I saw Chris Rock at the Paramount Theater in Oakland last night. I don’t recall an evening in which I’ve laughed so often and so hard.
The great comedian touched on a variety of issues ranging from the Kardashians, to dating, to raising daughters, to politics. Like a lot of great comics, he personalized his performance allowing audience members to feel as though they were getting to know him and gaining insight into his life. The performance was one of four in the Bay Area this week, all part of his Ego Death tour. After the tour there will be a Netflix special, presumably pieced together from some of these shows. The majestic Paramount (completed in 1931) is a great beauty that recalls all the similar venues that used to grace this country. Thank the heavens its been preserved and indeed looks better than ever. Friday night it was packed. I had an excellent seat though not among the uber wealthy in the orchestra section. Some people chose to dress for the occasion, while others, as is so often the case these days, were attired as if they were hosting a barbecue. One woman, who was clearly in a very expensive dress, sported a purple sequined mask. Tres chic. I was surprised at how often people got up and went to freshen their drinks or visit the restroom during the performance. Seems utterly mad to me. One of the best things about the show was laughing in unison -- often applauding as well -- with so many other people. It makes the laughing and cheering all the heartier. My god the night was good for this old soul.
Both Comedy Central and Rolling Stone magazine have Rock at number five in their lists of greatest stand-ups of all time. For me he’d be fourth trailing only George Carlin, Richard Pryor and Ricky Gervais. I’d round out my top ten with Jerry Seinfeld, Robin Williams, Bill Hicks, Rodney Dangerfield, Jim Jeffries, and Jonathan Winters. There are four funnymen who I could also consider for my list of great stand-ups, Groucho Marx, Woody Allen, David Letterman and Steve Martin, but most of their careers have been spent in other areas of comedy and indeed Groucho never was a stand-up. All four are among the most hilarious people ever. I realize that my top ten only includes one African American (Rock). If I expanded the list to twenty, Red Foxx, Dave Chappelle, George Wallace and Eddie Murphy all would be included.
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Initially I thought it was a weird joke but some Ohio Republicans are sponsoring a bill that would require school to teach “both sides” of the Holocaust. The Nazi side? The side that justified killing six million Jews? Maybe we should teach both sides of the Manson family murders and the Jonestown Massacre and the slayings of all the children in Sandy Hook. The question of how low Republicans can go has yet to be answered. It should be noted that at the same time Republicans seem averse to having the horrors of slavey taught in school. After all such lessons might make fragile white kids feel bad. Boo hoo. In my years as a middle school history teacher I was explicit about slavery, my white students seemed to survive in tact, perhaps being smart enough to realize that these horrors were perpetrated by others more than a century ago. (Kids are pretty good about figuring those sorts of things out).
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I’m writing this bit the next day. I’m suffering a bone-crushing depression. The kind that makes me wonder if there’s any possibility of happiness ever re-entering my life. Every thought is awful. Trying to contemplate future events that will bring me joy is of no help. It’s as if every thought that emerges comes wrapped in a thick, black cloud. Utter hopelessness. The equivalent of excruciating physical pain that makes doing anything at all seem impossible. Somehow I am able to write these words as occasionally happens when even mired in the worst of the darkness. I can’t conceive of much else that I can do. I wonder who that happy fellow from Friday night was, or even, for that matter, the carefree chap from yesterday. What cruelty life slaps me with. A long continuous slapping from which relief seems impossible. Yet I carry on. What else can one do?
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