It wasn’t until my friend was bitten by a piranha that I truly began to enjoy my trip to Peru.

For the past few days, I’ve been with a group of friends on a large riverboat making daily excursions into the Amazonian rainforest. Anyone who has seen the Mississippi south of Memphis will instantly recognize the view: a big brown river makes its stately progress past exposed muddy banks, families cruise by on ramshackle skiffs, and the smell of wet, loamy earth is everywhere. Technically, it’s the “dry season” here — but to be frank, everything seems pretty soaked — and it’s the time of year when the river runs low. In the wet season, we were told, the river rises almost to the level of the treetops. 

And then there are the bugs. The Amazon has all the normal insects you expect — mosquitos, flies, gigantic moths — but it also has a rich assortment of exotic and terrifying crawlies that spit acid, chew through clothing, and emit neurotoxins through various orifices. As we walk through the jungle, our guide shows us where a certain kind of insect larvae nest and incubate. He digs one out with a finger and eats it, which just goes to show you that there’s nothing so terrifying and disgusting that someone somewhere won’t put into his mouth.

Up north, we spend a lot of time and R&D money coming up with new ways to repel and kill insects. All of my traveling companions arrived with lotions and sprays of various levels of toxicity, and before each jungle hike, we spray and slather the stuff all over. Some of us even splurged for special clothing that comes preloaded with insecticide, so when we pile onto the skiff and head into a tributary, we must look like a particularly anxious hazmat team. It is a running joke that most of the clothes we bought for the Amazon we bought from Amazon.

Covering yourself with repellent is an odd strategy, of course, because part of the point of a jungle hike is to find all of these creepy things and look at them up close. On a night hike, we spend 15 minutes searching for a tarantula. We find two of them, and we all take multiple selfies with a creature that has everything you need for a nightmare: eight hairy legs, a recognizable face, and a long folk history of being deadly and terrifying. But there we are, covered in DEET, posing with a tarantula like it’s one of the king’s guards outside Buckingham Palace. If I saw a spider half that size on the kitchen floor back home, I would shriek for a few moments before killing it with a Swiffer. This one I posted on Instagram.

And then a piranha burst through our bubble. Yesterday, during an early-morning fishing expedition, the sport fisherman among us bagged about a dozen piranhas. But he was a little careless unhooking the final one, and the angry fish snapped at his fingertip and removed a healthy chunk. But he also broke through the safety barrier we had erected for ourselves and gave us a taste of what’s really out there, on the other side of our hazmat suits and insect spray. Nature has sharp teeth, and there’s only so many protective layers you can wear. 

The piranha story ends this way: My friend’s finger (or what remained of it) was dipped in antibacterial cleanser and bandaged up. He was given some antibiotics to gobble and forced to pose for pictures with the rest of us. He smiled gamely as we all made “just the tip!” jokes. But the last laugh was his, at lunch, when he was presented with that very piranha, butterflied and deep fried, on a plate with some dipping sauce. My friend took a few revenge bites from the fish and offered it to the rest of us. Piranha, I’m here to tell you, is a take-it-or-leave-it experience. 

What doesn’t eat you, the saying goes, you eat. It’s the same in the office, marketplace, boardroom, Amazon — sometimes it’s worth going thousands of miles to relearn that essential lesson. 

CLICK HERE TO READ MORE FROM THE WASHINGTON EXAMINER

Rob Long is a television writer and producer, including as a screenwriter and executive producer on Cheers, and he is the co-founder of Ricochet.com.

2024-08-16 07:55:00, http://s.wordpress.com/mshots/v1/https%3A%2F%2Fwww.washingtonexaminer.com%2Fpremium%2F3119292%2Fthe-jungle-tourist-bites-back%2F?w=600&h=450, It wasn’t until my friend was bitten by a piranha that I truly began to enjoy my trip to Peru. For the past few days, I’ve been with a group of friends on a large riverboat making daily excursions into the Amazonian rainforest. Anyone who has seen the Mississippi south of Memphis will instantly recognize,

It wasn’t until my friend was bitten by a piranha that I truly began to enjoy my trip to Peru.

For the past few days, I’ve been with a group of friends on a large riverboat making daily excursions into the Amazonian rainforest. Anyone who has seen the Mississippi south of Memphis will instantly recognize the view: a big brown river makes its stately progress past exposed muddy banks, families cruise by on ramshackle skiffs, and the smell of wet, loamy earth is everywhere. Technically, it’s the “dry season” here — but to be frank, everything seems pretty soaked — and it’s the time of year when the river runs low. In the wet season, we were told, the river rises almost to the level of the treetops. 

