Tag Archives: comedy

May I Opine on The Muppets?

A few years back, a colorful committee convened to craft with care and concern a film designed to make a late 30s/early 40s parent cry 5 to 8 times.

That film was The Muppets.

But what if you want to enjoy some Muppets with some moppets without them seeing you cry?

Muppets Most Wanted. All the wackiness, none of the calculated nostalgia.

Contra nearly all published critics, I like the second reboot more than the first.

For the third, may I request that Disney feature the Electric Mayhem? And revive 60s San Francisco rock? A Big Brother and the Holding Company-style version of “Rainbow Connection”?

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Historicizing the Funnies

Ring the Alarums!

Maya Rudolph is coming back! Back for your children, your jewelry, and your endtables!

Watch just the first 33 seconds of this please, and then after 4:27, and meet me after the fold:

Continue reading

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It’s OK to Laugh

I’ve been trying not to feel so angry about the patriarchy today. So my media diet today is at least 60% funnies. Only 10% news about Ariel Castro, San Diego, Texas clinics etc. etc.

And lo, Richard Lawson surely salves my wounds.

For example, the Daily Show made hash out of the royal baby’s non-royal grandparents living in “Buckleberry,” which is named in nigh the Englishiest way possible.

Lawson upped their comic ante a zillionfold:

This week People magazine, which is about people, will tell us all about the new life of Prince George, the little squirming heir recently born to the Duke and Duchess of Cambridge, William and Catherine. Thus far, little Georgie is being raised unconventionally, not kept spirited away in a dark, candle-lit Kensington Palace chamber, attended to by wet nurses and lady maids, as all heirs have spent their formative years for a thousand years. Instead, Wills and Kate have taken the child to Bucklebury, where Kate’s parents, a pipe-smoking badger and a hedgehog wearing an apron, have a home and where little Georgie will be cared for by his parents, by his grandparents, and by one solitary housemaid. No army of nannies just yet, no attendants or onion-smelling tutors. It’s only family for now, plus one housekeeper, giving the little prince the most normal early life a royal can have, perhaps. Everything will be charming and pleasant there in Bucklebury, which is near Biggleby and one town over from Crumbly Crossing. A little wisp of smoke floating up from the thatched-roof cottage’s chimney, the smells of warm baking things, the countryside rolling and green. All will be so nice, in little Bucklebury, until a chill falls upon the little glen, and a dark steed approaches the house, whinnying and snorting. The door opens and a man strides through. “Harry!” Kate calls. “What a pleasant surprise.” “I want to see the child,” he says gruffly. “This… heir.” Kate smiles, suddenly a little unsure of the mood, and says “Of course. He’s your nephew. I’m sure he’d love to see his dashing Uncle Harry.” And so she takes him, warily all of a sudden, to the baby’s room, and Harry stands over the crib, glaring down at it. This thing, this new thing, standing between him and what he just realized, not but a week ago, he’s so desperately wanted all along. [People]


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Even though they’re just ads for Netflix.


Also, this podcast is awesome. The episode with Mitch Hurwitz made me laugh a bunch. Which one made me laugh the most? The Larry David one.

If you enjoy laughing.

I especially like Jeff Garlin’s inside baseball talk on comedy as a profession. Conan O’Brien is thoughtful. Jeff Tweedy compares his vicodin addiction to Garlin’s sugar addiction.

Carry on.

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Thank You, Jonathan Winters

Not sure if this is the absolute best eulogy, but it does the trick, with videos.

Jonathan Winters is responsible for my very, very early sense of comedy. I watched Mork and Mindy obsessively, still try to dress like Mindy (no joke, seriously, knee-high boots and A-line skirts, for reals—hey people who know how I dress, it’s because I loved that show so much).

When a 6 year old is laughing at Jonathan Winters crying from inside a giant egg, instead of a poop joke, (or you know, laughing at a Jonathan Winters poop joke), the world is doing fine.

Better than fine.

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The Best News of 2013

I’m not being sarcastic.

Get ready, friends, for The Hebrew Hammer vs Hitler.

It involves a Time Sukkah that’s time precise, but location imprecise.

There will be crowdfunding.

Between this and the nice lady that moved her car for me at the crowded gas station yesterday, 2013 is looking up.

Mordecai Jefferson Carver

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