In between sips of Jameson, standing to the side of the stage at Boulder Coffee Co. in Rochester, NY last night at the comedy open mic I felt, for the first time, that I was part of something bigger than my own intentions. Shoulder to shoulder with some of the smartest, funniest people in the entire city I knew I was where I belonged and, though I may not be on their level or anywhere near their ability, felt accepted into a strange club where the members meet in public a few times a week to tell jokes to a room full of strangers. And, now I'm hooked. More than hooked, obsessed with the idea of growing and supporting the comedy scene in Rochester as best as I can; while, obviously, trying my hand at it as well.
Having said that, I'm sure more than a few of the comics that performed last night would disagree with me. They don't really know me from a hole in the wall, but we chatted amicably and traded some zingers back and forth like I imagine established comics (like Patton Oswalt, David Cross, Brian Posehn, etc.) do every night in green rooms and backstage areas across the country. It was, pathetically, a dream come true for me to rub shoulders with the likes of Vinny Paulino, Dan Maslyn and Dr. Will; whom I've seen perform countless times but had rarely approached before or during a show. I didn't feel worthy of inclusion into their secret society of funny people, but after a little more than two months doing open mics around town I felt comfortable not only with my ability, but in their company and that has made my life a whole hell of a lot easier and my stand-up a whole hell of a lot better.
I know I'm gushing uncontrollably right now, but I can't help myself, so please forgive me for showing human emotions and blogging riotously about my love of all things having to do with Rochester, NY comedy. There's just too much talent in my hometown to ignore now, and the fact that I get to hobnob with them, delusional though it may be, has made me the happiest I've been in a very long time. Really, though, this post should be about encouraging you, my faithful reader, to go out and support these people as much as you can.
The open-mic night, Sundays at Boulder Coffee Co. at 8:00, is free and features -in my opinion- the best stand up comedy in Rochester at the moment and the crowds have been showing up in full force over the past month or so; which has been great, but I'm crippled with dread that once the summer ends and people start heading to college or get back to work or do whatever they do that keeps them from going out on a Sunday night, the crowds will dry up. This can't happen, fellow Rochestarians and readers from abroad, and I don't plan on letting it happen as long as I'm involved. I will, badger you with my belligerence on these pages and on twitter where I will shamelessly self promote myself and humbly request your attendance and laughs for the other comedy minds my hometown has to offer, and they are legion.
I feel now, that I can kind of, sort of introduce you to the cream of the crop with brief profiles here in this blog; just to wet your whistle and encourage you to come join in the fun, so let's give this a try.
Host of All Hosts: Bryan J. Ball.
True story: Bryan lives about 4 houses down from me on the same street and we did not meet until the end of last week's open mic night at Boulder. Truer Story: He is one of the funniest people I've ever met or seen perform. He is a slick crafter of jokes and makes with the funny on a painfully regular basis that makes me boil with jealous rage. He makes it look so easy I almost expect him to take the mask off and reveal himself to be Louis C.K. in disguise. If he doesn't make it big outside of Rochester I will be shocked, amazed and disappointed to the point where I'll be inconsolable for days on end. Good thing I'm pretty sure it's going to happen for him though, when you're that good, you generally don't fail.
Jokes That Make You Go, Huh?: Wes Bauer
Every time I've done stand-up since I got back into it 8 week ago I've had the pleasure of being there with Wes Bauer; who, for my money has some of the best material I've ever heard locally or nationally. Honestly, when the audience isn't responding to Wes positively I question whether they have pulses or just aren't paying attention. Maybe they're just playing catch-up, because his jokes have a tendency to make you think prior to laughing, and that can work against a guy on stage seeking instant gratification for his cleverly created chuckle-fare. I love his stuff, his stage presence and the fact that it took us 6 weeks before introducing ourselves to each other. Comics are, by and large, shy people who hate everything, but Wes and I click on a weird level in that we are not filled with outright consternation and capable of mentioning Rasputin and then going through the litany of ways in which a joke could be made about him. sigh He's really, really funny and very bright and smart and missing out on his set will sorely disappoint you.
