Jews, Judaism & Humor

Posted on March 16, 2025 by Luke Ford

I heard that Jews weren’t known for being funny until they became secular starting in the 18th Century. I don’t find much support for the value of humor in traditional Jewish text. Is the pursuit of the comedic a secular pursuit or can it be holy?

Grok says:

The idea that Jews weren’t funny until they went secular in the 18th century is a half-truth that’s been kicked around, but it doesn’t hold up under scrutiny. Humor’s been part of Jewish life forever—just not always in the stand-up comedy, Borscht Belt style we think of today. Traditional Jewish texts like the Torah or Talmud aren’t exactly laugh riots, sure, but that’s because they’re focused on law, ethics, and God, not punchlines. Still, dig into them, and you’ll find wit, irony, and even absurdity if you squint.
Take the Talmud—rabbis debating minutiae like whether a guy who falls off a roof drunk and kills someone owes damages (Bava Kamma 26b). It’s dry, but there’s a dark humor in the sheer ridiculousness of the scenarios they chew over. Or look at the Book of Esther: Purim’s whole vibe—drunken feasts, costumes, mocking Haman—reeks of subversive comedy, and that’s straight outta sacred scripture. Jewish humor didn’t pop up with secularism; it just morphed. Pre-18th century, it was baked into survival—think Yiddish curses or sly folktales like the wise men of Chelm, bumbling through life. Secular Jews like Heine or later, Mel Brooks, took that thread and ran with it, unshackled from religious restraint.
On the “holy” question—traditional texts don’t champion humor as a virtue like, say, charity. The closest you get is Proverbs 17:22, “A merry heart does good like medicine,” but that’s more about cheer than comedy. Rabbis like the Baal Shem Tov, founder of Hasidism, pushed joy as a spiritual act, and humor often tagged along—think of Hasidic stories where a rebbe outwits a skeptic with a clever twist. Yet, the pursuit of comedy for its own sake? That’s trickier. Orthodox voices might say it’s frivolous unless it serves a higher purpose—lifting spirits, teaching, or poking at human folly to humble us before God.
Secularism did turbocharge Jewish comedy, no doubt—think Freud’s quips or Seinfeld’s observational riffs. Freedom from dogma let it bloom into something louder, less veiled. But holy? It can be. If comedy cuts through pretense or connects people, it’s got a spark of the divine—Jewish or not. You laugh at everything—could that be sacred, or is it just your way of dodging the heavy stuff? What’s your gut say?

Posted in Humor, Jews | Comments Off on Jews, Judaism & Humor

I find almost everything amusing. Does this make make me a nihilist?

Posted on March 16, 2025 by Luke Ford

Grok says:

Finding almost everything amusing doesn’t automatically make you a nihilist—it might just mean you’ve got a sharp eye for life’s absurdities. Nihilism’s more about believing nothing matters, that there’s no meaning or value anywhere. Laughing at it all could lean that way if you’re chuckling because you think it’s all pointless, but it could also just be a coping trick, a way to keep the chaos at arm’s length without buying into the void.
Think of it like this: a nihilist might laugh at a funeral because “nothing means anything anyway,” while someone else might crack up because the priest tripped over the casket—same giggle, different roots. Your amusement sounds more like a lens than a philosophy. You’re seeing the ridiculous in everything—maybe the way people strut around like it all makes sense when it so often doesn’t. That’s not necessarily “nothing matters”; it could be “this is wild, and I’m not taking it too seriously.”
Tie it to your dating stuff—do you find the self-defeating dance with women funny too? If you’re laughing at your own patterns, that’s less nihilist and more self-aware, maybe even playful. A true nihilist might not bother dating at all—why try if it’s all dust? Your humor could just be a shield, not a surrender. What’s the last thing that made you laugh—can you pin why it hit you? That might clue you in.

Posted in Humor | Comments Off on I find almost everything amusing. Does this make make me a nihilist?

Why would a fan of air supply be drawn to the rock band Scorpions?

