"There are people that really live by doing the right thing, but I don't know what that is. I'm really curious about that. I'm really curious about what people think they're doing when they're doing something evil, casually. I think it's really interesting that we benefit from suffering so much AND we excuse ourselves from it." - Louis C.K.
I really like what he's getting at here.
Ok. I'll start with a confession. I read Louie's quote and then decided to Google this phrase "Quotes about self-loathing comedians" and here were the top three results:
1) A link to Californication's Wikipedia page
2) A link to someone's tumblr called "Self Loathing on Tumblr"
and
3) "10 Russell Brand Quotes That Are Oddly Profound"
That was just some food for thought.
Now for the Google results of my own brain search...
I've spent a good amount of time researching the philosophies of men who make people laugh for a living. Sorry ladies. I know we're obviously capable of such careers too (hey, I'm trying my hand at it) but right now, I'm more curious about the MEN who actually choose this as a way to make a LIVING. These are men who usually hate themselves. Keep reading. Promise. It's true. Rarely will you meet a comedian or an exclusively comedic actor who hasn't also had a nervous breakdown before the age of 40. Nothing against nervous breakdowns either. I think we should all experience at least one so we appreciate what we've chosen for ourselves in the here and now but it's still safe to say: male comedians usually hate a lot of things. They hate waiting. They hate rejection. They usually hate people who get excited. They hate "staying positive" just for the sake of staying positive. They hate phoniness. They most likely hate their parents. They hate other people's parents. They always hate their "situation". They hate how they live. They hate that they don't want more. They hate that they're only good at being funny (even though we all love them for it) and, probably most importantly, they often hate the only people in their lives brave enough to admit that they like them and NOT their act.
What gives me the right to make all these (in my mind) factual statements about male comedians? Well I dated one. Sorta dated one. I'm sure you're not shocked by this, considering I just mixed up a lovely cocktail of strong, ex-gf-style bitters in that last paragraph. But this one comedian wouldn't even consider himself a comedian. This man was more of an actor by day, comedian by night situation. So yes, you guessed it. We're back to "the one." And I was slowly trying to torture myself with this winner, you guys.
This man possessed the two qualities most women would prefer not to find in their chosen man: 1) a never sated need for attention and 2) an immature sense of humor. The second quality, as it turns out, could easily pass as charming from time to time because he was just...so...damn...good-looking. Like, honestly, SO good. Dark eyes, weird but regal nose, smoldering, pirate stare (which sounds lame but is sexy even without the Jack Sparrow guyliner. Although sometimes there was guyliner involved and it was stupid and emo and still sexy) and of course that dumb height thing we all love. He was 6'3"ish. But hold a magnifying glass up to all of that and I seemed to be getting (until the very last minute, of course) only sarcasm and self-deprecation which even the best smoldering pirate stares can't fix. It's amazing how quickly you can watch someone's wit turn into "schtick". I didn't start to see all of that 5 years ago though. That would come later.
In fact, one night in November of 2009, I was just seconds from seeing his "schtick" up close and very personal. (Yes, now I mean THAT kind of schtick…rhymes with…You get it). Luckily, I was a total prude when it came to blurring any lines with guy friends. Especially guy friends with new fiancées. Yes. Correct. He was newly engaged and asking for permission to kiss me.
Now I'm no saint, trust me, but at the time, I sure tried to play a saintly card. I decided to do what I would have wanted him to do had the tables been turned. Believe me when I say I flirted with the idea of all kinds of delicious possibilities and then suddenly I just talked myself out of it and walked upstairs. I left him literally sitting on my couch in his underwear. I regret it all the time though - not that I regret my decision. I regret its consequences. But I suppose you can't regret the consequences of one big decision and not regret the decision itself. Regardless, his schtick stayed put that night. I had drawn a big solid "DO NOT CROSS" line where I thought I needed to.
Then I did what any wicked smart but secretly insecure young woman in her mid-twenties would do when he suddenly went radiosilent weeks later. I rifled through my little metaphorical bag of tricks labeled "In Case of Emergency", grabbed a big metaphorical piece of sidewalk chalk, went back and turned that long, solid line I had just drawn so definitively into a huge, metaphorical hopscotch grid.
:/
And I ask you: What living, breathing person is really capable of drawing the grid but not playing the 'scotch??
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