by William Kitcher I miss the old days when you knew that a classic old joke would be understood by an audience. If a sketch comedy group performed while Schubert’s “Trout Quintet” was playing and concluded it with people slapping each other with fish, I’m sure that the audience would think it had something to do with Monty Python’s Fish-Slapping Dance, if, in fact, they actually knew who Monty Python were. Ah, sad times. I miss the days when a cigarette smoker asked you for a match, and you could respond, “No one even comes close” or “Your face, my arse”, and receive a slight smile of recognition. No, my friends, the times they are a-changin’, to quote a Nobel Prize-winning writer. Not many people use matches anymore. To be honest, I miss the times when a lot of people smoked. I hardly ever smoke but sometimes I like to have one, and I’m not happy when I have to wander the streets for hours in order to find a person who smokes, and attempt to bum one. Buying a pack...