My Personal Favorite (No Offense Guys): Billy T. Anglin
I don't even know where to begin. I envy this man on so many levels it's not even pathetic, they haven't even created a word for how jealous I am of his ability to make a room full of strangers laugh at things like God making it rain because he felt like seeing a wet t-shirt contest. (No lie, my friend calls me once a week to remind me of that joke, followed by "you should be that good...some day.") It goes beyond that though, he has a passion for comedy that is mother f_cking infectious to be around and out and out delightful. He was the first person I introduced myself to on the fateful night at The Otter Lodge a long, long time ago when I got so drunk I forgot my jokes. After my set, he said to me, very wisely, "yeah, you don't want to do that again do you?" And I never have. It was advice without being "advice." Though he's many years my junior I find myself forgetting that whenever he's around, and if I can make him laugh during my set I know I did something right because the funniest man in the room is giggling in the background at whatever stupid joke I just told. (His only downfall is that he insists I am a "smart comedian;" which I just don't believe, at all.) If you live in Rochester, you need to come see Billy before he's on Comedy Central and too big and important for the little people.
I'll write more itty-bitty profiles of local comics in the days and weeks to come, but there's a few for you that hopefully sounded enticing enough for you to come out and support your local comedian. It means a lot to me, but for the guys with actual talent it means so much more.
Coming Tomorrow: My write up and encouragement/plea for you to attend the upcoming Fall Comedy Contest at The Tango Cafe!
Monday, August 23, 2010
Monday, August 2, 2010
Standing Up, Falling Down
"Oh, I don't drink," he began in a low, growl of a voice that often times would skip up or down in pitch and tone depending on the emphasis he was trying to put on a certain word or sentence. If his voice went up an octave or two he was joking, if it slipped down he was deadly serious; somewhere in the middle is where you'd want to find him on any given day. "I never saw the point. I was fine with it, really, until I was about 22-23 and I saw all my friends going out to drink night after night," his voice climbs up, his eyes bulge slightly, "but I thought to myself, 'self, why would anyone want to do something that makes you forget what you just did?' This is why I stick to pot." As he said "pot" his voice got almost cartoonishly high and excited, this way the crowd new it was his punchline and they could laugh now.
The joke, on it's own, is layered and not terrible, but it's outdated and a little broad for the tastes of the apparent comedy connoisseurs in the audience who came to hear jokes written by Chomsky. As if dissecting the crowd with his eyes, the comedian made several decisions almost instantaneously -or so it seemed- that would steer the next three to five minutes of his set. Should he continue on with his normal material and hope to god that the next joke he normally tells -one which involves a reference to a bear shitting in the woods next to the pope- or if he should riff on something he was thinking about earlier in the day to prove to the starched shirts in the crowd that he is more than just an automated joke machine with a microphone.
"Have you ever noticed," he chooses to riff on whatever it is he noticed. Possibly something pertaining to city living or how it's impossible to get a cab in Rochester, because there are no (voice very high, very nervous, very excited) cabs in Rochester even though that's patently untrue. The death knell, it seems for all comedians not named Jerry Seinfeld, is the opening line "have you ever noticed," it befits a sort of hack quality to the coming joke, but also allows the audience to bathe themselves in a half remembered, but oh so comforting form of entertainment that was only ever perfected by one man. "Yes," they nod almost in unison, "I have indeed noticed that," they say to themselves, but they aren't laughing and they don't want to be. This is the point where the audience is lost and the comedian is in purgatory blindly flailing away inside his brain to find the thing that will bring them back.
"Fuck, just fuck it, you know?" Ah, he goes blue, the guaranteed audience attention getter that never fails. What Lenny Bruce began other comedians, less talented comedians, have been using and reusing to, at the very least, get the audience to look at them and, seemingly, say, "I too, use swear words." The following 2 minutes of stand-up comedy is riddled with words that mean nothing in correlation to the words before it. It's a lot of "fucks" and "shits" and various combination's of the two that would make even the most weathered sailor blush (if even just a little bit). Still, there are no laughs, there is no sign that the audience will ever warm up to this fellow. He's drowning on stage and the audience is throwing him anchors.
"At least they haven't turned on me," he mutters to himself, voice deadly serious and so low that even his own thoughts have a hard time sussing out what he just said. As if sent from heaven above to teach this man a lesson, a voice from the back of the dimly lit room cries out "you're mumbling! What the fuck?!" Indeed. What follows could be an interesting case study in unwritten laws of social interaction. Mere seconds before, the crowd was willing to sit silently as the comedian tortured himself on stage practically begging for their affection, but now that one of their own has aired his dissent the rules no longer apply. "Hack!" A voice yells from somewhere the comedian can't see. "Loser!" "Douche!" "I can't believe I paid for this!"
