Reprinted Without Permission...

From Bob Lefsetz on George Carlin:

The last time I saw George Carlin was at the Universal Amphitheatre. As I watched him stride the stage with his mic, I thought what a great job this was. You get an agent to book the gig, you drive to the venue from your house, you do your show and you take ALL THE MONEY!

I'm sure George loved that. After all, he invented the format. Oh, the Borscht Belt comedians preceded him, but George wasn't a member of that club, hell, he wasn't even Jewish. He didn't depend on favors from singers, and he had a gold-selling record career. George Carlin didn't tell jokes, he specialized in the TRUTH! And one thing the baby boomers recognized was the truth. They flocked to George. Once he gave up trying to please their parents and just said what he felt on the inside.

I can't remember whether it was '67 or '68, but around seven o'clock on a Sunday evening, with school still in session, my parents dropped me off at Sacred Heart University for a concert. One of those five act extravaganzas like the one featuring the Beach Boys, Buffalo Springfield, the Soul Survivors and...that I went to at Fairfield University the fall before. The headliner was Vanilla Fudge. Actually, I saw Carmine Appice a couple of weeks back at the Kenny Chesney show. Playing second was Connecticut's biggest local act, NAIF, the North Atlantic Invasion Force, but in the middle, on around nine, was the performance I truly remember. George Carlin took the stage. Did the Hippy-Dippy Weatherman. He was funny. I kept my eye on him. When he exploded in the seventies it wasn't news, but the preordained success of someone who worked hard, bucking the system to ultimately be successful in another system, that of youth culture.

Sure, he was about ten or fifteen years older than his new audience, but he was seen as one of them. A God. Quoted ad infinitum from his Little David records.

Seinfeld's observational comedy? That's all derived from Carlin. I don't want to hassle Jerry here, he admits it. Carlin was the first to look at our screwed up world and question it. The only comedian doing this today is Chris Rock. Cable TV killed live comedy and while everybody with a modicum of talent looked to star in, or write for, a sitcom, today's generation was subjected to the inanities of Dane Cook. A harmless gentleman, but that's just the point... Dane's about jokes. Carlin was much more than jokes, he actually inspired people to think, to question.

Save the planet? SAVE YOURSELF!

I think of Carlin's routine every time I hear people pontificate about the environment. George said the planet's been around for millions of years, it will survive. Isn't that an interesting thought? An Earth without people? Instead of thinking about whether your kids will get cancer, think of human beings going the way of dinosaurs.

And, of course, the difference between football and baseball... Sudden death and extra innings. The gridiron as opposed to the field. Baseball is a pastoral game...

And what about the routine about STUFF? Buying stuff, hoarding stuff, moving stuff. As someone addicted to my stuff, I think of George's words whenever I debate throwing something away. Do I really need it? Is my identity really rolled up in my possessions?
And then there was the Friday night executions. Maybe it was Monday night. But you remember that HBO routine. God, that would generate ratings! Begging the question, would executives put ANYTHING on television if it delivered ratings? In the years since, Carlin seems a seer. Hell, it's almost not a joking matter. They have vigils, TV reports, whenever they execute another inmate.

From a distance, it looked like George couldn't break through into TV or movies. The obituaries are saying it was his choice. I'd like to agree with this, if you're sui generis, if you're making a difference, can you play any role but yourself?

I looked forward to those HBO specials.

I must say, in the recent one, George was a bit off his game. Maybe his health was affecting his talent. Then again, we don't reevaluate Sinatra based on his final tours. Frank's legend was cemented over and over again, from the forties to the sixties. And George Carlin's legend was cemented from the seventies to the nineties. He wasn't the voice of a generation, he'd hate that description, rather he was the trusted observer, removed, sitting on high, taking the pulse of a nation.

You might say he was secondary to Richard Pryor. I love Richard, but their acts were different. Richard was a storyteller nonpareil. Carlin's talent lay in his insight, in questioning what the fuck was going on through humor.

If you look at Carlin's track record, it's akin to the Beatles'. He was more consistent than the Stones, even though he worked just as long. And even though we loved his greatest hits, we always wanted to hear his new stuff. Carlin wasn't calcified, he was positively alive.