And then there are the bugs. The Amazon has all the normal insects you expect — mosquitos, flies, gigantic moths — but it also has a rich assortment of exotic and terrifying crawlies that spit acid, chew through clothing, and emit neurotoxins through various orifices. As we walk through the jungle, our guide shows us where a certain kind of insect larvae nest and incubate. He digs one out with a finger and eats it, which just goes to show you that there’s nothing so terrifying and disgusting that someone somewhere won’t put into his mouth.

Up north, we spend a lot of time and R&D money coming up with new ways to repel and kill insects. All of my traveling companions arrived with lotions and sprays of various levels of toxicity, and before each jungle hike, we spray and slather the stuff all over. Some of us even splurged for special clothing that comes preloaded with insecticide, so when we pile onto the skiff and head into a tributary, we must look like a particularly anxious hazmat team. It is a running joke that most of the clothes we bought for the Amazon we bought from Amazon.

Covering yourself with repellent is an odd strategy, of course, because part of the point of a jungle hike is to find all of these creepy things and look at them up close. On a night hike, we spend 15 minutes searching for a tarantula. We find two of them, and we all take multiple selfies with a creature that has everything you need for a nightmare: eight hairy legs, a recognizable face, and a long folk history of being deadly and terrifying. But there we are, covered in DEET, posing with a tarantula like it’s one of the king’s guards outside Buckingham Palace. If I saw a spider half that size on the kitchen floor back home, I would shriek for a few moments before killing it with a Swiffer. This one I posted on Instagram.

And then a piranha burst through our bubble. Yesterday, during an early-morning fishing expedition, the sport fisherman among us bagged about a dozen piranhas. But he was a little careless unhooking the final one, and the angry fish snapped at his fingertip and removed a healthy chunk. But he also broke through the safety barrier we had erected for ourselves and gave us a taste of what’s really out there, on the other side of our hazmat suits and insect spray. Nature has sharp teeth, and there’s only so many protective layers you can wear. 

The piranha story ends this way: My friend’s finger (or what remained of it) was dipped in antibacterial cleanser and bandaged up. He was given some antibiotics to gobble and forced to pose for pictures with the rest of us. He smiled gamely as we all made “just the tip!” jokes. But the last laugh was his, at lunch, when he was presented with that very piranha, butterflied and deep fried, on a plate with some dipping sauce. My friend took a few revenge bites from the fish and offered it to the rest of us. Piranha, I’m here to tell you, is a take-it-or-leave-it experience. 

What doesn’t eat you, the saying goes, you eat. It’s the same in the office, marketplace, boardroom, Amazon — sometimes it’s worth going thousands of miles to relearn that essential lesson. 

CLICK HERE TO READ MORE FROM THE WASHINGTON EXAMINER

Rob Long is a television writer and producer, including as a screenwriter and executive producer on Cheers, and he is the co-founder of Ricochet.com.

