Another Legend Dies

I'll never forget the first time I encountered George Carlin's comedy. I was 9 years old. My brother was 11. Somehow Joshua had gotten his hands on a video tape which contained on it two things: Eddie Murphy's Delirious and George Carlin's HBO special, the one where he wears the green turtleneck and the burgundy pants (or is it the other way around?) and reads a practically endless list of dirty words and phrases from a long scroll. I knew some of them already, but he taught me a lot of new ones. We watched both of the videos repeatedly, I guess when our parents weren't home. I don't know how we got away with it. Or maybe they knew, I can't remember them raising a single objection the way they did when it came to movies or television shows that contained sex or violence. They didn't ever seem disturbed that Josh and I had learned a plethora of new jokes that contained nearly every "offensive" word and concept in the English language and that we repeated these things to each other with extreme glee.

We memorized and recited every line in Delirious. Eddie Murphy's storytelling was brilliant and the images of family events and sexual encounters that he drew with voices and characters had us holding our stomachs and laughing until it hurt. But George Carlin had something incredibly unique as well, something that I have idolized my whole life since. He was grouchy. Curmudgeonly, even. He grouched and grouched about things in a way that was so charming, so unbelievably easy to identify with, it felt like he was speaking the thoughts that were already in your head but you never could have found a way to articulate with the concise accuracy that he was able to convey in the expression of any idea. He said things better than other people said them, in a way that seemed there could be no way to argue with him. I imagined him in a debate with one who might disagree with him about his ideas about the world and I always imagined him winning immediately. First round knockout. Seemed like everything he ever said was so honest and for that reason irrefutably true.

I never grew out of George Carlin. He has continued to be a person whose thoughts and ideas and ways of expressing them has captivated and entertained me. Those parts of him will live on forever and ever in this world, long after we are all gone. It was quite a mark he left. Quite a mark.

Talk To The Hand

My parents did not bring me into this world to suffer fools. So if you are one, and I tell you off in person like you've never been told off before, please do not act surprised. I am an honest person for the most part, but I'm most true to that quality in situations where people piss me off. I am going to come out and tell you. So beware.

Take for example, the comic book store next to the restaurant that I work at. It is run by a man who seems nice enough. Sometimes when I am working on the chalkboard outside he comes out to chat, compliments me on my outfits and hairstyles, not sleezy, nice. I'm nice back. There is this other guy who works there, just a kid really, one of those kids who is a little bit too big for his britches if you know what I mean. Talks a lot, thinks he knows more than he does, asks questions in a way that makes them sound like insults. I've never liked him a whole lot but I tolerate him and I let his awkward comments slide.

The other day I arrived to work very early and had time to kill before setting up the bar. It was a hot day so I hung around on the patio for awhile and drank lemonade and read a book. After awhile I went inside and worked on my chalkboard and started setting up a bit, but I still had time to kill, so I decided that I was going to go and check out the comic book store next door, which I had never yet set foot in. Big mistake.

The door chimed as I opened it and the owner, a very stocky still young looking Italian man stood behind the glass counter filled with baseball cards, while the kid, who I would guess to be about 23 and of some kind of east Indian descent, sat on a stool at the back in direct line with the door and facing me as I entered.

"Hello!" I called, "Just thought I'd come inside and check the place out for once."

"Can I ask you something?" said the man behind the counter, "and I don't want you to take this the wrong way, but how is it that you always look so good and put together?"

I was flattered and so I smiled and said, "I make an effort every day. Thanks for noticing."

The kid gave me a big toothy smile, his glasses gleaming reflective in the flourescent lighting.

I didn't advance past the point where the counter began.

"So what happened with your boyfriend? Why'd you guys break up? Did he cheat on you?" asked the man.

"No, he didn't," I said, "It's too long of a story really, it was seven years of good and bad, but ultimately a lot of bullshit just never changed no matter what and we both finally gave up."