Sure, he took drugs to cope. But, he also had a wife and a child and a level of normalcy that left him out of the "Behind The Music"/"E! True Hollywood Story" exposes. With Carlin, it wasn't about the drugs, but the talent.

We marveled at the talent. It's funny when a guy like Carlin dies. Because he still lives. Not only all those HBO specials and records, but the routines in our minds. He's changed our lives. You see, Carlin's comedy never got dated. Because being human never really changes.

But now Carlin is gone. Kinda weird, because he was an inspiration, a beacon for all us wannabe truth tellers. If Carlin could do it, maybe we could too. Now, the path is only illuminated by his legacy, there will be no more new words, no more new routines. No more appearances on late night TV where he questions the conventional wisdom, where he states he doesn't vote because it doesn't make a difference. I'm a big believer in casting my ballot, but I can see that George is right. The fat cats win no matter what. The little guy is squeezed out. George was not a star who wanted to live above the fray, he never forgot his roots, he was interested in the little guy, and the little guy loved him for it.

Everybody I know who interacted with Carlin said they had a conversation. His stardom did not eviscerate his humanity. But his poor heart stopped him cold.

Seventy one is too young to die. Seems old, but when you get there, or see that a man running for President is that age, you realize that as a septuagenarian, you've still got a lot of living to do. Hopefully.

George's candle has been snuffed out, but his memory will live on. If I think of my pantheon of inspirations, I put him right up there with Tom Wolfe and Frank Zappa. Wolfe the observer and Zappa the questioner. That's what George Carlin was. An observer who was not afraid to question the status quo. I will be continued to be inspired by him. Hopefully, you will too.

A Sad, Sad Day

George Carlin 1937-2008

I think I speak for many of you out there who were deeply saddened by the passing of probably the greatest comedian of all-time: George Carlin. I won't waste time going over his best gags, but man, the guy sure could make me laugh. I thought he was at his best when he was at his feistiest. When he was ripping you, you knew it. I see his humor in my blog, my brother's, Jackson's, Jon's, Beckeye's and Falwless' to name a few. Good job sir, you will be missed!

Maybe He'll Get A Knock At His Door And It'll Be Him

Aw, poor ol' Ed McMahon. He's $600,000 behind on the mortgage payments on his $4.8 million house. He may need to file for bankruptcy. Oh boo-hoo! Up-bup. I don't want to hear that he's a nice guy - I don't know if he is or isn't, and I don't care! The man has made hundreds, maybe thousands of times the amount of money I have, and he's broke? Here's a thought: don't buy a fucking $4.8 million mansion! I have no sympathy for him or his riches-to-rags brethren (MC Hammer, Alec Baldwin and Kim Bassinger, Mike Tyson...) who feel they're American royalty.

Hey Ed, why don't you fill out the American Publisher's Clearinghouse Sweepstakes form, 'cause, hey, you never know!

Grab Bag Tuesday

Here's some rambling thoughts I've patched together with the hope that a bunch of dopey drivel somehow adds up to something.

Even after beating the Celtics in Game 5, LA has exactly 0 chance of winning it all. Bet the house, bet the wife, bet your life*.

I think Jon just plays a Celtic fan on the interweb. His disappearance coincided with the Celtics winning Games 1 & 2. My theory is that he actually bet on the Lakers and had to "vanish" when his bookie came around looking for his money. Lakers win, he's back like nothing happened**.

If I were an inexpensive well-hung male prostitute, my street name would be "$5 Foot-long"!

Can you believe Michael Johns has gained 40 pounds since the AI finale? What have you been feeding that boy, Beckeye? Can you say "the next Ruben Studdard"?

I totally cheated at dominoes when I visited my family this past weekend. I was very blatant about it and nobody noticed, so I just kept playing. The next day, I 'fessed up. Now, nobody's talking to me. Pissants!

Lefsetz, in talking about how record companies sue people who fileshare says,"The system sues people for trading music, the system wants the government to protect its business model, all in the guise of protecting art." The man is sheer genius***.

Falwless spent a great deal of quality time with her 6 year-old neighbor this weekend. Check out the new logo at the top of her blog that they worked on. ****

That's all I got for ya!

