"Weather forecast for tonight: dark."

As you may know, comedian George Carlin died yesterday at the age of 71.

I had to correct that sentence, because I’d originally typed "passed away." And we know how Carlin felt about euphemisms. To quote one routine, cited in that AP article:

"'Older' sounds a little better than 'old,' doesn't it? Sounds like it might even last a little longer. . . . I'm getting old. And it's OK. Because thanks to our fear of death in this country I won't have to die—I’ll 'pass away.' Or I’ll 'expire,' like a magazine subscription. If it happens in the hospital they'll call it a 'terminal episode.' The insurance company will refer to it as 'negative patient care outcome.' And if it's the result of malpractice they'll say it was a 'therapeutic misadventure.'"

That was Carlin. Nearly everyone I’ve talked to has a remarkably similar story about how they first discovered the guy’s work: snuck a family member’s tape or record into their room/basement/friend’s house, gathered around, and listened to the profanity and clever wordplay with barely-suppressed laughter. For me, it was the 1992 HBO broadcast Jammin’ in New York that introduced me to the man’s work.

I was only 11 years old, but I’d been devouring stand-up comedy for some time; back then Comedy Central showed pretty much nothing but pure stand-up, HBO had its comedy specials along with the weekly One Night Stand show. Bill Hicks was not yet dead and Denis Leary’s No Cure for Cancer was just around the corner. Sam Kinison had recently passed—sorry, died—but his influence was writ large both on those comedians and on myself.

But that Carlin show changed my life. It changed the lives of my friends. It changed how we talked, how we thought, and what we thought about. Plenty of comedians are profane, but few are profane with a purpose. Carlin, as always, was careful with his language: profanity was a way to spike his routine, to keep your attention while he slipped in the good stuff. This was a man who treasured language.

If there’s one thing the man didn’t like, it was—well, a word I can’t print here, but so we’ll call it fertilizer. (Sorry, George.) He didn’t like how we got twisted up about stupid things, he didn’t like that we never said what we meant, he didn’t like that people often accept sloppy reasoning and faulty logic because they’re easier. He couldn’t abide soft thinking. And despite his great cynicism, and despite the increasing anger in his routines, you knew he was an optimist. A true cynic doesn’t waste his time with people he feels are lost causes.

This one hit me pretty hard. I saw Carlin live—finally—two years ago this past February, and it was everything I thought it would be. It was pretty clearly a warm-up show for an eventual broadcast from NYC, so for about half the time he was taking cues from notes. It didn’t matter; I laughed so hard I had a headache. My face hurt. At some points I wanted him to stop because I was laughing so hard I thought I would choke. He was just that good.

Thanks, George. For everything.

Comments

[Jordan Lowery]

I remember sitting in my high school Principal's office defending my actions with a Carlin routine. A fellow student and I were bored and were flipping each other off and the teacher got caught in the crossfire. Mistakenly thinking my digit was intended for her, I got sent to the office. The principal and I then engaged in a nearly two hour debate about the meaning of the gesture and the words it represents. My entire defense was Carlin's "The words are innocent" routine. Through Carlin's logic and wisdom a freshman in high school managed to trim his punishment from one week of suspension to one day.

That stuff comes in handy and we know how he felt about stuff. I guess he got in, not on, the plane and left the terminal for his final destination. Just want to know how the pork chops taste.

Thanks for the text k lo.