"You paid for this?" The comedian asks sincerely. "Why the fuck would you...really? You guys spent, what, $4 to come out here and sit there and drink your sangria and beer and listen to someone you've never heard of before tell jokes and I'm the idiot?" The crowd quiets down. The comedian's previous nerves have been replaced with a vitriolic disdain and overwhelming desire to mete out his own specific type of justice to such an ungrateful crowd. He stops. He collects his thoughts and decides to take the high road, "fuck every single one of you people." A laugh comes for the first time all night. "You've got to be fucking kidding me." Another laugh, this time bigger than the last. "Next time, let's start with the heckling and go from there, okay?" Huge, inexplicable laugh. "Ah, I wish this is how it worked at home," he begins, "my wife never laughs at me when I tell her to go fuck herself." Gigantic laugh, and the comedian is perplexed but taking mental notes all the same, caressing his ego in the process and wantonly unleashing his id. "My kids," he pauses, voice raising in preparation for the punchline, "think it's hysterical."
The joke, on it's own, is layered and not terrible, but it's outdated and a little broad for the tastes of the apparent comedy connoisseurs in the audience who came to hear jokes written by Chomsky. As if dissecting the crowd with his eyes, the comedian made several decisions almost instantaneously -or so it seemed- that would steer the next three to five minutes of his set. Should he continue on with his normal material and hope to god that the next joke he normally tells -one which involves a reference to a bear shitting in the woods next to the pope- or if he should riff on something he was thinking about earlier in the day to prove to the starched shirts in the crowd that he is more than just an automated joke machine with a microphone.
"Have you ever noticed," he chooses to riff on whatever it is he noticed. Possibly something pertaining to city living or how it's impossible to get a cab in Rochester, because there are no (voice very high, very nervous, very excited) cabs in Rochester even though that's patently untrue. The death knell, it seems for all comedians not named Jerry Seinfeld, is the opening line "have you ever noticed," it befits a sort of hack quality to the coming joke, but also allows the audience to bathe themselves in a half remembered, but oh so comforting form of entertainment that was only ever perfected by one man. "Yes," they nod almost in unison, "I have indeed noticed that," they say to themselves, but they aren't laughing and they don't want to be. This is the point where the audience is lost and the comedian is in purgatory blindly flailing away inside his brain to find the thing that will bring them back.
"Fuck, just fuck it, you know?" Ah, he goes blue, the guaranteed audience attention getter that never fails. What Lenny Bruce began other comedians, less talented comedians, have been using and reusing to, at the very least, get the audience to look at them and, seemingly, say, "I too, use swear words." The following 2 minutes of stand-up comedy is riddled with words that mean nothing in correlation to the words before it. It's a lot of "fucks" and "shits" and various combination's of the two that would make even the most weathered sailor blush (if even just a little bit). Still, there are no laughs, there is no sign that the audience will ever warm up to this fellow. He's drowning on stage and the audience is throwing him anchors.
"At least they haven't turned on me," he mutters to himself, voice deadly serious and so low that even his own thoughts have a hard time sussing out what he just said. As if sent from heaven above to teach this man a lesson, a voice from the back of the dimly lit room cries out "you're mumbling! What the fuck?!" Indeed. What follows could be an interesting case study in unwritten laws of social interaction. Mere seconds before, the crowd was willing to sit silently as the comedian tortured himself on stage practically begging for their affection, but now that one of their own has aired his dissent the rules no longer apply. "Hack!" A voice yells from somewhere the comedian can't see. "Loser!" "Douche!" "I can't believe I paid for this!"
"You paid for this?" The comedian asks sincerely. "Why the fuck would you...really? You guys spent, what, $4 to come out here and sit there and drink your sangria and beer and listen to someone you've never heard of before tell jokes and I'm the idiot?" The crowd quiets down. The comedian's previous nerves have been replaced with a vitriolic disdain and overwhelming desire to mete out his own specific type of justice to such an ungrateful crowd. He stops. He collects his thoughts and decides to take the high road, "fuck every single one of you people." A laugh comes for the first time all night. "You've got to be fucking kidding me." Another laugh, this time bigger than the last. "Next time, let's start with the heckling and go from there, okay?" Huge, inexplicable laugh. "Ah, I wish this is how it worked at home," he begins, "my wife never laughs at me when I tell her to go fuck herself." Gigantic laugh, and the comedian is perplexed but taking mental notes all the same, caressing his ego in the process and wantonly unleashing his id. "My kids," he pauses, voice raising in preparation for the punchline, "think it's hysterical."