, It wasn’t until my friend was bitten by a piranha that I truly began to enjoy my trip to Peru. For the past few days, I’ve been with a group of friends on a large riverboat making daily excursions into the Amazonian rainforest. Anyone who has seen the Mississippi south of Memphis will instantly recognize the view: a big brown river makes its stately progress past exposed muddy banks, families cruise by on ramshackle skiffs, and the smell of wet, loamy earth is everywhere. Technically, it’s the “dry season” here — but to be frank, everything seems pretty soaked — and it’s the time of year when the river runs low. In the wet season, we were told, the river rises almost to the level of the treetops.  (Illustration by Tatiana Lozano / Washington Examiner; Getty Images) And then there are the bugs. The Amazon has all the normal insects you expect — mosquitos, flies, gigantic moths — but it also has a rich assortment of exotic and terrifying crawlies that spit acid, chew through clothing, and emit neurotoxins through various orifices. As we walk through the jungle, our guide shows us where a certain kind of insect larvae nest and incubate. He digs one out with a finger and eats it, which just goes to show you that there’s nothing so terrifying and disgusting that someone somewhere won’t put into his mouth. Up north, we spend a lot of time and R&D money coming up with new ways to repel and kill insects. All of my traveling companions arrived with lotions and sprays of various levels of toxicity, and before each jungle hike, we spray and slather the stuff all over. Some of us even splurged for special clothing that comes preloaded with insecticide, so when we pile onto the skiff and head into a tributary, we must look like a particularly anxious hazmat team. It is a running joke that most of the clothes we bought for the Amazon we bought from Amazon. Covering yourself with repellent is an odd strategy, of course, because part of the point of a jungle hike is to find all of these creepy things and look at them up close. On a night hike, we spend 15 minutes searching for a tarantula. We find two of them, and we all take multiple selfies with a creature that has everything you need for a nightmare: eight hairy legs, a recognizable face, and a long folk history of being deadly and terrifying. But there we are, covered in DEET, posing with a tarantula like it’s one of the king’s guards outside Buckingham Palace. If I saw a spider half that size on the kitchen floor back home, I would shriek for a few moments before killing it with a Swiffer. This one I posted on Instagram. And then a piranha burst through our bubble. Yesterday, during an early-morning fishing expedition, the sport fisherman among us bagged about a dozen piranhas. But he was a little careless unhooking the final one, and the angry fish snapped at his fingertip and removed a healthy chunk. But he also broke through the safety barrier we had erected for ourselves and gave us a taste of what’s really out there, on the other side of our hazmat suits and insect spray. Nature has sharp teeth, and there’s only so many protective layers you can wear.  The piranha story ends this way: My friend’s finger (or what remained of it) was dipped in antibacterial cleanser and bandaged up. He was given some antibiotics to gobble and forced to pose for pictures with the rest of us. He smiled gamely as we all made “just the tip!” jokes. But the last laugh was his, at lunch, when he was presented with that very piranha, butterflied and deep fried, on a plate with some dipping sauce. My friend took a few revenge bites from the fish and offered it to the rest of us. Piranha, I’m here to tell you, is a take-it-or-leave-it experience.  What doesn’t eat you, the saying goes, you eat. It’s the same in the office, marketplace, boardroom, Amazon — sometimes it’s worth going thousands of miles to relearn that essential lesson.  CLICK HERE TO READ MORE FROM THE WASHINGTON EXAMINER Rob Long is a television writer and producer, including as a screenwriter and executive producer on Cheers, and he is the co-founder of Ricochet.com., , , https://www.washingtonexaminer.com/wp-content/uploads/2024/08/rob-long-piranha-tourism-081424A2-1024×591.webp, Washington Examiner, Political News and Conservative Analysis About Congress, the President, and the Federal Government, https://www.washingtonexaminer.com/wp-content/uploads/2023/11/cropped-favicon-32×32.png, https://www.washingtonexaminer.com/feed/, Rob Long,

Psychologists and researchers say an optimistic outlook can lead to better physical and mental health. For instance, optimism is associated with lower levels of depression and anxiety. A study published in the Journal of Personality and Social Psychology found that optimists tend to have better coping mechanisms and are more resilient to stress compared to pessimists. This makes sense, right? If you’re used to looking at the bright side, chances are you’re better able to navigate things when life gets turbulent. 

Also, a meta-analysis published in the Journal of Behavioral Medicine found that optimism is linked to better cardiovascular health and a lower risk of heart disease. Optimists are more likely to engage in healthy behaviors such as exercising regularly, having a balanced diet, and avoiding smoking. Optimists tend to have an unflagging sense of meaning and purpose to their lives, especially in challenging situations.

All of these findings ring true to me, but none of them matters. My natural disposition, unfortunately, is to focus on the bad news. Which isn’t hard to do in the summer of 2024. As much as I’d like to trust the science and maintain a sunny outlook, it’s an impossible ask when the stock market is crashing, inflation seems permanent, the political scene is volatile and ugly, there are wars in Europe and the Middle East, and after record-high temperatures in New York City, my ConEd bill, according to a recent email I received from them, will be about $700.

“Is anyone in a good mood?” I asked a friend of mine recently as we were sitting at a local bar. He and I gather every now and then to engage in the unhealthful behavior of talking about how bad things are. It’s a nonstop litany of complaints and pessimistic predictions, and according to medical researchers, we are slowly killing ourselves with our sour outlook. It’s a self-reinforcing loop: I complain about the world, he agrees and adds to the list of negatives, I agree and add some more to my own, and the dark cloud around us grows and grows.

This time, though, we were interrupted by a guy at the other end of the bar who was talking loudly to a friend of his. The TV above the bar was showing the Olympics, and the loud guy was explaining to his friend the complicated scoring system in the sport of fencing. It was one of those annoying and intrusive know-it-all conversations you are sometimes forced to overhear at a bar — one guy, and it’s always a guy, braying loudly about something obscure and arcane, showing off his knowledge and filling the room with his noisy opinions.

But what was clear was this: That guy was having the time of his life. He must wait patiently for the Olympics to roll around, and when the fencing competition begins, he races to the nearest bar and takes the stage. He may be a jerk, but every four years, he’s the happiest jerk on earth. Is anyone in a good mood? I asked. Yes. That guy is.

