Bex June 10, at 8: What would of been the harm in that? Several posters seem to have over-reacted to an excellent, thoughtful piece.
So this is a eulogy for a podcast. Except its passing has a happy ending. They were both comedic geniuses, known for their precision and playfulness. Nasty, literate, and as honed as a pub dart.
Because, for 40 minutes plus, they are unfiltered id — racist, sexist, disgusting — seeing what it feels like to say every single awful thing that comes to us in our sloppiest moments. Go on YouTube, listen to any track.
Just listen to the first track, and imagine the thousands of outraged Tumblr think pieces that wee chunk of comedy would birth were it released today. Another favorite album of mine is Shut Up, Little Man! One of them, Peter Haskett, is a snippy queen, a surviving specimen of the self-loathing gays that lived through the oppressive horror of America in the late 50s and early 60s.
If only he could get out of his chair. Their back-and-forth screechfests and occasional drunken monologue sound like Samuel Beckett writing a two-man suicide note. I used to play it, very low, while writing screenplays, imagining it was real passion and hatred bleeding through the walls of the sterile, eerily silent apartment building I lived in all through the 90s.
Which brings me to this video. This video is a segment I did on a podcast called Walking the Room.
Podcasts are the best thing to happen to comedy since George Carlin and Richard Pryor finally broke through the language and subject restrictions that — even a decade after Lenny Bruce spiked himself off of our planet — still held sway. They freed things up.
Not in terms of subject matter or censorship, but in terms of access and connection. Comedians — or writers, or performers, or anyone — can get in front of a mike and spit whatever they want. Voices, viewpoints, sheer creativity and hilarity, all mostly for free, all at your fingertips.
Hosted by Greg Behrendt and Dave Anthony, it was a sometimes unpleasant, always real window into two imperfect comedians and writers, living in Los Angeles, raising families, and dealing with the fact they seem to have a low-level mutant power which, for lack of a more elegant term, make them both no-fail shit magnets.
Walking the Room dropped episodes and then ended on September 29th of this year. The first ten episodes? Horrible sound, echo-ey, Greg and Dave finding their voice, hammering out the format.
In a terrific Facebook post, Dave describes, honestly and calmly, how they both outgrew the show. Over the summer, Greg did a massive, seven week tour of Australia. Dave was accepted to do his one-man show at The Melbourne International Comedy Festival, and his online Kickstarter raised the funds to send him in under 24 hours.
A podcast as real and honest as Walking the Room — which was essentially about two comedians struggling and failing — would become the pinnacle of dishonesty if they continued with it in light of their recent successes.
So watch this clip, then download all episodes and brace yourselves. I love precision, wit and grace in comedy.I originally introduced the term “orthorexia” in the article below, published in the October issue of Yoga Journal.
Some of the things I said in the article are no longer true of . Check out our top Free Essays on If Only I Had Listened To My Parents to help you write your own Essay.
The Moral Equivalent of War William James Introduction. The war against war is going to be no holiday excursion or camping party.
The military feelings are too deeply grounded to abdicate their place among our ideals until better substitutes are offered than the glory and shame that come to nations as well as to individuals from the ups and downs of politics and the vicissitudes of trade.
Had I Only Listened. Narrative Essay “If only I would’ve listened!”All my childhood and adolescent years I had a yearning to grow up before my time. As a young child, I fantasized of all the “great things” that came along with being an adult.I mean, who wouldn’t love being able to make their own rules, never have to listen to anyone tell you what to do, and most of all a fairytale.
If only I had listened to my parents. Now, I was faced with the consequences of my actions. Those were some harsh consequences to have to face at eight years old for not listening. One evening over dinner, I began to joke, as I often had before, about writing an essay called “Men Explain Things to Me.” Every writer has a stable of ideas that never make it to the racetrack, and I’d been trotting this pony out recreationally every once in a while.