When we first sold our house, worrying about finding a space that would be safe, affordable, and have amenities nearby didn’t seem like such a big deal. Really, we reasoned, how hard could it be? I, for one, thought that our biggest problem would be agreeing on location.
In a Salon.com article this week, Steve Almond accused Comedy Central of having “squandered Jon Stewart’s legacy” by appointing South African comedian Trevor Noah as host, over the then-incumbent Samantha Bee.
Facebook was a beautiful verdant meadow when I first signed up 8 or so years ago. A place where you could look for and find lost friends, renew relationships, reconnect with your old home town, meet new people, and be exposed to music and movies you either didn’t know about or had forgotten. I could hardly wait to go online and see what wonders awaited me…
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GodDAMN, I feel sorry for the youth of today! I just finished listening to Jaimie Vernon‘s Nightmare at 20,000 Watts yet again (What is that— 500 or so?) and I’m thinking radio, radio, radio and while The Vermin’s version might be the latest, it brings back an entire world pretty much lost these days.
During another life – say, 14 months ago – back when I had spare time and the ambition to write every single day I did more than crank out a biography, a book of my blogs, and two 400 page music Encyclopedias. I also wrote fiction. Or attempted to. I’m currently working on a batch of short stories in a sci-fi vein. I am also a big fan of satire – mostly British and specifically that of Douglas Adams. He wrote several of the funniest, most irreverent books about the absurdity of life on this planet in the “Hitchhiker’s Guide To the Galaxy” five-part trilogy.
Happy Easter to everyone no matter how you celebrate it. If you’re a strictly by ‘The Book’ follower of the chronicles of Jesus than this is a weekend of mixed blessings (death, resurrection, Cadbury’s chocolate). If you’re a non-believer you too have a weekend of mixed blessings (in-laws, hockey playoffs, Cadbury’s chocolate).
I don’t know about the rest of you but I could sure take a break from what is going on in this city (Toronto) and the constant wave of recent passings.
In the sixties and seventies the comedy album was king. Teenage beer drinking parties were not complete without someone slipping on a George Carlin or Monty Python record, while stoners tended to listen to Cheech & Chong. Pot humour just wasn’t for me. Some of the older crowd would listen to National Lampoon or Firesign Theatre records but their humour was a little to advanced for me at that point in my life.
Most people have the misguided, almost laughable-if-it-weren’t-so-cryable, perception that being a TV comedy writer is a glamorous occupation. Admittedly, if your definition of epic razzmatazz is living out your days staring at a computer screen and despising the entire universe then yes, by all means, we are up to our naughty parts in tinsel and glitter.
Oh sure, there have been a few fleeting nanoseconds that have come close to some sort of spellbinding glitz. I’ve been nominated for four Emmys. Lost each and every time. I guess that makes me the Buffalo Bills of comedy. There’s this 
marvelous moment when you get out of the stretch limo in front of the Shrine Auditorium. At first, there’s an electrical surge of excitement that goes through the crowd which quickly turns to crestfallen bitterness when they realize that it’s only you. In that instant, you become the turd in the entertainment world’s punchbowl.
Bullseye Records of Canada
Segarini: Don't Believe a Word I Say 