Men might want to ditch the pickup lines and polish their punchlines in their quest to attract women, new research at the University of Kansas suggests. Jeffrey Hall, associate professor of communication studies, found that when two strangers meet, the more times a man tries to be funny and the more a woman laughs at those attempts, the more likely it is for the woman to be interested in dating. Those findings were among the discoveries Hall made in his search for a link between humor and intelligence. For the past decade, research has debated whether women appreciate men’s humor, which is often cited as one of the most valued traits in a partner, because it allows them to suss out the smarts of potential mates. In the article “Sexual Selection and Humor in Courtship: A Case for Warmth and Extroversion,” Hall said “If you meet someone who you can laugh with, it might mean your future relationship is going to be fun and filled with good cheer.” When men make jokes and women laugh, they may be performing a script in courtship. Men acting like jokers and women laughing along may be part of it, too. “The script is powerful and it is enduring,” Hall said. The results suggest the more times a man tried to be funny and the more times a woman laughed at his jokes, the more likely she was romantically interested. The reverse was not true for women who attempted humor. Source: news.ku.edu
The way your brain functions changes when you fall in love, and not just when you're with or thinking about your sweetheart. Your brain changes again if that love comes to an end—but doesn't go back to the way it was before you ever fell in love. It's a spectacular confirmation of what many of us probably would have guessed, based on how subjectively intense love can be. “Our findings suggest that people who value virtuous motives may be able to reason wisely for themselves, and overcome personal biases observed in previous research,” explains psychological scientist Alex Huynh of the University of Waterloo. “To our knowledge, this is the first research that empirically ties this conceptualization of virtue with wisdom, a connection that philosophers have been making for over two millennia,” says Huynh. “These findings open up new avenues for future research to investigate how to increase a person’s level of wisdom. This is in part due to their ability to recognize that their perspectives may not be enough to fully understand a situation, a concept referred to as intellectual humility.” Source: www.psychologicalscience.org
Jerry Lewis's son Anthony got left out of the will, so he is saying he got whipped twice as a kid, and now he is saying that’s abuse. Years ago he was boasting that he was the only son that never got whipped for bad behavior. So which is it? Jerry Lewis also found out that ex-wife Patti was about to get thrown out of her nursing facility because Anthony was pocketing the money himself, and got really pissed off at him. Jerry then had Patti moved closer to him in another asylum in Las Vegas. This is what Anthony originally said in his mother's book about his father, a whole different picture than what he paints now: "My father was always the strongest person in my life growing up. He was the ultimate role model, the consummate disciplinarian... Sure my father became angry at times. When properly provoked, anyone will. But he was never wild or uncontrollable. Even in the depths of his percodan addiction, he never made insane gestures or spoke abusively.... The act of children making money by defaming their parents should only be classified as mercenary opportunism. God forbid show people should be human.”
Jerry Lewis was one unequivocal token of American exceptionalism at its finest. I remember a story that Penn Jillette told about meeting Lewis for the first time. Jillette was pontificating to some fellow comedians at an event that Lewis would be appearing at that he never understood why Lewis was worshiped, especially since he hadn't done anything "good" since The Nutty Professor era. Lewis then appeared before him and Jillette wept as if before Christ, and poured his heart out to him, extolling his genius and thanking him for the joy Lewis brought into his life. Jillette's experience really personifies the struggle a lot of us have with Jerry Lewis. Here is a man who revolutionized comedy and became an overnight sensation, playing to shrieking crowds the likes of which wouldn't be seen until The Beatles. Yet, at a certain point, Lewis aged and became a mythical figure who hadn't been involved in a smash project in decades. He was remembered as a clown, whose circus tent had deflated many moons ago. His often disastrous interviews earned him an ire in the critical world.
Yet, after his death, there were many who disparaged Lewis during his life that praised him as a genius after his death. Technical filmmakers bowed to advancements to film because, after all, he practically invented the system known as "Video Play-Back." Prior to the revolutionary tool, the daily "rushes" of that day's filming would be a mystery until they were developed and show on a screen. Lewis invented the system where the scene could be instantly played back and fixed while the cast was still in make-up and costumes. The Total Film-Maker was practically a bible to legendary directors such as Steven Spielberg and George Lucas. Lewis was also a champion of The Character Actor and the genius misfit. In an interview in 1996, Kathleen Freeman talked about working with Lewis as "something quite magical in life to have a friendship with Jerry built on unbelievable respect and appreciation."
Do we see him as The Clown or The Human being? Lewis was once called "The Human Care Package", since he'd donate clothes and assorted goods to many of his collaborators. He's believed to have handed over 400s suits. In his heyday, Lewis would spend as much as $35000 on Christmas gifts. Do we judge him for his faults or extol him for the joy he brought to millions? My verdict is that the legacy of the man will be a personal Legacy. He will mean to you what he meant to you, despite the protestation of others. It's really all lesson in self-actualization when we can stick to our tastes, even when the world is disparaging the object of our affection ad nauseum. Knowing what makes you laugh, above all, is the eternal indicator of a well-rounded human being. We are at our most vulnerable when we laugh and, to true open yourself up to laughter, is a phenomenon that unsettles even the most stentorian of souls.
