I am old enough to remember when George Carlin was doing the hippy-dippy weatherman routine.  He was funny with a unique point of view.  His language was a lot cleaner but his thinking was always as clear as it was when I saw him perform a couple of months ago.

As we both got older and our hair got longer, I would listen to his albums (right – vinyl!) a LOT in college.  He inspired me to try to do stand-up, which I did at a parents weekend in college.  I don’t remember much about that except a story I told about finding my Mom’s diaphragm and thinking it was a yarmulke that was definitely a Carlin-inspired rant.  I also remember thinking, as I drowned in flop-sweat, that comedy was HARD but Carlin, like all great stars, made it look so easy.

I’m really sad about his passing, but in his words:

I don’t wanna know about sports teams that sew the initials of dead people on their jerseys for one whole season, as if it really means something. Leave that stupid superstitious bullshit in the locker room. I don’t wanna know who’s in mourning. Play ball, you fuckin’ grotesque overdeveloped nitwits!

So we’ll be sad, George, but we’ll keep playin’ ball.

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