And he’s not alone. If you’re a financial markets know-it-all, the complexities of the Japan carry trade and its effect on the Dow Jones must have seemed like a gift from a benevolent God. Right now, in bars and offices and Zoom meetings all over the world, there’s a guy who knows something about how all of this works, or maybe just sounds like he does, holding forth in a loudly confident voice using terms like basis points and unwind and liquidity issues while everyone else is worrying about their 401(k). For that guy, it’s Christmas morning. It’s the same with the guy who knows the difference between a cruise missile and a ballistic missile. That guy can’t wait for Iran to attack Israel, again, so he can, again, explain how all of those weapons work, or don’t. And don’t get me started on Electoral Map Guy and his gleeful explanations about Undecideds and Cross Tabs and how a vice presidential selection can and can’t help the presidential nominee.

In short, this is a terrific summer for bores and know-it-alls and loud talkers at the end of the bar. They are having a pretty great August, and the outlook for September is even better. The great thing about being an annoying pedant is that there’s always something to look forward to, always something you can explain to someone else, in public, at top volume. When you’re an insufferable jerk, in other words, you’re a natural optimist. I have to start boning up on my arcane knowledge, for my health at least.

CLICK HERE TO READ MORE FROM THE WASHINGTON EXAMINER

Rob Long is a television writer and producer, including as a screenwriter and executive producer on Cheers, and he is the co-founder of Ricochet.com.

2024-08-09 02:20:00, http://s.wordpress.com/mshots/v1/https%3A%2F%2Fwww.washingtonexaminer.com%2Fmagazine-life-arts%2F3111715%2Folympics-of-loudmouths%2F?w=600&h=450, Psychologists and researchers say an optimistic outlook can lead to better physical and mental health. For instance, optimism is associated with lower levels of depression and anxiety. A study published in the Journal of Personality and Social Psychology found that optimists tend to have better coping mechanisms and are more resilient to stress compared to,

Psychologists and researchers say an optimistic outlook can lead to better physical and mental health. For instance, optimism is associated with lower levels of depression and anxiety. A study published in the Journal of Personality and Social Psychology found that optimists tend to have better coping mechanisms and are more resilient to stress compared to pessimists. This makes sense, right? If you’re used to looking at the bright side, chances are you’re better able to navigate things when life gets turbulent. 

Also, a meta-analysis published in the Journal of Behavioral Medicine found that optimism is linked to better cardiovascular health and a lower risk of heart disease. Optimists are more likely to engage in healthy behaviors such as exercising regularly, having a balanced diet, and avoiding smoking. Optimists tend to have an unflagging sense of meaning and purpose to their lives, especially in challenging situations.

All of these findings ring true to me, but none of them matters. My natural disposition, unfortunately, is to focus on the bad news. Which isn’t hard to do in the summer of 2024. As much as I’d like to trust the science and maintain a sunny outlook, it’s an impossible ask when the stock market is crashing, inflation seems permanent, the political scene is volatile and ugly, there are wars in Europe and the Middle East, and after record-high temperatures in New York City, my ConEd bill, according to a recent email I received from them, will be about $700.

“Is anyone in a good mood?” I asked a friend of mine recently as we were sitting at a local bar. He and I gather every now and then to engage in the unhealthful behavior of talking about how bad things are. It’s a nonstop litany of complaints and pessimistic predictions, and according to medical researchers, we are slowly killing ourselves with our sour outlook. It’s a self-reinforcing loop: I complain about the world, he agrees and adds to the list of negatives, I agree and add some more to my own, and the dark cloud around us grows and grows.

This time, though, we were interrupted by a guy at the other end of the bar who was talking loudly to a friend of his. The TV above the bar was showing the Olympics, and the loud guy was explaining to his friend the complicated scoring system in the sport of fencing. It was one of those annoying and intrusive know-it-all conversations you are sometimes forced to overhear at a bar — one guy, and it’s always a guy, braying loudly about something obscure and arcane, showing off his knowledge and filling the room with his noisy opinions.

But what was clear was this: That guy was having the time of his life. He must wait patiently for the Olympics to roll around, and when the fencing competition begins, he races to the nearest bar and takes the stage. He may be a jerk, but every four years, he’s the happiest jerk on earth. Is anyone in a good mood? I asked. Yes. That guy is.