* - Last time I said this was when I said to bet everything on David Cook winning AI just before the season finale.
** - No, I am not jealous of all the attention he got!*****
*** - And I would know.
**** - Oh, yes I di-id!
***** - Ok, fine. I am.

Ch-Ch-Ch-Changes...

I had this great idea of pulling the plug on my blog and profile, then watch my fans panic wondering what happened, but if I do that now, I'll just be a copycat.

So instead, here's what I got for ya: I'm starting a new blog - The West Point Skateboard Gang. It will obviously be a collaboration with the people I hung out with in high school (that didn't fall off the face of the earth). Eating Chicken Vindaloo will continue to have me, your brilliant smart-allecky guide who mocks people who take themselves to seriously and provider of astounding musical insights, but less stories about my past. The other blog will obviously feature the events of high school and my early 20's. I don't know if it will interest you, confuse you, or bore you*. It will be written to be reader-friendly, though, and it will show a more honest side of me. I hope it will have lots of pictures - I've already posted one from high school**. I also plan to continue commenting on your interesting*** blogs as I have in the past.

That's all I got for ya!

* - Nor do I care****!
** - Oh, you know you're going to look at it, Nosy McSnoopyface!
*** - crappy
**** - OK, I do care.

Funniest Moment of My Life VI

Honestly, I don't know why this was so funny. It just was.

At the end of my Christmas Break during my junior year of high school, the cadets of West Point, where I lived, had returned from their break and were getting ready to start class for the Spring 1980 semester.

About 15 of us in the so-called "Skateboard Gang" went to see a movie, some forgettable horror flick, at the post theater. After the movie, we were walking around minding our own business*. The Rogers brothers, Dave and John, of Rogers Brothers Street Luge fame, had just gotten back from a trip to (I think) South Carolina. We were walking across the "Apron" which is a sidewalk that cuts diagonally across the parade field in front of the Cadet Mess Hall and is overlooked by 200 (?) or so of the cadets' dorm windows.

John had one of those HUMONGOUS boom boxes. You know, the kind that measured like 4 feet by 4 feet and used a ton of batteries**. John put on the latest release: AC/DC's Highway To Hell and cranked it.

Dave pulled out of his pocket huge handfuls of firecrackers he had purchased on his latest trip. There must have been one or two thousand or so. He lit them up, and they're all connected, causing about 5 minutes of continuous POW-POW-POW! We look up, and there's a cadet in EVERY window yelling at us! HAHAHA! A few tried to chase us down, but we had skateboards - suckas! The MPs chased us for a good couple of hours that night, too - suckas²!

Ah, those were the days.


*Looking for trouble to cause.
**If they had computers in those days, the Post Exchange, where we "bought"*** the batteries would have realized only a small percentage of the batteries they stocked were actually sold.
***OK, stole

Why I Am Not A Criminal

I know you're all thinking, "Mathdude, you're such a rule-breaking, devil-may-care rapscallion! How have you avoided doing time?" Actually, it was a pretty close call. I had in fact been asked by the military police when I was 17 to submit my fingerprints to the FBI and let them perform a lie-detector test on me. Tony Alva, too, and he was only 16*. Ah, but you don't want to hear about that. Here's what scared me straight.

It was my junior year of high school, just before spring break. This part doesn't really have much to do with the story, except show you what a fucking goofball I was**. I was headed to gym class, and I had decided already that I wasn't dressing out. I saw the previous class heading out the non-locker room entry, and I scampered to make it into the gym without going around. Right as I was about to get in, the female gym teacher shut the door right in my face! Bitch! So I did what any cool person would - I gave her the middle finger through the window. I went through the locker room and sat down in the gym. Apparently, she wasn't amused. She went into the boys locker room screaming for vengeance (hey, that would make a good album title). One of the guys came out saying everyone was in trouble, so I went in and 'fessed up. I sat all day in the office. Every now and then someone would come in and say, "Mathdude? Not Tony Alva? Huh, what?" Whatever. I get 5 days. My parents were pissed. They threatened me with the worst punishment imaginable - Catholic School, but in the end, I didn't have much punishment. I returned for the last day before spring break, then had the next two weeks off! How awesome was that? During spring break, we pretty much partied and camped out. It was different back then with the drinking age only being 18.

