.

“Why couldn’t you use coal before?” the engineer asked.

“Because of emissions,” the project lead said, “New carbon emission standards are killing our profits.”

“So what’s this do?” the engineer asked.

“We superheat water here,” the project lead said, “Then we send the superheated water across the street.  We don’t generate electricity.  We sell superheated water.”

“Why?” the engineer asked.

“Because the regulations cover coal-powered electrical generation,” the project lead said, “Heating water to generate electricity means burning coal, which means emissions.  But the regulations say nothing about superheating water, then selling the superheated water.  So half our energy cost comes from superheating the water.  But the power plant doesn’t superheat the water, so the carbon emissions don’t count against the generation of the electricity.”

“So then only the carbon cost of heating the water from superheated to steam goes against the power plant,” the engineer said. 

“We’re generating electricity with half the carbon footprint,” the project engineer said, “Clean coal.”

“Clean coal,” the engineer said, “I like it.  Man, this is a good boiler!”

“Almost as good as our accountants,” the project lead said.

The Parable of the Guest and the Host

One day while teaching, Josh was asked, ”Teacher, everyone in Congress, almost, is a millionaire.  Most of what they do protects millionaires.  How can they fight so nastily over the small differences in how they protect millionaires?”

Josh spoke thus:

A guest was standing in a host’s doorway.

“I’m leaving,” the guest said, “Don’t think I won’t leave.”

“It’s two o’clock in the morning,” the host said, “If you have to leave, then I understand.”

“I mean it,” the guest said, “I’ve opened the door, you see I’ve opened the door.”

“I see you’ve opened the door,” the host said.

“Why did I open the door you ask?” the guest said.

“I didn’t ask,” the host said.

“Well you might ask why I opened the door,” the guest said, “Was it to let in the cat?”

“I don’t have a cat,” the host said.

“It wasn’t to let in the cat,” the guest said, “You don’t even have a cat.  Why would I open the door to let in the cat when you don’t even have a cat?”

“You wouldn’t,” the host said.

“I wouldn’t,” the guest said, “So obviously I didn’t open the door to let in the cat.  Was I answering the doorbell?”

“I don’t have a doorbell,” the host said.

“I wasn’t answering the doorbell,” the guest said, “You don’t even have a doorbell.  How could I answer the doorbell if you don’t even have a doorbell?  No, there was only one reason why I would open the door.  Do you know what that is?”

“To leave?” the host asked.

“To leave!” the guest said, “That was why I opened the door!  I opened the door to leave.”

“So you’re leaving?” the host asked.

“Don’t think I won’t,” the guest said, “I mean it, I’m halfway out the door.  The door is open, I’m halfway out.  I’m halfway to leaving.  Another half and I’m all the way out.  I’m that close to being out.  I’m that close to gone.  I’m that close to leaving.”

“But you’re not leaving?” the host asked.

“You can still stop me,” the guest said.

“I want to stop you?” the host asked.

“You only have to do one thing,” the guest said, “And I’ll change my mind and I’ll stay.  Do you know what that one thing is?  Go ahead, guess what that one thing is.  Ask me that one question that will change my mind.”

“Are you saying you want another drink?” the host asked.

“Oh, if you insist,” the guest said. The guest stepped fully inside, closed the door, and said, “A gin and tonic, if you’ve got it.”

“I have no gin,” the host said.

“Are you messing with me?” the guest asked, “Because you know I don’t like being messed with, you know I...”  The guest opened the door again.

“The beer’s in the fridge,” the host said, “You know the beer’s in the fridge.  Why can’t you just say ‘snag me a beer while you’re in there,’ like everyone else?”

“Because you love me this way,” the guest said.  The guest shut the door and went into the kitchen.

“I do love you this way,” the host said. The host reopened the door and said, “But don’t think for a minute I won’t go.” 

“Lager?” the guest asked.

“Lager,” the host said.

The guest came out of the kitchen and tossed the host a lager.

“One of these days, I will leave, you know,” the host said.

“It’s your apartment,” the guest said.

“Oh yeah,” the host said.  The host closed the door and joined the guest on the couch.  “Don’t ever leave me,” the host said.

The guest replied, “Get some gin.”

The Parable of the Harvest Moon

One day while teaching, Josh was asked, ”Teacher, why does autumn sometimes make me melancholy and other times fill me with excitement?”

Josh spoke thus:

Two lovers were sharing a harvest moon.

“That moon is enormous,” one lover said, “I’ve never seen a bigger moon.”

The second lover, aware of the optical illusion that made the moon look larger than it was, said, “Our love is the reason it’s so large.  Looking down on us here, as we look up at the moon in the sky, the moon is overflowing with our love.”

The first lover, whose tastes eschewed florid imagery and romantic language, blushed, gave the second lover’s hand a squeeze and moved closer to the second lover.  The first lover felt the second lover’s heart beat.

The two lovers’ hearts were syncopated at the beginning, but as they sat, their pulses seemed to synchronize, in the way that metronomes will synchronize if placed on a movable surface together.  The first lover rejected the metaphor but held the second lover closer nonetheless.

“Why do they call it the harvest moon?” the second lover asked.  The second lover knew that there were competing theories about the origin of the phrase.  

An almanac the second lover had read had indicated that the concept of the harvest moon was of Native American origin.  The harvest moon was the last full moon before the equinox, which was the time of harvesting.  

Another story contended that the harvest moon was later in the year and followed, rather than preceded, the harvest.  The theory was that such a moon would appear larger and brighter after the crops had been cleared from the fields and the leaves had fallen from the trees. This was in direct conflict with the optical illusion of a large moon created by objects near the horizon--like fully-foliaged trees--but the theory did not address this conflict.  

