George Carlin: A Hero, A Legend

Heroes get remembered, but legends never die. For me, George Carlin is both.  For myself, and countless other writers and comedians, Carlin was at the winning end of the spectrum between good and bad comedy. He was off the charts, great.  His mastery of the English language was something to aspire to, and one can only imagine what his social irreverence could have accomplished in the age of viral videos and online social networking.

In honor of the two year anniversary of his death, I’d like to share my first experience with George Carlin.  I was half way through my freshman year at Humboldt State University, in the small hippie-laden town of Arcata, CA.  I’ve always been a pretty good writer, as far back as grade school. I was doing ok in my English 102 – Creative Writing class, but at that time I thought I was in college to study Graphic Design.  I quickly discovered how much it would cost just to earn a degree that might get me an unpaid internship…if I was lucky. By the semester break, I had no idea what I was doing there. A nearby relative was kind enough to invite me for a home-cooked meal and while I was waiting for the dinner bell, I made the best discovery of my life.

Browsing the book shelf, I came across Carlin’s first book, “Brain Droppings.” Ever the SNL junkie, I’d heard the name of the famous first host before, so I sat down on the couch and started reading. By the next morning I’d read it cover to cover and started over again. I was completely fascinated by his use of language, lyrical rhythm, and a level of intelligence that comedy rarely rises to.  Carlin did not cater to an ignorant or lazy audience. In fact he made fun of them right to their faces, often in a way that was so irresistibly funny that they didn’t even realize they were laughing at themselves.

Carlin’s message, as I understood it, was to unite everyone by excusing no one.  We’re all dishonorable, filthy, moronic, trifling creatures at our core; it’s our level of acceptance of that fact that separates the people who should be left to their dive bars and Taco Tuesdays, from the people who should be taken out back and water-boarded with their own lattes while they Tweet their own demise from their iTouch. “Touch this!” echoes the little Carlin in my head, as he grabs a handful of manhood.

I began studying Carlin that day, and I haven’t stopped since.  I dropped out of college and moved to Los Angeles to write comedy.  And now that he’s gone I can only hope to help carry his torch well into the future, where we have surely mastered time-travel, and I can humbly hand it back to him.  George Carlin, you were the tits. On behalf of all the motherfuckers and cocksuckers of comedy, we salute the fucking shit out of you.

Here is a tribute to Mr. Carlin. You were a hero to many:

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