Or you could be yourself.
Or you could be yourself.
You forgot: “Fucking with jobless outta’ staters who proved to the earth how much Mommy and Daddy suck by moving to San Diego.”
Back in olden times when GG was alive, we (now forty-something decrepit mummies) would make our way to his gigs and laugh our asses off. Half the time there wouldn’t even be a show because of confrontations outside between him and club owners, kids, or cops. The street was where the action was on many occasion. What an awesome, unexpected surprise to discover that so many GG fans are on BuzzFeed!
You guys are hilarious. That really cool nighttime/satellite/space map of yours does nothing to masquerade the search for a group of people put yourselves above. The whole post is an excuse that highlights more about Jordan Zakarin than his point, because um, what IS the point? How does this “research” resonate with people too busy with goals and busy lives? What about your neighbors who will take their laughs from just about anywhere these days? In an increasingly unequal America, aren’t laughs far too valuable to be divvied up, defined, and dismissed? And hold up Jordy – aren’t you a millennial? Doesn’t everyone get a trophy here?
What a wonderful and worthwhile read. There’s nothing better than sensing effort and emotion, and hard work that goes in a truly engaging read. I was 14 years old that night, and lucky enough to be watching the broadcast with my father. Carson’s Iranian hostage joke made him howl, but otherwise, as he did every year back then, he picked apart the technical director’s every move, describing what was going on in the booth and the sloppy timing of the station identification “bumpers” coming in and out of commercials. His complaints were endless, but funny and educational. He would call out the names of those he knew; coworkers who had taken the gig. He’s an old television warhorse, you see, and I watch the broadcasts today with those memories in mind. Thank you for reminding me of how lucky I was to be raised when things had a little bit of delayed gratification to them, as well as palpable gratitude. From the manner in which the actors and nominees conducted themselves, to their clothing and to the unexpected subtlety of the production itself, it was nice to take a brief trip back to when the worst thing said about an actor was his or her ho-hum drug spree. Your Richard Dreyfuss digression was presented deftly, responsibly, and with absolute class. You made me nostalgic for the early days of the Internet too, for THIS was the quality of contribution I imagined I’d always find.
Outake from “author photo” sessions with L.A. punk rock photographer, Edward Colver for the forthcoming book, “Where Excuses Go to Die” by John Espinosa Nelson.
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