It's my passion project.

I organize topical audio chats for trios of people I’m confident will enjoy talking to each other.

Participation is free.

Chats, as a rule, are private. But from time to time, we'll make special arrangements to record one.

I use the recipe I learned from my journalist dad —

"Start with people who have above average word smarts and self-awareness; and below average performativeness and overconfidence.

"Then figure out which ones have matching senses of humor."

Dad used this recipe to assemble a kaleidoscope of groups for his big Saturday dim sum brunches.

He hosted 2,546 of them between 1966 and 2015.

I got to tag along starting in 1980, when I was eleven.

When I went off to college in 1986, I was pretty eager to emulate dad and organize gatherings for people who'd enjoy talking to each other.

It became my favorite hobby.

Since then, I've organized thousands of gatherings. Everything from 2-person neighborhood lunches…

…to themed, 3-day, 25-person, private chef-quipped, destination retreats.

When COVID hit, I started organizing topical, three-person video chats. They were more popular than I anticipated. A few months in, I quit my job and started organizing them full-time.

Several generous participants are currently paying the bills.

If I have to hire staff to keep things from going off the rails, I'll implement a participation fee. But nobody who participates before that milestone will ever be asked to pay it.

I'm Ted Pearlman.

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

Over the years, I've used tree names as mnemonics to help me remember which folks enjoy talking to each other. And 'trees' has become my shortcut word for people who fit dad's recipe.

No.

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.

Instead of turning inward or rebelling, 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 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.

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

I'm still amazed that dad was able to do both 'funny' and 'serious' journalism.

His favorite quote.