Anywho, where we hung out at the Teen Club at West Point, there was a pinball machine that would give you a free game if you dropped it from about 6 inches***. We figure out a way to make one of the Teen Club's windows look locked when it wasn't, and broke in during spring break to play for free. And then we did that the next night and the next.

After several nights, we're playing, and the phone rings, and rings, and rings, and rings, like 15 minutes worth. So we're getting kind of nervous. A few minutes later, we hear banging on the front door. "Open up! Military Police!" Fuck! Run. We head out the back door!

To Be Continued

* - We both took a pass on both offers.
**-am
***-This makes a lot of noise!

Tracks of the Week

God, don't you hate that when a TV show does that? I can't stand that. Relax, I've got the rest of the story below after this week's Tracks of the Week.

Bo Diddley died a few days ago, and I thought I'd have some songs for you with a Bo Diddley Beat. However, I could only think of two. There's Who Do You Love by The Doors and redone by George Thorogood, but everybody's heard of those. The other is Let's Ride by Status Quo from one of my favorite albums of all-time: Rockin' All Over The World (I know, what am I from like England or something?). So I was thinking about death and junk, and how Bo got to live a pretty good life when it's all said and done. I mean, it sucks to die and all, but he did pretty well. It got me to thinking about the most tragic death in Rock n Roll, and there can be no argument, and that would be Buddy Holly's. He was the Mozart Amedeus of the early Rock n Roll era. Everything he did was ground breaking. He was years ahead of everyone else. In my eyes he was the real Elvis. Everything in my music collection is the result of what he did. I've got for you perhaps my favorite, Peggy Sue, and other other not-so-well-knowns: Rave On, Rock Around With Ollie Vee, and It Doesn't Matter Anymore. I defy you to listen and not imagine them being released today, 50 years later.

Back to the story. As I headed out the back door, I thought, "Fuck, my skateboard!" I went back, unplugged the machine and grabbed my board. As I flew out the back door, I heard a bunch of laughing. Some of my other "friends" had totally punked us. When the other two guys ran out, they heard, "Freeze, Military Police!" and they threw their hands up in the air. Wow, talk about adrenaline rush. In the ensuing moments, I thought about having breaking and entering on my record over getting some free pinball games, how pissed my parents would be, and how much trouble I was going to be in had that really been the MPs. My hands were still shaking an hour later. That was pretty much the end of my criminal career.

Viral Story Meme

A while back I was tagged for a viral story meme created by Splotchy by the Imaginary Reviewer. This link here explains how it works. Basically others have written a part of a story by adding to what was sent to them. They then send it on for someone else to add to it. My 2 cents are in red. The story so far is as follows:

***I had been shuffling around the house for a few hours and already felt tired. The doorbell rang. I opened the front door and saw a figure striding away from the house, quickly and purposefully. I looked down and saw a bulky package. I picked it up. The handwriting was smudged and cramped, and I could only make out a few words.

***"Interesting", I thought to myself, "I don't know anybody named Ted Kaczynski." Unless it's going to clear this damn sinus infection in my head, I'll have to open it later.I set it on the kitchen table, and prepared my tincture of herbal tea remedies.

***As I watched the lengthy glossop of honey slather into my tea I heard a rustling noise behind me. Having spent my childhood in a rotating house (due to some awkward foundations) I am quite adept at craning my neck and utilized this skill in the current situation, looking behind myself like a six-foot-tall owl.The package - so stationary seconds before - had started to move, an event that I found somewhat odd, given that I was four days away from celebrating a year of sobriety. I picked up the nearest implement of swatting size without thinking, and slowly approached the bubble-wrapped delivery.The package continued to shuffle and shake as I stood poised with the potato masher held in readiness over my head. A small bead of sweat edged down my temple, hitting the floor at the same time as a lump of congealed potato from my weapon. There was a tearing sound, and I froze, unable to move, as a disembodied hand broke through my mysterious delivery. I blinked, and the thumb and forefinger of the hand formed a mouth.