Wednesday, July 21, 2010
I Like You... Louis C.K.
As I write this I'm listening to the sound of grumbling thunder pass by the window near my cubicle and the lady who now shares the office with myself and a few other co-workers is yipping like an injured chihuahua every time there's a boom or a streak of lightning illuminates the sky, and it is taking every ounce of self control that I have not to tell her to eat a bag of dicks and get back to being quiet while she works on whatever spreadsheet or word document she's supposed to be slogging through like the rest of us. Until sometime last week I did not even know the phrase "eat a bag of dicks" existed, nor would I have thought about using it so freely and easily in the middle of the working day, but until sometime last week I only had a very cursory knowledge of stand-up comedian, writer, director, TV star and hero Louis C.K. This is not sometime last week.
I'm a very amateur comedian, or what some would call a hack, and I'm fine with that. I go to the occasional coffee shop or cafe here or there and peddle my jokes to an unsuspecting group of strangers who are usually too involved in their mocha-chinos or laptops to give me, or the other struggling comics, the time of day. Which is fine, it's our fault for not being compelling or interesting enough to grab their attention and hold on tight, and right now I'm in the middle of a cosmic struggle to find my own voice and write and perform material that will do exactly that. It's really f_cking hard. From week to week performance to performance I've dabbled in everything from politics, race, economic struggles, stupid fart jokes, an occasional impression and a whole lot of other bullshit that would make Carrot Top look like George Carlin by comparison. (Yes, I am that bad, or at least I think I am) I never once thought comedy would be easy, but I never once imagined it would be so hard to do something that seems to be so natural to me when I'm at work, home or out with friends. (Yes, I'm the guy who listened when his best friend and girlfriend told him he should give stand-up a try.)
As per usual, when I'm feeling a little lost in the wilderness, I put on "The Comedians of Comedy Movie" and sit and watch Patton Oswalt, Maria Bamford, Brian Posehn and a pre-fame Zach Galifianakis go through the grind of traveling from city to city performing their unique brand of hilarious comedy. Now, I've seen this movie maybe a dozen times and almost every time there's something I catch that I missed before that allows me to shake the cobwebs away and get back to being somewhat funny on an intermittent basis; which is what happened this time around, sometime last week. During a radio interview filmed for the movie, when asked which comics people may not know about that they should, Patton Oswalt said the name Louis C.K. immediately and without hesitation, and I thought to myself, "Okay, I've got to really get into this guy to find out what the deal is," adding, "for real this time."
It's not that I haven't known about Mr. C.K. for the past few years, because I have. I just didn't really give a shit because I was so into myself that I thought, "yeah, yeah cheap laughs and crude humor, I get it and it's not for me," but I wasn't paying attention to the material I was just hearing the language and seeing this middle aged, pudgy, red head on stage getting huge laughs from an audience that I assumed probably consisted of red necks and dip-shits. My second attempt to "discover" Mr. C.K needed a different boost in a different direction and as luck would have it I came upon an interview he did with The A.V Club about his new show "Louie" (which airs Tuesday nights at 11 on FX).
I missed the first couple episodes of "Louie" so I felt left out and in the dark, but to my extreme delight and surprise the first two episodes popped up on Hulu and, holy shit, the man's a f_cking genius. "Louie" is more or less two short films with some of Mr. C.K's stand-up interspersed throughout and it is the best new comedy to come to television since the British version of "The Office," and I am brutally addicted to it. I find myself feeling withdrawal symptoms when too much time passes between the episodes, so I went and bought all that are available on iTunes and I annoy my girlfriend by watching them as frequently as humanly possible. "Louie" speaks to me on some strange, incomprehensible level that is sometimes a little scary to admit, because I don't know what it is about it that makes me feel like I'm shooting heroin and listening to Thelonious Monk on vinyl each time I see an episode, but it does and I do not plan on attending rehab anytime soon. I would gladly sell my body on the streets for nickels and dimes if it meant I got to go home and watch more "Louie," it really is that good.