And he’s not alone. If you’re a financial markets know-it-all, the complexities of the Japan carry trade and its effect on the Dow Jones must have seemed like a gift from a benevolent God. Right now, in bars and offices and Zoom meetings all over the world, there’s a guy who knows something about how all of this works, or maybe just sounds like he does, holding forth in a loudly confident voice using terms like basis points and unwind and liquidity issues while everyone else is worrying about their 401(k). For that guy, it’s Christmas morning. It’s the same with the guy who knows the difference between a cruise missile and a ballistic missile. That guy can’t wait for Iran to attack Israel, again, so he can, again, explain how all of those weapons work, or don’t. And don’t get me started on Electoral Map Guy and his gleeful explanations about Undecideds and Cross Tabs and how a vice presidential selection can and can’t help the presidential nominee.

In short, this is a terrific summer for bores and know-it-alls and loud talkers at the end of the bar. They are having a pretty great August, and the outlook for September is even better. The great thing about being an annoying pedant is that there’s always something to look forward to, always something you can explain to someone else, in public, at top volume. When you’re an insufferable jerk, in other words, you’re a natural optimist. I have to start boning up on my arcane knowledge, for my health at least.

CLICK HERE TO READ MORE FROM THE WASHINGTON EXAMINER

Rob Long is a television writer and producer, including as a screenwriter and executive producer on Cheers, and he is the co-founder of Ricochet.com.

, Psychologists and researchers say an optimistic outlook can lead to better physical and mental health. For instance, optimism is associated with lower levels of depression and anxiety. A study published in the Journal of Personality and Social Psychology found that optimists tend to have better coping mechanisms and are more resilient to stress compared to pessimists. This makes sense, right? If you’re used to looking at the bright side, chances are you’re better able to navigate things when life gets turbulent.  Also, a meta-analysis published in the Journal of Behavioral Medicine found that optimism is linked to better cardiovascular health and a lower risk of heart disease. Optimists are more likely to engage in healthy behaviors such as exercising regularly, having a balanced diet, and avoiding smoking. Optimists tend to have an unflagging sense of meaning and purpose to their lives, especially in challenging situations. All of these findings ring true to me, but none of them matters. My natural disposition, unfortunately, is to focus on the bad news. Which isn’t hard to do in the summer of 2024. As much as I’d like to trust the science and maintain a sunny outlook, it’s an impossible ask when the stock market is crashing, inflation seems permanent, the political scene is volatile and ugly, there are wars in Europe and the Middle East, and after record-high temperatures in New York City, my ConEd bill, according to a recent email I received from them, will be about $700. (Illustration by Tatiana Lozano / Washington Examiner; AP, Getty Images) “Is anyone in a good mood?” I asked a friend of mine recently as we were sitting at a local bar. He and I gather every now and then to engage in the unhealthful behavior of talking about how bad things are. It’s a nonstop litany of complaints and pessimistic predictions, and according to medical researchers, we are slowly killing ourselves with our sour outlook. It’s a self-reinforcing loop: I complain about the world, he agrees and adds to the list of negatives, I agree and add some more to my own, and the dark cloud around us grows and grows. This time, though, we were interrupted by a guy at the other end of the bar who was talking loudly to a friend of his. The TV above the bar was showing the Olympics, and the loud guy was explaining to his friend the complicated scoring system in the sport of fencing. It was one of those annoying and intrusive know-it-all conversations you are sometimes forced to overhear at a bar — one guy, and it’s always a guy, braying loudly about something obscure and arcane, showing off his knowledge and filling the room with his noisy opinions. But what was clear was this: That guy was having the time of his life. He must wait patiently for the Olympics to roll around, and when the fencing competition begins, he races to the nearest bar and takes the stage. He may be a jerk, but every four years, he’s the happiest jerk on earth. Is anyone in a good mood? I asked. Yes. That guy is. And he’s not alone. If you’re a financial markets know-it-all, the complexities of the Japan carry trade and its effect on the Dow Jones must have seemed like a gift from a benevolent God. Right now, in bars and offices and Zoom meetings all over the world, there’s a guy who knows something about how all of this works, or maybe just sounds like he does, holding forth in a loudly confident voice using terms like basis points and unwind and liquidity issues while everyone else is worrying about their 401(k). For that guy, it’s Christmas morning. It’s the same with the guy who knows the difference between a cruise missile and a ballistic missile. That guy can’t wait for Iran to attack Israel, again, so he can, again, explain how all of those weapons work, or don’t. And don’t get me started on Electoral Map Guy and his gleeful explanations about Undecideds and Cross Tabs and how a vice presidential selection can and can’t help the presidential nominee. In short, this is a terrific summer for bores and know-it-alls and loud talkers at the end of the bar. They are having a pretty great August, and the outlook for September is even better. The great thing about being an annoying pedant is that there’s always something to look forward to, always something you can explain to someone else, in public, at top volume. When you’re an insufferable jerk, in other words, you’re a natural optimist. I have to start boning up on my arcane knowledge, for my health at least. CLICK HERE TO READ MORE FROM THE WASHINGTON EXAMINER Rob Long is a television writer and producer, including as a screenwriter and executive producer on Cheers, and he is the co-founder of Ricochet.com., , , https://www.washingtonexaminer.com/wp-content/uploads/2024/08/rob-long-olympic-loudmouths-080724A-1024×591.webp, Washington Examiner, Political News and Conservative Analysis About Congress, the President, and the Federal Government, https://www.washingtonexaminer.com/wp-content/uploads/2023/11/cropped-favicon-32×32.png, https://www.washingtonexaminer.com/feed/, Rob Long,

