Gilda Radner

Walked up to Gilda and two friends seated at a table, happy hour, in New York City, the seaport. She was very friendly and considerate enough to tell me I had a sweat ball hanging from my nose. It was raucous laughter all around, as it was also an old Dr. Joyce Brothers steam room skit from SNL, life mimicing art so to speak. We mused as to what the good doctor would actually look like glistening in the buff, and once again broke into hysterics until our bellies ached. It is a fond memory I often call upon to rescue me from the doldrums. I shall treasure it always.