What’s So Funny?
First, hooray for Maggie. She made it through in her round of the Funniest Person in Austin Contest. From the very start, Maggie has been a strong stand-up comic, and has made it past the preliminary rounds. She goes on auditions and gets the parts on a consistent basis. Her first one-woman show made a Best of the Week at Austin’s FronteraFest. In other words, she’s proven herself again and again. I couldn’t be more proud.
On the other hand, being married to a stand-up comic means you get to see quite a bit of stand-up comedy. I don’t go all the time, I’d be out several nights a week and by now I can do karaoke versions of some people’s sets. Some of the regulars are great, and a few of them might really make it big. Others are mildly amusing though sometimes hack and trite. There are some whose jokes you already know, if you’ve seen the comics they steal their stuff from.
Some are reprehensible. And people are laughing at them. What is wrong with you people? What’s so funny?
Here’s the story: the guy’s on stage talking about how the police should be doing important stuff instead of keeping his inebriated, slack-brained ass off the road. Nope, he sees no problem getting in a car when he’s had a few and speeding down the highway. After all, he can barely stand up, so you can’t expect him to walk. People are laughing at this guy. And I feel sick to my stomach.
Probably, most are unaware that this guy isn’t so much telling jokes as he is relating his regular evening excursions. Possibly, some also don’t like limiting their alcohol intake when they’re driving, and enjoy hearing someone say “what’s the big deal?”. Who knows. But we’re dealing with the equivalent of Karen Carpenter getting up and telling jokes about the harmless fun of anorexia (oh wait, didn’t that kill her?). Self-destructive behavior is sad. Self-destructive behavior with a side of “there’s a good chance I’ll take some others down with me” is criminal. And, apparently, freakin’ hilarious comedy gold.
This isn’t a sermon on temperance. I enjoy drinking. In the past, I’ve stumbled home from the pub and woken up the next morning in my clothes. Not often, but it has happened. I’ve called Maggie and told her I “looooooovvvve” her on a Friday night after seeing friends. What I haven’t done on any of these occasions is reach into my pocket for my keys and drive home. In London, I didn’t have a car, and I had the freedom to drink. When I have to drive, I limit myself, and stop well before having to get in the car. It’s pretty simple.
Many of you have stories about the damage done when people drink and drive. At my high school, some of the jocks and cheerleaders went out at lunch, drank too much, and decided to race the back streets of Laurel. Four dead, including a small child. None of the dead were jocks or cheerleaders. Our school was in lockdown, the open lunch policy gone. Thank goodness they were popular kids, or else they might have faced ostracism by their peers and made to feel bad about their actions. I hope that every single day they wake up remembering how they ended four lives and thinking about the grief and despair they caused for the friends and family.
When I was at McGraw-Hill, several instructors went out for some beers with a chaser of plowing into another car head on at high speed. One of them, though not the creep behind the wheel, died. He’d recently started dating a co-worker, and her grief was deep: until his phone was cut off, she would call just to hear the voice on his answering machine.
There are others, you don’t need to hear them.
How “man, I was so wasted and was driving and a cop with nothing better to do harassed me” became a comedy goldmine is beyond me (after all, there’s still so much fresh comedy in farts, masturbation and pot). A few different comics did bits about drunk driving, and it was the centerpiece for someone I’ll call Mr. Reprehensible. As people laughed, I got angrier and more nauseated. For Maggie’s sake, I didn’t stand up and call this guy out on it. Maybe I’ll have to stay away, because I’m not sure how far my self-control can stretch. If I snap, I’ll be saving my nastiest venom for those who are splitting their sides at his stories of swerving down I-35 at high speed. But it’s not all bad: the poor alcoholic bastard really needs the validation you’re giving him.
Sorry for the downer. I really am thrilled for Maggie. She’s fantastic, and she’s bound for more glory and more exposure. One of my fondest wishes is for Mr. Reprehensible and all the little reprehensiblettes to see Maggie on national TV. And I hope they’re able to get a good seat in the prison TV room when she’s on.