It’s a free, email newsletter meant to give your faith in human goodness a regular upward nudge.

Below are fifteen things I sent to subscribers in 2024.

An interview with singer, composer, and conductor Bobby McFerrin.

An interview I did with photographer, orchestral clarinetist, and author Arlene Alda, in her and her husband Alan's Upper West Side New York City apartment.

A profile of sculptor Andy Goldsworthy and his new piece at the College of the Atlantic.

An interview with historian and voice actor Sarah Vowell.

A conversation I organized for artists Joel Newton, Jonathan Bernstein, and Paul Carlon. The starter topic: 'What makes something elegant?'

An interview with ceramic artist Elizabeth Donnally Davidson.

An interview I did with artist, New Yorker Magazine cover illustrator, and author Christoph Niemann, in his Berlin studio.

An interview with actor Patricia Clarkson.

What I call an 'If not for...' story, told by sailor Robert Ouimet, recorded at his studio in North Vancouver, BC.

An interview with architect and educator Deborah Berke.

An interview I did with the host of the Slate Political Gabfest podcast and CEO of CityCast David Plotz, at his home in Washington, DC.

An talk given by architect and founder of Mecanoo Francine Houben.

An interview with civil rights activist Rev. Bernard Lafayette Jr.

An interview with actor Carol Burnett.

An interview with photographer Siegfried Hanssen.

Something my journalist dad sensed in the people he found most resonant, but was always hesitant to distill into words.

When pressed, he would call it ‘a deep-running, organic humility.’

He brought together near-endless combinations of these people,

at big dim sum brunches,

hosted 2,546 Saturdays in a row,

from 1966 to 2015.

After he and my mom split up, in 1980, he started having me tag along.

I loved it.

I was eleven and had never before been around grown-ups who got along that well or laughed that much.

After my first brunch, on the walk back uptown to Dad's apartment, I decided it would be absolutely brilliant to call dad's dim sum denizens ‘the trees’.

One of the people who'd been in attendance, Tommy Tomizawa, arranged for everyone to be wearing 'Hi, I'm...' name tags when I arrived.

He thought it would help make me feel welcome.

The name tags were shaped like maple leaves.

During the first pandemic lockdown, it was dad and his denizens I most missed being around, even though nearly all of them had passed on years before.

I think starting a newsletter dedicated to people like them was my way of coping with the isolation.

I'm Ted Pearlman.

I’m married to Allison, an architect. We live in Denver, Colorado, with our ridiculous twelfth-grader, Oscar, and our Newfoundland, Mabel.

I have a BA in Music (Cornell University ’90).

Until 2012, I worked at technology companies, including Sony and IBM.

From 2012 to 2020, I helped a small cadre of technology CEOs find specialists to tackle acute business challenges.

Please, please, please do.

Feel free to email me (ted@thetre.es) or call/text me on my phone (+1 720-728-9494).

My dad, Sy (1930-2015), and his dad, Ted, had the same sense of humor.

During the weekend and after school, working together in the family’s Brooklyn candy store, dad and Ted spent much of the time trying to make each other laugh.

In the evening, they’d listen to radio comedy variety shows like Texaco Star Theater.

When Sy was 14, Ted died of leukemia.

Dad coped with the loss by becoming doubly obsessed with making people laugh. He started writing comedy skits with his high school friends, modeled on the ones he heard on the radio.

In 1949, a year after high school, dad’s favorite comedian, Sid Caesar, got his first television show, the Admiral Broadway Review.

By the time the first episode ended, dad had figured out what he wanted to do with his life. He was going to be a television comedy writer.

The next day, while working alongside his mom at the store, dad announced his plan —

“I’m going to be a comedy writer for Sid Caesar’s Admiral Broadway Review.”

She was not amused.

Dad, however, was dead serious. He began to ply his craft by writing stand-up bits during the week and heading to the Catskills on the weekends (four hours each way, via subway, bus, and hitchhike) to hawk them to Borscht Belt comedians.

He was well on his way to a career as a television comedy writer. But the Korean War and the draft derailed him. Dad wanted to avoid combat at all costs, so he put his aspirations on hold and enlisted. With a plan.

Growing up in the rough, ethnically divided neighborhoods of post-Depression Brooklyn, and being the man of the house from age 14, he became exceptionally street smart. He could quickly assess people and their motivations, avoid pickpockets, trade favors, and talk himself out of any pickle.

He was also conversant in Russian, which his parents had spoken at home (along with Yiddish) when he was small.

All of this gave dad the idea to apply to the US Army Language School (now called the Defense Language Institute) in Monterey, California. This, he schemed, would enable him to finally become fluent in Russian, meet cute girls on the beach, and groom himself for a commission as an Army intelligence officer, based in Europe, in charge of recruiting and handling Soviet spies, a safe 4000+ miles from armed combat.

13 years later, after his stint in the Army, a masters degree in Russian studies from NYU, another in journalism from Columbia, and a bunch of positions at small city papers, he landed his dream job as an editor for The New York Times.

Right after he got to The Times, however, an old friend from his days inside the Borscht Belt got hired to write for Get Smart, a TV comedy about a bumbling secret agent.

It seemed like some kind of omen to dad, and, for a few weeks, he contemplated sacrificing his career as a journalist to follow his friend out to Hollywood. For various reasons, it didn't happen.

Funny enough, dad did eventually become a bonafide TV comedy writer (while still somehow remaining a serious journalist) when Reuven Frank, the President of NBC News, recruited him to join Weekend.

It was the first sardonic, long-form news show on network television, running once a month, in Saturday Night Live’s time slot, when SNL was taking the week off.

I'm convinced it's the (mostly forgotten) great grandfather of The Daily Show and Last Week Tonight.

Below is an excerpt from an episode. Dad co-wrote the script.

Howell Golson.