Well, I can assure you that I’m not the only person who’s writing a kind of memorial for the late great comedian, writer, actor, and genius George Carlin. However, I don’t really give a shit about all his accomplishments. I’m aware of their multitudes and I would never say that they don’t matter. What I intend to write about, for my own personal sanity’s sake, is how much this grouchy old man changed my life and the way I see the world around me.
The first time I heard George Carlin was probably at a very young age when I heard a guy in my sixth-grade Language Arts class talking about how his parents let him listen to the Seven Words You Can Never Say on Television, and my curiosity leading me to Kazaa, which was still up-and-running with no RIAA restrictions, and downloading as much Carlin as my 56k modem could handle.
Then, I picked up Brain Droppings for my trip to Germany a year ago and I began to realize that I had found a kindred spirit of sorts. My exchange family had no idea why I would stay up late at night laughing at a book written in English, which the son could understand literally but not the wordplay, and the mother could barely squeeze “vegetables” out during dinner.
So I went back to America with a burning list of Carlin HBO specials that I absolutely had to had to had to get. Armed with a new iPod and a lot of time wandering around outside until 6 AM, I listened the living hell out of everything I had gotten. I still had only a basic knowledge of grass and beer, so I had to wait until this year to fully and totally understand and love Toledo Window Box and make it one of my favorite comedy albums of all time.
It can naturally be assumed that when I woke up this morning to a text message from my brother saying that George had died last night, I was devastated. My hero, one of the few people with whom I share a mindset and a sense of humor, had died and left me alone with a couple of friends who were very casual Carlin fans. Nobody seemed to care. My dad, who first let me listen to Class Clown, told me that George had had problems with his heart since my dad was a teenager. He told me about an appearance on a late-night talk show after Carlin had disappeared from the world of comedy for a while in which Carlin said that what he had been up to was “getting addicted to coke and having three heart attacks.” I guess he was living on borrowed time, despite how much he would hate that Yuppie-cocksucker phrase, ever since then. It still doesn’t make his death any easier. I haven’t been able to laugh at all today except at his biting criticism on everything you could ever hold dear to you. I’m currently sitting in my basement with a bandanna and a laptop, waiting for the towels to get out of the washer so I can get out of the house and try to have a good time, and listening to You Are All Diseased. After 50+ years doing his genius comedy, he has finally left us and the world is a little bit darker and a little less humorous.
George, I loved you, and now you’re gone. I will always miss you.
Tags: carlin, eulogy, george, george carlin, memorial