***Oh, wait, it's not a disembodied hand after all, but a self-inflating blow-up doll! WTF? Maybe I need to take a closer look. OK, it's not from Ted Kaczynski, but from Kazakhstan, from my cousin Borat! Did I mention my second cousin is Borat?

He writes, "Greetings Cousin! I have new business in Kazakhstan. I now make blow-up dolls. Very nice - ah? You like? We use face of 7th best prostitute in Kazakhstan. She would rank higher, but she charges next to nothing - perfect for my new business, ah? Your cousin, Borat"

Hmm, not too bad, I suppose. I guess I can close my eyes if I need to!


OK, there's only one person I need to hand this off to - Beckeye! No I'm just kidding, go ahead Falwless! Hit me with your best shot.

Holy Shit - That's Funny

I think the blogging world can be divided into two groups: writers and non-writers. By writers, I mean people who can really write, not just slap some grammatically correct, spellchecked, half-ass shit together like I do. Of the bloggers I've seen, Pistols, Beth, Beckeye, the Imaginary Reviewer, and maybe, just maybe Jon would qualify as writers in my eyes.

The Imaginary Reviewer really stepped it up this week. His book review of the Canon 8300 Printer/Scanner instruction booklet is the funniest shit I have read since Pistols' piece on MS Word Help for printing labels. Hmm, maybe I'm just a sucker for postings about printing things. Seriously, though, you're missing out if you don't check out IR's posting. Keep up the good work, sir!

Track of the Week

It has been brought to my attention that some of my readers are not familiar with UFO's Strangers In The Night album. So this week's Track of the Week is the Greatest Live Performance Ever Recorded as recognized by Lars McManus and Rolling Stone Magazine: Rock Bottom from UFO's live album. Lars has Free Bird as the 2nd greatest live performance, and I won't bust on it because it is great, but it pales in comparison to Rock Bottom

As kind of a warning, you may experience some unexpected things as you listen to the song for the first time. It would be a good idea if you sat down. Many a new listener have collapsed at the sheer awesomeness of it and sustained some nasty injuries. As you listen to the opening cymbals and opening notes, you will feel kind of like Dorothy landing in Oz and seeing color for the first time, and yes, we are not in Kansas anymore!

The second phase will be rage - rage at having lived such an empty life up to this point. You'll ask why your parents raised you in a UFO-less house, and what kind of friends do you have if they have not made you listen to Rock Bottom before.

Finally, there is "Acceptance", as you realize that the barrenness of the life you had before only heightens the euphoria of listening to it now.

Occasionally, some people do not have these experiences. If this is the case with you, don't panic. First, maybe the problem is physical. You should consult an audiologist to have your hearing checked. If your hearing is good, consult a psychologist to see if you are sane. If that doesn't do it, seek religious guidance, for you do not have a soul, or, maybe you're a robot but don't know it, like in Blade Runner.

Enjoy!

Can They Really Make You Do That?

2 of the 4 people that I work with are at a training conference this week, so I actually have to work instead of tending to my blog. Yeah, I know, how unfair is that? Sheesh. I'm thinking about contacting the state labor board for violations of the Geneva Convention or something like that. I will try to surf and comment on youse guys' sites, but I don't know how many postings I can get out this week or what the quality will be*.




I noticed that 2 different companies are now using Let the Sun Shine as their theme song. I didn't know that companies could do that, but that's cool - I like that song**. However, I also noticed that We're Not Gonna Take It, in addition to being used to hawk YAZ, is now also being used to advertise a show on WE called Bridezilla***! WTF? Did I miss the press conference where Twisted Sister announced that they are THE BIGGEST BUNCH OF SELL-OUT PUSSIES ON THE FACE OF THE EARTH?

I built a table for the G-Train to do her stained glass projects on over the weekend, and I thought I was going to have to call an ambulance since she was so shocked that it came out so nice. Hmmph.



That's all I got for ya!


*Like anybody reading this is interested in quality.
**Mike Doughty's song Fort Hood uses this song heavily.
***Hold off on the "Mathdude is a WE-watching fag" comments, the commercial was on TLC