A few weeks ago I saw a fellow performer do a solo show that included pointed black comedy about the Holocaust. He was Jewish, in fact, and his remarks spurred a lively discussion afterward.

The three performers -- myself, Ira, and Lynn Ruth -- didn't have much problem with what Ira said. We're all Jewish.

However, my friend Dave, who is not Jewish, felt uncomfortable. I appreciated his sensitivity and found the division of opinions interesting.

It also reminded me of when I was a teenager. My mom got a secondhand Mercedes 240D in her quest to become a successful Realtor (capitals necessary, as I have learned as a real estate writer). My Landa grandfather caught wind of this and was not pleased: "You're sitting on your ancestors," he told my mom as we munched our salads and steaks at the Hungry Hunter in Rancho Bernardo. She was not amused.