"You're a woman, don't curse. You shouldn't curse. But I understand that, it makes sense." He shrugged and nodded his head sideways instead of up and down.

I decided to let that one go. But then he went in for the kill.

"Do you go to church? You should go to church."

"No," I said, "I'm not religious."

"You should be. You should go to church and do some prayer."

"This is the last time that I'm going to walk through this door." And with that, I did not even so much as glance at the kid or maintain my focus upon the man behind the counter for another moment. I turned and opened the door again and stepped back outside into the hot sunshine, two steps to my own doorway, which I opened and breathed relief as I entered the cool dark sanctuary of my bar. That's my church, buster. It's the church of spirits. I light my candles there daily. How do you like them apples?

So that wasn't all though. Because yesterday as I was getting off the train and walking to work I found myself at the corner of Court Street and 2nd Place with this Indian kid, arriving there at the same coincidental moment in time.

"Hey! Look who it is!" He said.

I smiled and said, "Hello there," as we fell into step together walking down Court.

"What's with the heels?" He asked.

"Excuse me?"

"What's with the heels, is it a special occasion?"

"I'm sorry, but you're speaking to me like you've known me my whole life. If you had, you'd know that I almost always wear heels. So the answer is no. I change into flats for work."

"Well excuse me. I meant it as a compliment."

"If that was a compliment, that's something you really need to work on. A compliment to most girls would have been something like, 'hey, nice heels' or 'I like your shoes' but not 'what's with the heels?' that's not considered a compliment, it's considered a rude question."

"Well sorry that I haven't known you your whole life and that I didn't say 'nice heels'."

How could I possibly describe his demeanor? Instantly put off by my honesty, frightened of it, in fact, he said so. "You're scaring me," he said, "I'm afraid you're going to hit me." This made me want to hit him. But I didn't. Of course I didn't. But I did tell him exactly what was going through my mind at that very moment.

"Do you want to know the truth? You don't need to say anything to me at all. In fact, you and your boss--"

"He's not my boss, he's my partner."

"--can just keep to yourselves and not say anything to me. After what he said to me yesterday, and the conversation that I'm having with you now, I would say that you are both totally lacking in social tact and you have no idea how to talk to people. I don't have to put up with it."

He was pretty much completely blown over by my bitchiness. I mean, don't get me wrong, I know that I was a MONDO BITCH to this guy. But I don't feel bad. I feel good. I feel free. Because I seriously meant every word. I am absolutely done DONE with people trying to shove their Christian bullshit down my throat and everyone else's throats and I am sick and tired of rude and invasive banter that makes me distinctly uncomfortable time and time again. So there. I am the biggest bitch in the world and I'm sitting on top of it.

"Wow." He said, "I'll bet your friends just love you. I wish everyone in the world was like you."

"Likewise," I said. And sped up my walk to get ahead of him at which time he slowed down and we thus ended our not-niceties. And...That's all folks. I hope you've enjoyed this episode in the life of the ever confrontational Maria.

Humans Die

Whoa Dude. It's weird when someone dies who you didn't know at all, but you feel like you knew them because you knew that they existed and that they were there, whether you noticed it on a regular basis or not, and now they're gone. Gone gone.

Humans Get Tired

I admit it. I'm tired. Must sleep now. Goodnight world.

No More Venting

One of my very favorite bands that I've been listening to for the past year is one my friend Josh introduced me to called Okkervil River. If you haven't heard them you should fix that. I was lucky enough to see them here in New York at Webster Hall last year, and they were truly off the charts phenomenal up there on stage. This is a great band to go see if you generally feel that live concerts do not live up to the band's studio sound. These guys really live up to and exceed in person what you get from listening to their albums. Their energy and creativity on stage is so grand - and I do mean LARGE, sweeping, explosive - and utterly contagious.

Here is a music video that is sure to mesmerize you, if you're into that sort of thing, being mesmerized I mean. Believe me when I say that it is worth watching from beginning to end (about 1:07 min. it gets really good and doesn't stop til the last minute.):