From "Louie" I went to the internet and sought out every piece of Mr. C.K.'s stand-up that I could find and found myself respecting and listening to him on a very different level than the old, comedy snob me had a few years ago. His jokes, while littered with the foulest words imaginable have very little if nothing to do with the language and everything to do with the context it is used in and I am more than amazed that some of his more raunchy sets have gotten huge laughs from my girlfriend who, normally, doesn't find that sort of thing funny, but Mr. C.K. is so good it's unbelievable and anything close to normal. One piece, displayed at the end of last weeks episode of "Louie," where Mr. C.K. tells a story about his cousin visiting New York City and seeing a homeless person for the first time is above brilliant and should be studied until the end of time as the pinnacle of what comedy should aspire to be, and with my obsessive nature firmly dictating that I needed to consume as much of his stand-up as possible I rented his 2008 stand-up special "Louis C.K.: Chewed Up" and, to my knowledge, it's the hardest I've ever laughed for an hour of my life.
From there I worked backwards and watched "Louis C.K.: Shameless" and anything else I could find on YouTube, and I have yet to be disappointed or left feeling like the person I watched is anything less than the funniest man alive. As much as I used to look up to guys like Patton Oswalt, David Cross and Zach Galifianakis as the ultimate leaders of the comedy revolution, I can say right now that I only did so out of my own ignorance of Louis C.K.; which is not to take way from the others I have mentioned, they are 3 of the best comedians in the world and they make me cry with laughter on a regular basis, but Mr. C.K. is just, well, special and maybe it's only me and I'm just an asshole, but I don't care. If you take anything away from this stupid blog post of mine, please let it be that you go and seek out Mr. C.K. and his television shows (he had a much praised sitcom on HBO called "Lucky Louie" that was canceled after 13 episodes; which I am waiting for to arrive in the mail via Netflix), stand-up comedy, movies and whatever else of his you can find, because it's just beyond description how f_cking good it is.
Somewhere along the way of my excessive, obsessive, borderline compulsive quest to track down everything Mr. C.K. has ever produced in the history of his life (Jesus Christ I'm entering stalker territory now, Mr. C.K. if you ever read this piece of shit, don't worry I'm not that crazy, just a huge fan) I found myself writing better jokes and speaking more confidently and more like myself than I ever have in the past; which I entirely attribute to seeing Mr. C.K. do his job and do it so well that it could do nothing but inspire me to go in my own direction and become my own comedian for the benefit of everything I do on stage and off. I've re-embraced my love of swearing without trying to tone down my act or make it overly crude and about shock value and all that; it's just how I talk and think and that's what people want to see, right? (Probably not)
In closing, welcome to the "I Like You...Hall of Fame" Mr. C.K., you are my new hero and I look forward to, hopefully, seeing you perform on stage and television for years and years to come. Thank You.
I'm a very amateur comedian, or what some would call a hack, and I'm fine with that. I go to the occasional coffee shop or cafe here or there and peddle my jokes to an unsuspecting group of strangers who are usually too involved in their mocha-chinos or laptops to give me, or the other struggling comics, the time of day. Which is fine, it's our fault for not being compelling or interesting enough to grab their attention and hold on tight, and right now I'm in the middle of a cosmic struggle to find my own voice and write and perform material that will do exactly that. It's really f_cking hard. From week to week performance to performance I've dabbled in everything from politics, race, economic struggles, stupid fart jokes, an occasional impression and a whole lot of other bullshit that would make Carrot Top look like George Carlin by comparison. (Yes, I am that bad, or at least I think I am) I never once thought comedy would be easy, but I never once imagined it would be so hard to do something that seems to be so natural to me when I'm at work, home or out with friends. (Yes, I'm the guy who listened when his best friend and girlfriend told him he should give stand-up a try.)
As per usual, when I'm feeling a little lost in the wilderness, I put on "The Comedians of Comedy Movie" and sit and watch Patton Oswalt, Maria Bamford, Brian Posehn and a pre-fame Zach Galifianakis go through the grind of traveling from city to city performing their unique brand of hilarious comedy. Now, I've seen this movie maybe a dozen times and almost every time there's something I catch that I missed before that allows me to shake the cobwebs away and get back to being somewhat funny on an intermittent basis; which is what happened this time around, sometime last week. During a radio interview filmed for the movie, when asked which comics people may not know about that they should, Patton Oswalt said the name Louis C.K. immediately and without hesitation, and I thought to myself, "Okay, I've got to really get into this guy to find out what the deal is," adding, "for real this time."