I have a shoebox filled with old photographs, relics of the time before we all had cameras on our phones and terabits of images cluttering up our storage devices. And that’s what we call them now, too, “storage devices,” which sounds neat and organized and no fun at all.

I went to the shoebox this month when I heard the news that Bob Newhart, the brilliant comic mind who practically invented the stand-up comedy album before becoming a television legend, had died at 94. Bob and I worked together years ago, and I knew there was a photograph or two of us on the set.

Bob Newhart was the star of four broadcast network comedy series, and they were all terrific. Two of them, The Bob Newhart Show and Newhart, were long-running smash hits. The other two didn’t fare so well. I worked with Bob on one of those, unfortunately, but aside from the disappointing financial implications of writing and producing a show that’s canceled after one season, it was an honor and a joy to show up to work every day and watch a genius work up close.

It didn’t look much like work at all, though. Bob’s trademark style, a deliberate, stammer-filled deadpan, was so effortlessly confident that you had a hard time understanding why he was so funny, even while you, and the audience, were laughing yourselves silly. Bob’s on-screen persona was “decent guy, surrounded by lunatics, trying not to be embarrassed,” which is a complicated set of character intentions that he could convey with a slight pause, a barely furrowed brow, and a perfectly timed Um …

“I don’t think I need all of this,” Bob once told me after a rehearsal while pointing to a two-sentence speech in the script. “I think I only need to say this,” he added, pointing to one word, “good,” at the top of the line of dialogue. Bob was scrupulously respectful of the writers and rarely asked for an adjustment, partly because he was a gentleman and a professional, partly because his voice was so indelible that we could hear him say the lines in our heads, so tailoring the dialogue was a cinch. But when a performer who had been at the top of his game since 1960, when his first comedy album, The Button-Down Mind of Bob Newhart, hit No. 1 in the Billboard charts, asks for a small change in a line, you give it to him.

So we ran the scene again, this time with Bob’s fix. He shook his head again. “Good” alone wasn’t working. “Let me try it one more time,” he said. 

CLICK HERE TO READ MORE FROM THE WASHINGTON EXAMINER

So we ran the scene again, only this time, Bob added a little back to the line. “Well, good,” he said, and for reasons having to do with the mystery of what makes us laugh, the technical requirements of humor, and especially the intuitive brilliance of Bob Newhart, “Well, good” was hilarious, while plain old “good” was merely funny and the longer speech that was in the script originally was barely amusing. 

This happened nearly 25 years ago when I was barely 30 years old. I didn’t know it then, but working with Bob Newhart was a master class in the music of comedy. Some people hear it, and some people don’t. But Bob could hear it, compose it, and fix it all at once in the five minutes between rehearsing one scene and moving on to the next.

Rob Long is a television writer and producer, including as a screenwriter and executive producer on Cheers, and he is the co-founder of Ricochet.com.

2024-07-26 02:00:00, http://s.wordpress.com/mshots/v1/https%3A%2F%2Fwww.washingtonexaminer.com%2Fpremium%2F3096647%2Fwhat-i-learned-from-bob-newhart%2F?w=600&h=450, I have a shoebox filled with old photographs, relics of the time before we all had cameras on our phones and terabits of images cluttering up our storage devices. And that’s what we call them now, too, “storage devices,” which sounds neat and organized and no fun at all. I went to the shoebox this,

I have a shoebox filled with old photographs, relics of the time before we all had cameras on our phones and terabits of images cluttering up our storage devices. And that’s what we call them now, too, “storage devices,” which sounds neat and organized and no fun at all.

I went to the shoebox this month when I heard the news that Bob Newhart, the brilliant comic mind who practically invented the stand-up comedy album before becoming a television legend, had died at 94. Bob and I worked together years ago, and I knew there was a photograph or two of us on the set.