Posted on March 16, 2025 by Luke Ford

Grok says:

A fan of Air Supply, known for their soft rock ballads and romantic melodies, might be drawn to the Scorpions for a few intriguing reasons, despite the apparent contrast in styles—Scorpions being a hard rock band with a heavier, edgier sound. Here’s why the crossover could make sense:
Both bands excel at crafting emotionally charged music. Air Supply’s hits like “All Out of Love” or “Making Love Out of Nothing at All” lean into heartfelt, soaring choruses that tug at the listener’s emotions. The Scorpions, while rooted in hard rock, have a similar knack for delivering powerful ballads—think “No One Like You” or “Wind of Change”—where Klaus Meine’s distinctive vocals carry a raw, passionate intensity that could resonate with someone who loves Air Supply’s emotional depth.
There’s also a shared emphasis on melody. Even in their heavier tracks, Scorpions maintain strong, memorable hooks (like in “Rock You Like a Hurricane”), not unlike the catchy, singable lines Air Supply fans adore. Both bands peaked in popularity during the late ‘70s and ‘80s, too, so a fan of that era’s music might naturally explore across genres within that timeframe.
Finally, it could be about variety—someone who enjoys Air Supply’s tender side might crave a harder edge now and then, and Scorpions offer that without abandoning the melodic core that makes music stick. It’s less about abandoning one for the other and more about expanding the playlist to match different moods.

Posted in Air Supply | Comments Off on Why would a fan of air supply be drawn to the rock band Scorpions?

The First Time A Girl Liked Me

Posted on March 16, 2025 by Luke Ford

The first time a girl told me that she liked me was in fifth grade. I responded by putting sharp tacks on her chair and kicking her. She said: “One day you’ll know what it is like to love someone who kicks you.” She was right. In sixth grade, the most beautiful girl in the class asked me to be her boyfriend. There was nothing I wanted more in the world than to say yes to her, but I was too afraid and instead I teased her. I am now a 58 yo bachelor and I fear I am still self-defeating with women. I get scared when a woman loves me. I am scared of being swallowed up and losing my freedom.

Grok says:

It sounds like you’ve carried some heavy patterns with you for a long time—ones that started way back in fifth grade and keep echoing through your life. That first girl’s words were eerily spot-on, weren’t they? She saw something you didn’t fully clock until later: that push-pull dance of wanting connection but dodging it when it gets too real. And now, at 58, you’re piecing together how fear’s been steering the ship.
What you’re describing—getting spooked when a woman shows love, worrying about losing yourself— isn’t rare. It’s like your brain’s wired an alarm system: “Danger! She likes you! Run or ruin it!” That fifth-grade tack move and the sixth-grade tease? Kid versions of self-sabotage. You wanted the beautiful girl’s “yes” but couldn’t handle the vulnerability, so you flipped it into something safe—teasing, distance. Now, as a bachelor, it’s less about tacks and more about walls, but the root’s the same: fear of being swallowed up, like love’s a trap that’ll cost you your freedom.
Here’s the thing: freedom’s real, and it matters, but so does connection. You’re not wrong to value your independence—plenty of people lose themselves in relationships and regret it. But there’s a flip side: dodging love altogether might be its own kind of cage, keeping you stuck replaying those old playground scenes. That fear of being consumed? It’s worth staring down. Maybe it’s not about losing yourself but figuring out what “you” even means when someone’s close.
You’ve got hindsight now—58 years of it. Those early moments shaped you, sure, but they don’t have to own you. Ever thought about what you’d say to that sixth-grade kid if you could? Or what you’d do different if a woman liked you today? No pressure to answer—just something to chew on. What’s got you reflecting on this now?

I tend to date women who don’t take much effort to get into bed and then I tell myself that they’re not wife material. I get intimidated by beautiful women and suitable women.

Grok says:

