He is immortalized—in syndication and on DVD—standing in his kitchen, eating sugary cereal for dinner, in jeans and sneakers and an untucked shirt. But on a warm, rainy evening in August in a nondescript dressing room backstage in a theater in Colorado Springs, Jerry Seinfeld is dressed as if he were going to church: a dark suit, a crisp, white shirt and an elegant, silvery tie. And he acts a bit devout too, bowing his head in a moment of silence.
But Seinfeld is getting ready for a different sort of ancient ritual: stand-up comedy. "It's...
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