Jerry Lewis, to millions, was the epitome of laughter, joy, and pure silly fun. "Laughter is healing, it's a spiritual feeling," Jerry Lewis affirmed. In the end, the words of the man himself speak better than any further pontificating: “A lot of people resent that I’ve been in someone’s life for 50 years. Why shouldn’t people have an affection for me and what I’ve done? Didn’t I have to be genuine for them to buy into what I did? There are children who grow up today who will not have that. With whom will they have it? Name an example for me.” Source: www.chicagonow.com
Jerry Lewis learned some painful lessons since breaking with Dean Martin. Here was a likeable refugee from the tough vaudeville-nightclub circuit who became wealthy and famous before he was 30. With his handsome singing partner, Dean Martin, he had a lifetime guarantee to glory. 'I loved Dean almost as much as my family,' said Lewis. Some insiders said their wives (Patti Palmer and Jeanne Martin) clashed. This attitude, more than occasional jealousies and rifts, led to their break-up. After breaking with Martin, Lewis plunged into the most nerve-shattering, career-wrecking of Hollywood ventures – producing and directing his own films. Lewis’ day begins at 7 a.m. His first production was “The Delicate Delinquent” (1957), developing an idea for a chest of drawers that fell apart when slammed and then reassembled itself. “It’s cost $3,750,” the prop man added.
It’s a tribute to Jerry’s strong family loyalty that his consuming ambition is never at the expense of his wife, Patti, and their boys. The Lewis’ vacations are always family vacations, and Jerry’s business trips are arranged to keep him away from home as little as possible. Jerry was at the Paramount Theater in New York when Ronnie broke his leg. The comedian flew back to Hollywod after his last show, spent four hours at his son’s bedside, then returned East without missing a performance. During an appearance at Chicago’s Chez Paree, Patti phoned Jerry to tell him the children were lonesome. Jerry promptly made arrangements for a police escort to Midway Airport after his last show and a car standing by at Los Angeles International Airport to meet his flight. He had only an hour and a half to talk and joke with his family before returning to Chicago, but it was worth it.
“Loneliness” is a terrifying word in Jerry Lewis’ world. He remembers his own childhood in Newark, N.J., as one haunted by feelings of desolation. His parents were vaudevillians who had to accept billings far from home. At 8, Jerry was cooking his own meals, keeping house, and spending endless hours in the dark in an empty apartment where each creak magnified to dreadful proportions. His closest companion was his grandmother, who lived nearby. She died when Jerry was 14 and the world closed in tighter. Childhood loneliness, as an Hollywood do-it-yourself psychoanalyst will tell you, is the deep-seated answer to “What makes Jerry run?” Jerry needed success and admiration to protect him from memories of being small and alone.
Even so, none of these achievements is likely to help Jerry as much as his marriage and family have. Patti Calonico and Jerry Lewis met in a downtown Detroit theater where he was doing pantomimes to records and she was singing with Ted Fio Rito’s band. Love came to Jerry, then only 18. The best he could manage in the way of introductions was to smear a lipstick message on her dressing-room mirror, “How about a date tonight?” The approach was unorthodox but successful. He followed it up by leaving a pair of baby shoes on her dresser with a pink and blue note asking, “How about filling these?” And so they were married. Patti was five years older but that was just as well because she often had to be mother and sister, too. —"What Makes Jerry Run" (1957) by Peer J. Oppenheimer for Family Weekly magazine
I had always thought Jerry Lewis was a great entertainer, never dreaming I would meet him. I thought he was one of the greatest comedians in the world. So I decided to shop for a new dress at the shop in the Flamingo, and then I went to the Colonial Motel on the Strip. My gay hairdresser, Jim, bleached my hair champagne beige and styled it in a bouffant—a stunning fashion statement. He gave me new eyelashes so I’d look like a showgirl. After looking in the mirror I could see that I looked a whole lot more sophisticated and mature than a girl of only nineteen. Afterwards I went to my apartment, took a shower and slid into my sexy Mr. Blackwell design evening dress. The front of the dress was see-through from the inch choker-neckline to my waist. Delicate black crossed-lace held the front of the dress together, slightly exposing the inside of my voluptuous breasts. I splashed on my hundred-dollar Davinci perfume, popped an Ambar #3 in my mouth and drove my Thunderbird convertible to the Flamingo. I looked around to see everyone staring at me in my six-inch heals. I walked like a model, one foot in front of the other, sashaying my hips and arms like I owned the place. In the lounge we drank together. There were crowds of tourists and gamblers, and every once in a while someone interrupted to ask for an autograph. When we got to his suite, we had cocktails and he ordered a tray of hors d’oeuvres. The tray was loaded with shrimp, crab legs and the finest cheese.