Yet another view was that the harvest moon was so called because workers could harvest by night when the moon was unusually bright.

Regardless of the etymology, the second lover told the first lover, “The harvest moon is the moon when lovers reap the fruits of their sowing.”

“So which are you doing?” the first lover asked, “Reaping or sowing?”

“It’s a harvesting moon,” the second lover said.

“I’ve never been harvested,” the first lover said, “I hope it isn’t painful.”

The Parable of the Child Turning the Other Cheek

One day while teaching, Josh was asked, ”Teacher, why do our politicians insist on ignoring everything that’s said to them?”

Josh spoke thus:

After school one day, a child asked two teachers what to do when confronted by a bully.

“You need to stand up to the bully,” one of the teachers said.

“You should turn the other cheek,” the other teacher said.

The next day, the child again asked the two teachers what to do when confronted with a bully.

“You need to stand up to the bully,” the one teacher said again.

“You should turn the other cheek,” the other teacher said again.

On the third day, the child again asked the two teachers what to do when confronted by a bully.

“You need to stand up to the bully,” the one teacher said again.

“You need to turn the other cheek,” the second teacher said again.

On the fourth day, one of the child’s parents came to the school.

“What have you been saying to my child?” the parent asked the two teachers.

“We were asked what to do when confronted by a bully,” the first teacher said, “And I said to stand up to the bully.”

“And I said to turn the other cheek,” the other teacher said.

“Well that explains a lot,” the child’s parent said.

The teachers asked the child’s parent what had happened.

“It started a few days ago,” the parent said, “I told my child to pick up all the toys on the living room floor and put them on the shelf where the belonged. My child walked up to me, stood on his toes and deliberately shoved his right cheek at my face.”

The two teachers laughed.

“There’s more,” the parent said, “The next day, I told my child to finish his vegetables or he couldn’t leave the table.  My child stood up from the table, walked to me and shoved his left cheek in my face.”

The two teachers laughed again.

“There’s more,” the child’s parent said, “Today I told my child he couldn’t go out to play until he’d finished his homework.  He stood up from his desk, walked up to me, turned around and dropped his trousers, pushing his butt cheek at me.”

The two teachers laughed a third time.

“What kind of teachers are you?” the parent asked.

“We’re excellent teachers,” the first teacher said.

The second teacher said, “Your child followed our instructions perfectly!”

The Parable of the Sumo Wrestler

One day while teaching, Josh was asked, ”Teacher, first the Italians straightened the Leaning Tower of Pisa, now they’ve righted the Costa Concordia.  What will they stand up next, the entire Colosseum?”

Josh spoke thus:

A sumo wrestler was lying on the ground.

“Are you hurt?” the sumo wrestler’s trainer asked the sumo wrestler.  The sumo wrestler didn’t reply.

The sumo wrestler’s trainer knelt on the ground beside the sumo wrestler.  The sumo wrestler’s body dwarfed the sumo wrestler’s trainer.

The sumo wrestler’s trainer examined the sumo wrestler’s face.  The sumo wrestler’s trainer couldn’t tell whether the sumo wrestler was awake, was asleep or was dead.  The sumo wrestler’s trainer waved a hand in front of the sumo wrestler’s face.

“Are you okay?” the sumo wrestler’s trainer asked.  The sumo wrestler didn’t reply.

The sumo wrestler’s trainer felt beneath the sumo wrestler’s nostrils and detected that the sumo wrestler was breathing.  Relieved, the sumo wrestler’s trainer poked the sumo wrestler.  The sumo wrestler giggled.

“That tickles,” the sumo wrestler said.

“You’re okay!” the sumo wrestler’s trainer said, “You had me worried.”

“I’ve thrown out my back,” the sumo wrestler said, “You have to help me up.”

“I’ll call a doctor,” the sumo wrestler’s trainer said.

“I don’t need a doctor,” the sumo wrestler said, “I need to stand up.”

“If it’s your back, you shouldn’t move,” the sumo wrestler’s trainer said.  The sumo wrestler snatched at the sumo wrestler’s trainer’s neck, latching on to the sumo wrestler’s trainer’s throat, and said, “I need to stand up.  Get under me.”

“Under you?” the sumo wrestler’s trainer said, “That’s impossible.”

The sumo wrestler shoved the sumo wrestler’s trainer underneath the sumo wrestler’s belly.

“Now stand,” the sumo wrestler said.

The sumo wrestler’s trainer attempted to stand, but the sumo wrestler’s weight made standing impossible.

“Kneel first,” the sumo wrestler said.  The sumo wrestler’s trainer kneeled.

“Now push with your arms and legs,” the sumo wrestler said.  The sumo wrestler’s trainer obeyed.  The sumo wrestler rolled away from the sumo wrestler’s trainer, finishing in a sitting position.

“Now pull my arms,” the sumo wrestler said.  The sumo wrestler’s trainer pulled the sumo wrestler’s arms.  The sumo wrestler didn’t budge.

“Maybe that’s too much,” the sumo wrestler said, “Try something smaller.  Just pull my finger.”

The sumo wrestler’s trainer pulled the sumo trainer’s finger.  The sumo wrestler broke wind with a great trumpeting sound.  The sumo wrestler laughed a hearty laugh.

“Really?” the sumo wrestler’s trainer asked, “All of that for a childish joke?”

“That’s not the best part,” the sumo wrestler said.

“What’s the best part?” the sumo wrestler’s trainer asked.

“I’ve got nine more fingers!” the sumo wrestler said. The sumo wrestler grabbed the sumo wrestler’s trainer and sat on top of the sumo wrestler’s trainer.

“It’s all that rice you feed me,” the sumo wrestler said, “All those carbs.  I’m gassy as a zeppelin.  Now, help me count: that’s one, that’s two, that’s three...”