Bob Newhart was the star of four broadcast network comedy series, and they were all terrific. Two of them, The Bob Newhart Show and Newhart, were long-running smash hits. The other two didn’t fare so well. I worked with Bob on one of those, unfortunately, but aside from the disappointing financial implications of writing and producing a show that’s canceled after one season, it was an honor and a joy to show up to work every day and watch a genius work up close.

It didn’t look much like work at all, though. Bob’s trademark style, a deliberate, stammer-filled deadpan, was so effortlessly confident that you had a hard time understanding why he was so funny, even while you, and the audience, were laughing yourselves silly. Bob’s on-screen persona was “decent guy, surrounded by lunatics, trying not to be embarrassed,” which is a complicated set of character intentions that he could convey with a slight pause, a barely furrowed brow, and a perfectly timed Um …

“I don’t think I need all of this,” Bob once told me after a rehearsal while pointing to a two-sentence speech in the script. “I think I only need to say this,” he added, pointing to one word, “good,” at the top of the line of dialogue. Bob was scrupulously respectful of the writers and rarely asked for an adjustment, partly because he was a gentleman and a professional, partly because his voice was so indelible that we could hear him say the lines in our heads, so tailoring the dialogue was a cinch. But when a performer who had been at the top of his game since 1960, when his first comedy album, The Button-Down Mind of Bob Newhart, hit No. 1 in the Billboard charts, asks for a small change in a line, you give it to him.

So we ran the scene again, this time with Bob’s fix. He shook his head again. “Good” alone wasn’t working. “Let me try it one more time,” he said. 

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So we ran the scene again, only this time, Bob added a little back to the line. “Well, good,” he said, and for reasons having to do with the mystery of what makes us laugh, the technical requirements of humor, and especially the intuitive brilliance of Bob Newhart, “Well, good” was hilarious, while plain old “good” was merely funny and the longer speech that was in the script originally was barely amusing. 

This happened nearly 25 years ago when I was barely 30 years old. I didn’t know it then, but working with Bob Newhart was a master class in the music of comedy. Some people hear it, and some people don’t. But Bob could hear it, compose it, and fix it all at once in the five minutes between rehearsing one scene and moving on to the next.

Rob Long is a television writer and producer, including as a screenwriter and executive producer on Cheers, and he is the co-founder of Ricochet.com.

, I have a shoebox filled with old photographs, relics of the time before we all had cameras on our phones and terabits of images cluttering up our storage devices. And that’s what we call them now, too, “storage devices,” which sounds neat and organized and no fun at all. I went to the shoebox this month when I heard the news that Bob Newhart, the brilliant comic mind who practically invented the stand-up comedy album before becoming a television legend, had died at 94. Bob and I worked together years ago, and I knew there was a photograph or two of us on the set. (Illustration by Tatiana Lozano / Washington Examiner; AP) Bob Newhart was the star of four broadcast network comedy series, and they were all terrific. Two of them, The Bob Newhart Show and Newhart, were long-running smash hits. The other two didn’t fare so well. I worked with Bob on one of those, unfortunately, but aside from the disappointing financial implications of writing and producing a show that’s canceled after one season, it was an honor and a joy to show up to work every day and watch a genius work up close. It didn’t look much like work at all, though. Bob’s trademark style, a deliberate, stammer-filled deadpan, was so effortlessly confident that you had a hard time understanding why he was so funny, even while you, and the audience, were laughing yourselves silly. Bob’s on-screen persona was “decent guy, surrounded by lunatics, trying not to be embarrassed,” which is a complicated set of character intentions that he could convey with a slight pause, a barely furrowed brow, and a perfectly timed Um … “I don’t think I need all of this,” Bob once told me after a rehearsal while pointing to a two-sentence speech in the script. “I think I only need to say this,” he added, pointing to one word, “good,” at the top of the line of dialogue. Bob was scrupulously respectful of the writers and rarely asked for an adjustment, partly because he was a gentleman and a professional, partly because his voice was so indelible that we could hear him say the lines in our heads, so tailoring the dialogue was a cinch. But when a performer who had been at the top of his game since 1960, when his first comedy album, The Button-Down Mind of Bob Newhart, hit No. 1 in the Billboard charts, asks for a small change in a line, you give it to him. So we ran the scene again, this time with Bob’s fix. He shook his head again. “Good” alone wasn’t working. “Let me try it one more time,” he said.  CLICK HERE TO READ MORE FROM THE WASHINGTON EXAMINER So we ran the scene again, only this time, Bob added a little back to the line. “Well, good,” he said, and for reasons having to do with the mystery of what makes us laugh, the technical requirements of humor, and especially the intuitive brilliance of Bob Newhart, “Well, good” was hilarious, while plain old “good” was merely funny and the longer speech that was in the script originally was barely amusing.  This happened nearly 25 years ago when I was barely 30 years old. I didn’t know it then, but working with Bob Newhart was a master class in the music of comedy. Some people hear it, and some people don’t. But Bob could hear it, compose it, and fix it all at once in the five minutes between rehearsing one scene and moving on to the next. Rob Long is a television writer and producer, including as a screenwriter and executive producer on Cheers, and he is the co-founder of Ricochet.com., , , https://www.washingtonexaminer.com/wp-content/uploads/2024/07/rob-long-what-i-learned-bob-newhart-072424A3-1024×591.webp, Washington Examiner, Political News and Conservative Analysis About Congress, the President, and the Federal Government, https://www.washingtonexaminer.com/wp-content/uploads/2023/11/cropped-favicon-32×32.png, https://www.washingtonexaminer.com/feed/, Rob Long,

