Today is the birthday of one half of the Bob and Ray radio comedy team, Bob.

Bob and Ray were a very influential influence for me, personally, in my earlier radio days. Their comedy was word-based absurdism, which is a well-known genre of humor I just made up a moment ago. They didn’t tell jokes as much as they created a series of offbeat and inherently comical situations – realistic tableaus populated by fictional characters who might be described as having very little self-awareness. Unless they could be described as having too much self-awareness. Either situation could be made to work and would get a laugh thanks to the contradiction built into the character’s persona. That is to say, a Bob and Ray character could be both down-to-earth and puffed up at the same time. They could be heard embellishing their enunciations with meaningless flourishes such as “that is to say” and “influential influence,” in a fruitless attempt to seem more serious and accomplished than they really are. Or were.

That approach is not so comical when you read my tortured description of it, but things get better when you sit back and just listen.

Bob and Ray are an acquired taste, comedically speaking. But acquiring it is definitely worth the effort.

What sort of artistic expression do you “get” that many of those around you simply do not?

It goes without saying that today is the birthday of revered mime Marcel Marceau.

I’ll be celebrating Marceau Day as I and my friends always do, quietly and under thick layers of whiteface, alternately pouting and smiling while my hands occasionally and inexplicably flutter about my head like a cloud of manic butterflies.

Signifying what?

Yes, exactly.

But then we’re all wild for Marceau, eh? I think it’s no surprise that our culture embraces mimes and celebrates their art. Why? Because we are a people who love ambiguity. We are enthralled with wordless expressions of intense beauty and excruciating pain – feelings that define the lives of kings and clowns alike. Nothing could be more American. This is second nature to us. And of course we all look fantastic in horizontal stripes.

But it is our legendary patience that makes us so open to the silent arts.

All you have to do is watch a little bit of the Super Bowl, a rap video or any show on prime time TV to know that Americans delight in taking the time to observe a slowly developing series of carefully calibrated movements. We’re curious about meaning but content to let the artist tell us a story at his own pace, in much the same way a leaky faucet tells us the unassailable truth of a worn bushing with a steady drip, drip, drip of identical gestures that ultimately brings us to a moment of shocking clarity when we realize with a start that something in this room is driving us absolutely crazy.

How wonderfully satisfying is that moment of exasperation!

But I don’t have to tell you how wrong it is to employ so many words to try to capture the essence of Marceau Day. As Marceau himself famously said, “Never get a mime talking. He won’t stop.”

How comfortable are you with silence?

Anyone can be an expert when it comes to advising others.

Dear Dr. Babooner,

I was recently selected by my peers to be the new CEO of the company where we all work. Of course I’m flattered by this unexpected compliment (they really, really like me!) but I’m having trouble navigating the tricky historical, administrative and political terrain before me.

Our firm is rather formal and high-minded in its approach. We have some ambitious and laudable ideals, and a habit of not living up to them.

It is a tradition with us that the CEO takes on a new name when he (it has always been a “he”) ascends to the corner office. This honorific is supposed to symbolize the title holder’s preferred style of managing relationships, and it is always preceded by “The Respected And Loved Administrator” …. such-and-such.

Accordingly, my predecessor was The Respected and Loved Administrator Mr. Badass. The TRALAs before him were Mr. Ranklepeeps, Mr. Shovit, Mr. Hitman and Mr. Rockstar. Each one brought a different kind of swagger to the job, but they haven’t all been so dominant. In decades and centuries past, we’ve had Mr. Vacillator, Mr. Jollypants, Mr. Shambles, Mr. Pothead and Mr. Gigolo.

Now it’s time for me to pick my name. I’d like to call myself TRALA Mr. Happypal, but my advisers say to keep things in order I should pick something more ominous sounding that will make people watch their step when I’m around and yield to my whims, even at a distance.

Something like Mr. Fancrap.

Dr. Babooner, should I go with a name people will like, or something people will respect?

Undecidedly,
TRALA ?

I told TRALA ? he should never underestimate the power a name has over other people. Picking the title you’ll be known by is a rare privilege. Friendly, happy, exciting names can create warm feelings just as quickly as hard, scary names can demand obedience. But being liked but not respected is not an easy road to walk. And being respected but not liked is just no fun. I suggested a sweet/sour combination to get the best of both worlds. Like Mr. Punchkiss, Mr. Blusterlove, or TRALA Mr. Crusherhug.

But that’s just one opinion. What do YOU think, Dr. Babooner?