He was so romantic as we sipped champagne. We went to dinner at the Candlelight Room in the Flamingo Hotel, where he was appearing. It was the first gourmet restaurant opened in Las Vegas. I wished Jerry wasn’t attached because I felt attracted to him. We had drinks and Jerry took me to his car, a Lincoln. We went for a drive toward downtown and he showed me the recording equipment he had installed in his car. Jerry practiced many of his routines using that tape recorder and played them back while he was driving. Jerry invited me to his show that night. I accepted and really enjoyed it. He saw me in the crowd and looked right down at me. He directed some of the lines and antics in his routine straight at me. He was one of the nicest men I’d ever met. Jerry just liked me. He felt comfortable with me. I knew that being a celebrity on the road could be hard and lonely. I think guys like Jerry thought of me as a breath of fresh air because I saw them as the people they were, and I was down-to-earth with them.
Harry James owned the Harry James Orchestra during the Big Swing Era. He had hired Frank Sinatra in 1939, giving him his first gig as a vocalist with a known band. Harry told me about his ex-wife, Betty Grable, an international sex symbol. He said she was a nymphomaniac, never sexually satisfied. He said he couldn’t handle her infidelities—she had to have sex with other men to get enough—which led to their divorce. But I never did hear her side of the story. In the 1960s the casinos never allowed girls off the streets inside. If they tried to enter, the vice cops were called and escorted them out or arrested them for vagrancy. But a few of my new friends—Annette, Audrey and Laurie—and myself, who were the new girls, were allowed through the casino doors. We were the queen bees of Vegas—elegant, charming, witty, seemingly carefree, beautiful, and fun. One evening in June, I went to the Regency Lounge at the Sands and I met Harry Goodheart, the Sands casino manager. He was a friendly guy in his early fifties and he always listened to my problems, offering advice and support. He never judged me and I looked forward to seeing him every time I went into the Sands. He also became another big connection; I trusted his judgment and knew he wouldn’t set me up with anyone who wasn’t in good standing with the casino. Annette was one of the elite hustlers in Vegas that I’d met through Jonesy, the pit boss from the Sahara. Annette was an attractive brunette and had worked Vegas for six years.
The lights went down and the Rat Pack came out on the stage to sing. Just before the end of the first song, the audience turned to the back of the room. I turned too and saw Marilyn Monroe standing in the doorway in a long white gown decorated with flashy beads. The very large Nick Kelly escorted Marilyn down the aisle to our table. She sat in a chair next to me with all eyes upon her. The Rat Pack seemed stunned but continued to sing. When they finished, Frank introduced Marilyn. I thought she was beautiful, though a little fuller in the hips than I had imagined. Marilyn shook my hand as Jilly Rizzo introduced her to me. She said, “Pleased to meet you, Janie,” in her wispy voice. After the show, Marilyn stayed a few minutes to talk with Frank. One afternoon in February of 1962, George, Frank’s valet, called and told me to come down to the Regency Lounge at the Sands because Frank was back in town. I dressed in my beautiful Ship ‘n Shore designer dress and rushed to meet him. Frank was happy to see me, standing up and giving me a kiss on the cheek. Sammy and Annette were sitting with him at the table and it seemed like the continuation of a party that had never ended. Getting out of the shower, I heard a TV newsman say that President Kennedy had been shot. It was November 22, 1963. I watched for about an hour until there was a newsflash that the president had died from a gunshot wound to the head. This seemed to me the saddest thing that had ever happened in America.
When I went to the Thunderbird Hotel, the waiters at the seafood bar said the hotel was draping all its gambling tables and slot machines in black to mourn the president. The city was going to turn off all the lights, including those on the Strip, for a long moment that night. That evening the lights did go off, and there was total darkness in Las Vegas. It was eerie. Nothing moved. All the people bowed their heads in prayer. Frank Sinatra complained about the press constantly hounding him about his connections with the mob. The only reason he knew any of the mob was because he used to serve coffee and sing for them as a kid. He told me he was tired of the media’s rumors and false stories. I could tell it was taking a toll on him. He’d worked hard to get where he was and he expected others to follow orders and respectfully do their jobs. I leaned over and whispered, “Frank, let’s get the hell out of this joint and go up to your room and play house. That’ll calm you down.” “This broad has the right idea,” he said, grabbing my arm and pulling me from the chair. Over to his suite we went. I took him to the bedroom, hoping to settle him down. He never wanted to stop but once I got him to relax, he curled up in my arms and went to sleep. —"Rat Pack Party Girl" (2017) by Jane McCormick
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