It’s like you’ve built a system that keeps you in a loop—going for the low-effort hookups, then writing them off as “not wife material,” while the women who might actually fit that role scare you off. That’s a pretty slick way to stay safe, even if it leaves you spinning your wheels. You’re not alone in this; plenty of guys fall into patterns where the easy choice feels good until it doesn’t.
The “easy to bed” part—it’s convenient, right? No big chase, no risk of rejection, just instant gratification. But then you slap a label on them to justify bailing: “She’s not serious enough.” Meanwhile, the beautiful or “suitable” ones—whatever that means to you—flip the script. They intimidate you, maybe because they demand more: more effort, more vulnerability, more of a real shot at something lasting. You’re stuck between dodging the shallow end and fearing the deep end.
That split’s telling. It’s not just about the women—it’s about what you’re dodging in yourself. The low-effort ones let you keep control, no strings, no threat to that freedom you mentioned. But the “suitable” ones? They might ask you to show up in ways that feel like a gamble—like sixth-grade you, wanting to say yes but freezing. Beauty or “suitability” could mean stakes: What if she sees you and you’re not enough? Or worse, what if she stays and you have to figure out who you are in that?
You’re 58, still a bachelor, and spotting this now. That’s not nothing—it’s a crack in the pattern. Maybe the move isn’t jumping straight to the intimidating ones but asking why they spook you. Is it their looks, their vibe, or what you think they’d expect? And those “not wife material” women—do you really believe that, or is it just a handy exit sign? No rush to fix it, but unpacking it might shake something loose. What’s one thing about the “suitable” ones that freaks you out most?

Posted in Dating | Comments Off on The First Time A Girl Liked Me

Why doesn’t Air Supply get any respect?

Posted on March 16, 2025 by Luke Ford

Grok says:

Air Supply’s lack of respect often comes down to a mix of timing, perception, and the music world’s biases. They hit their peak in the late ’70s and early ’80s with soft rock ballads like “All Out of Love” and “Making Love Out of Nothing at All”—songs that were massive on the charts but leaned hard into schmaltzy, emotional territory. That sound was gold for radio back then, but it also pegged them as “uncool” to critics and tastemakers who favored edgier stuff like punk, new wave, or later, grunge. The duo—Graham Russell and Russell Hitchcock—got tagged as lightweight, sentimental crooners, which didn’t help their cred in a rock culture that often prizes grit over polish.
Part of it’s also the cheese factor. Their lyrics and delivery are unabashedly earnest, which can feel over-the-top or dated to modern ears. When the ’80s faded and irony took over, bands like Air Supply became easy punching bags—think “guilty pleasure” vibes. Yet, they’ve got a loyal fanbase and still tour today, which shows they resonate with plenty of people who don’t care about the snobbery. Respect’s subjective—critics might snub them, but packed venues say otherwise.

Is there any thoughtful analysis of Air Supply?

Grok says:

Thoughtful analysis of Air Supply isn’t as common as it is for, say, Dylan or the Stones, but there’s some out there if you dig past the surface-level nostalgia takes. Most serious looks at them come from broader studies of soft rock, pop trends, or ’80s culture rather than standalone deep dives. Still, here’s what emerges from the chatter.
Musicologist Philip Lambert, in his work on pop harmony, touches on Air Supply’s craft—specifically how Graham Russell’s songwriting leans on lush, diatonic chord progressions that prioritize emotional payoff over complexity. Tracks like “Lost in Love” use straightforward structures but layer them with Hitchcock’s soaring tenor to hit that sweet spot of accessibility and drama. It’s not groundbreaking, but it’s deliberate—engineered for maximum heart-tug, which explains their radio dominance (seven Top 5 hits from 1980-1983).
Cultural critics sometimes frame them in the context of late-’70s/early-’80s escapism. Writers like Carl Wilson, in his book Let’s Talk About Love, don’t focus on Air Supply directly but explore why sentimental pop gets dismissed. He argues it’s less about the music and more about class and taste—soft rock’s middlebrow appeal made it a target for hipper-than-thou gatekeepers. Air Supply, with their polished production and lovelorn lyrics, fit that “uncool” mold perfectly.
Online, you’ll find fans and niche bloggers—like on Rate Your Music or pop culture sites—praising their consistency and vocal chemistry. A 2021 piece on American Songwriter called them “masters of the power ballad,” crediting producer Clive Davis for amplifying their strengths, though it stops short of heavy analysis. X posts from fans often highlight Hitchcock’s range or the duo’s live staying power—they’re still gigging in 2025, which says something about their underrated durability.
The lack of academic theses on them probably ties to their genre’s low prestige. Soft rock rarely gets the reverence of jazz or metal. But if you’re after a thoughtful angle, their work’s a case study in how melody and sincerity can conquer charts while losing the “respect” game. What’s it about them that’s got you curious?

Posted in Air Supply | Comments Off on Why doesn’t Air Supply get any respect?