It’s universally acknowledged that anyone sitting next to a person who is using a device — phone, laptop, whatever — is allowed to spy. If you’re tapping away on something, expect to have your emails and texts peered at by your seatmates. That’s the price we all pay for having private conversations on a public platform. But it’s also a rule that you’re not supposed to make the spying obvious. You’re not supposed to lean over, point to the other person’s screen, and say, “Why don’t you count to 10 before you send that text?” or “I think you misspelled chlamydia.” 

Last week, I was waiting for the ferry from Hyannis to Nantucket and had ducked into the waiting area to do a little work before they started loading up the cars. The fellow sitting next to me didn’t know this rule, apparently, because he leaned over to helpfully suggest “You need to get a new computer.” He had noticed the deep cracks in the lower edge of my laptop screen. And he kept at it. “Looks like you dropped it?” asked my new friend. “Or maybe did you close it on something?”

“Not sure,” I said, using a clipped, harried tone of voice that I hoped would convey that I’m the kind of person who doesn’t really want to talk to his kind of person. I just wanted a few minutes of peace and quiet to type some emails and eat a bag of pistachios from the vending machine. 

“Well, you’re probably going to have to get a new computer, from the looks of it.”

I grunted and continued typing and eating without looking up, which a normal person would interpret as This is all I’m going to get out of this guy, let’s see what the guy to my left is working on. It didn’t work. 

“I guess cracked screens don’t bother you much,” he added jovially while tapping lightly on my iPhone, which has a few cracks on it as well. “Probably need a new one of these, too, huh?”

Which was the last straw. Busybodies and buttinskies I can accept. Know-it-alls and screen spies are all part of the rich human tapestry. But what really gets my anger engine roaring is the kind of person who thinks that a few little scratches here and there, maybe a couple of cracks in the screen, is a reason to shell out $3,000 for a brand-new MacBook Air or $1,000 for a new iPhone. 

“Sorry,” I said, “not gonna fall for that one. Both of these devices work fine — they’re both about five years old, by the way — and I can carry them around and I don’t have to worry about a little damage because they’re both already damaged.”

My friend was beginning to regret this conversation. I was just getting started.

“Did you know that iPhone sales have dropped precipitously since the beginning of the year? Down about 10%, actually. And overall Apple sales are down nearly 5%. What do you think that’s about?”

He began inching away. “I’ll tell you what that’s about. It’s about people like me who don’t care about this” — I pointed to my cracked laptop screen — “Or this” — I held up my iPhone — “Because both of these things work. Sure, they’re both a little damaged, but who cares? Everything is a little bit damaged. I mean, I am. You are. So is everyone around us.” On his face was a look that said, This man is a lunatic and is going to follow me onto the ferry and talk to me for the next two hours.

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“You want someone to replace you when you’re a little scuffed and cracked? Yeah, I didn’t think so.” The ferry horn blew. They were starting to load up. People in the waiting room gathered their stuff and headed to the cars. I looked at my new friend in triumph and closed my laptop with a dramatic flourish. Game, set, and match. He won’t be such a chatterbox next time.

It was only later, when I opened my laptop, that I realized that in my zeal to create a mic drop moment I had inadvertently shut the lid on a pistachio shell, turning the small cracks in my computer screen into one very large crack. All of which led to this exact moment, when I am finishing this sentence on a brand-new MacBook Air.

Rob Long is a television writer and producer, including as a screenwriter and executive producer on Cheers, and he is the co-founder of Ricochet.com.