It's not that I haven't known about Mr. C.K. for the past few years, because I have. I just didn't really give a shit because I was so into myself that I thought, "yeah, yeah cheap laughs and crude humor, I get it and it's not for me," but I wasn't paying attention to the material I was just hearing the language and seeing this middle aged, pudgy, red head on stage getting huge laughs from an audience that I assumed probably consisted of red necks and dip-shits. My second attempt to "discover" Mr. C.K needed a different boost in a different direction and as luck would have it I came upon an interview he did with The A.V Club about his new show "Louie" (which airs Tuesday nights at 11 on FX).
I missed the first couple episodes of "Louie" so I felt left out and in the dark, but to my extreme delight and surprise the first two episodes popped up on Hulu and, holy shit, the man's a f_cking genius. "Louie" is more or less two short films with some of Mr. C.K's stand-up interspersed throughout and it is the best new comedy to come to television since the British version of "The Office," and I am brutally addicted to it. I find myself feeling withdrawal symptoms when too much time passes between the episodes, so I went and bought all that are available on iTunes and I annoy my girlfriend by watching them as frequently as humanly possible. "Louie" speaks to me on some strange, incomprehensible level that is sometimes a little scary to admit, because I don't know what it is about it that makes me feel like I'm shooting heroin and listening to Thelonious Monk on vinyl each time I see an episode, but it does and I do not plan on attending rehab anytime soon. I would gladly sell my body on the streets for nickels and dimes if it meant I got to go home and watch more "Louie," it really is that good.
From "Louie" I went to the internet and sought out every piece of Mr. C.K.'s stand-up that I could find and found myself respecting and listening to him on a very different level than the old, comedy snob me had a few years ago. His jokes, while littered with the foulest words imaginable have very little if nothing to do with the language and everything to do with the context it is used in and I am more than amazed that some of his more raunchy sets have gotten huge laughs from my girlfriend who, normally, doesn't find that sort of thing funny, but Mr. C.K. is so good it's unbelievable and anything close to normal. One piece, displayed at the end of last weeks episode of "Louie," where Mr. C.K. tells a story about his cousin visiting New York City and seeing a homeless person for the first time is above brilliant and should be studied until the end of time as the pinnacle of what comedy should aspire to be, and with my obsessive nature firmly dictating that I needed to consume as much of his stand-up as possible I rented his 2008 stand-up special "Louis C.K.: Chewed Up" and, to my knowledge, it's the hardest I've ever laughed for an hour of my life.
From there I worked backwards and watched "Louis C.K.: Shameless" and anything else I could find on YouTube, and I have yet to be disappointed or left feeling like the person I watched is anything less than the funniest man alive. As much as I used to look up to guys like Patton Oswalt, David Cross and Zach Galifianakis as the ultimate leaders of the comedy revolution, I can say right now that I only did so out of my own ignorance of Louis C.K.; which is not to take way from the others I have mentioned, they are 3 of the best comedians in the world and they make me cry with laughter on a regular basis, but Mr. C.K. is just, well, special and maybe it's only me and I'm just an asshole, but I don't care. If you take anything away from this stupid blog post of mine, please let it be that you go and seek out Mr. C.K. and his television shows (he had a much praised sitcom on HBO called "Lucky Louie" that was canceled after 13 episodes; which I am waiting for to arrive in the mail via Netflix), stand-up comedy, movies and whatever else of his you can find, because it's just beyond description how f_cking good it is.
Somewhere along the way of my excessive, obsessive, borderline compulsive quest to track down everything Mr. C.K. has ever produced in the history of his life (Jesus Christ I'm entering stalker territory now, Mr. C.K. if you ever read this piece of shit, don't worry I'm not that crazy, just a huge fan) I found myself writing better jokes and speaking more confidently and more like myself than I ever have in the past; which I entirely attribute to seeing Mr. C.K. do his job and do it so well that it could do nothing but inspire me to go in my own direction and become my own comedian for the benefit of everything I do on stage and off. I've re-embraced my love of swearing without trying to tone down my act or make it overly crude and about shock value and all that; it's just how I talk and think and that's what people want to see, right? (Probably not)
In closing, welcome to the "I Like You...Hall of Fame" Mr. C.K., you are my new hero and I look forward to, hopefully, seeing you perform on stage and television for years and years to come. Thank You.
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