Archives for posts with tag: Comedy

Sarah Silverman is a genius. Her writing has always been thoughtful, with hidden gems of insight and humor that force you to pay attention. However, previous work has often given priority to shock value over the compassion. This new special has taken a delightful turn.

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Here are some quotes from the show that I can’t resist sharing (I don’t care if it’s lazy blogging, these lines are brilliant, you’ll see):

-“We live in the greatest country in the world. A country where we have freedom of religion and separation of church and state. Only we don’t at all and nobody says anything because we’re used to it.”

-Stop telling girls they can be anything they want when they grow up. I think it’s a mistake. Not because they can’t but because it would have never occurred to them they couldn’t. You’re planning that seed in their heads. It’s like saying, “hey when you get in the shower I’m not going to read your diary.” “Are you going to read my diary?” “What are you crazy? I just said I’m not going to ready your diary, get in the shower.”

If you don’t have HBO, find a friend who does. Steal their HBO GO. Sneak into your neighbor’s apartment when they’re gone and watch their cable. Find a way. Watch this special. I’m pretty sure it will make you a better person.

All week, I’ve had one of those nagging colds. Not sick enough stay home or win me much pity but sick enough for me to be miserable. I’m tired. My body hurts. My head is full. I’ve got this little nagging cough that sometimes turns into full body coughs. I’m so goddamn tired. You’re welcome for the symptom list. The concerned poodle is tired of the list too:

So, I’ve been staring at all of my screens. That modern cure for boredom and sickness alike. Screens, screens, screens and Netflix – on a number of those screens – has been my friend.

Tonight (because night starts at 4:30 here in Minnesota) I watched Mark Duplass’s 2009 atypical bromance, Humpday.

Mark’s character and an old college buddy decided to make a porn for the Seattle amateur porn festival. Two straight men seriously discussing their sexual insecurities makes for surprisingly less awkward watching than you’d think. It’s a sweet film. Awkward in all the right Duplass ways.

That’s all I’ve got. Back to my other screens, my friends. Much love.

Louie came to Minneapolis and 3,000 of us paid $45 to be in the same room with him.

Someday I will remember to bring my camera along. Sorry.

Holy shit do I love him. I laughed and smiled enough that my face hurt. That’s a damn fine hurt, let me tell you. His humor makes me feel good about the world and the humans that fill it. Even though we are assholes sometimes we can be good too. If a guy like Louie can see it, why can’t everyone?

Wait, maybe Louie is just a life coach disguised as a comedian.

I’m ok with that.

With the new job, it’s good to go out like this – something out of the ordinary and out of our neighborhood. The bar up the street won’t always cut it. Nor will the coffee shop or the park. Even a good fall TV lineup needs some variety. Now that I’ve settled into a real routine, I can see the value in getting out. Even when I’m tired or anti-social, two hours with Louie makes the difference.

Revolutionary, right?

We went to an open house yesterday. Something in our price range, not too far from where we live now, with a yard and lots of light. Even this early step makes the whole process feel more real. Real and scary. What about taxes? And insurance? And the neighbor’s dog? And shoveling the front walk? Oh god, my head just exploded.

I’m betting/hoping buying a house will be like getting into a hot tub. One toe at a time and it’s not so bad.

Then we went to dinner and a movie in the suburbs because, as I’ve mentioned before, we’re getting old. I know we’re old because we agree that eating at the mall where the movie was playing, just made good sense. Though our movie choice – Pitch Perfect – contradicts that a bit.

Loved it. I couldn’t stop smiling. Granted, I’m a sucker for modern music sung a capella and snazzy dancing. But who isn’t. The teenage girls filling the rest of the theater certainly agreed. The movie had a good balance of predictable teen drama and crude humor. If you go only to see Rebel Wilson – who plays Fat Amy – top that meth joke from the previews, you won’t be disappointed.

(Yeah her name is Rebel Wilson. Great fucking name. Now, I love her even more than I did when I saw her in Bridesmaids.)

Comedy Central’s Roast of Roseanne aired last night. One of the best I’ve seen. Jane Lynch was a perfect host. Amy Schumer was at the top of her game (I can’t wait to see her special and listen here to why she’s a standup human being). Carrie Ficher took down everyone. Katey Sagal looked amazing. Just watch it. The lineup was great.

Like so much of life, the roast only works when the room is full of respect. These young comedians and seasoned actors truly respected Roseanne and her career. They saw through the crazy and remembered what groundbreaker she and her show were. Plus, Roseanne took all the shit-talking like a champ. She tossed it back. She laughed. There is nothing worse on roast then the roastee looking uncomfortable. Not Roseanne.

I’d forgotten how much nostalgia boils to the surface when that theme song plays – that gritty sax and warbly harmonica. All I want to do is sit three feet from the TV with a bowl of mac and cheese and giggle at jokes I don’t really understand. Back then, the Roseanne’s sitcom made me feel like my divorced family (the only one on the block) was normal. They were dysfunctional but funny above all else so whatever we were was OK.

Thanks, Roseanne.

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