William Gibson started writing about the present because he said reality has caught up with science fiction's future.
When I read the sentence "Mind-control games may be the coming thing" in the USA Today, I understand exactly what Gibson's talking about. That proclamation comes from this article about a Star Wars-themed toy due out this year that will allow you to use brain waves to manipulate a small ball—with your mind.
And then, elsewhere in the paper, there's this story about LG unveiling a video cell phone that you wear on your wrist.
I can't decide whether these developments are awesome or scary as all crap.
I don't want to live in William Gibson's future. Or, come to think of it, his present.
Showing posts with label Other. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Other. Show all posts
Wednesday, January 07, 2009
Sunday, August 03, 2008
'Spook Country,' William Gibson
"Obscurity is much praised by elitists, but I disdain it. The audience starts out knowing nothing about your story. It's your job, as a storyteller, to let them in on it. … What takes talent is clarity." —Orson Scott Card
Well, William Gibson don't do clarity, and that's the primary reason why I'm one of the only people I know who loves his novels. He is, almost exclusively, purposefully and doggedly obtuse. He drops you into his novels like you should already know what's going on, which, of course, you never do. I take long gaps between Gibson reads, because my mind has to be sharp and in tip-top shape to keep up with them.
All that being said, his latest novel, 2007's "Spook Country," stinks. The second novel he's written in the present (as opposed to his uncannily imagined future), this work is marred by too much intention. It's easy to imagine a situation where Gibson heard the news reports about "illegal wiretapping" and decided to write a novel about it. Or, in the least, that's the idea that set him off into "Spook Country," which deals tangentially in government conspiracies, no-bid contracts, and the like. For the first time, a Gibson novel reads along the lines of a DNC talking points memo. In a book that is so disjointed, murky, and impenetrable (even for Gibson), these obviously political references stick out like a black-helicopter strobe light in the middle of a pitch-dark night. (Speaking of "dark knights" (OK, sorta), the brilliant Christopher Nolan film does a much better job engaging this issue of surveillance than Gibson's book does).
The most egregious fault of "Spook Country," though, comes back to Gibson's actual writing. The story centers around three central characters, and Gibson devotes a chapter to each back-to-back-to-back almost exclusively until the book reaches its conclusion and the individual plotlines begin to merge. The chapters are quite brief, many less than two pages, so you never really get to know the characters at all or feel anything for them, which has always been a strong point for Gibson. One of the three (I won't tell you which one), serves almost no purpose whatsoever, and having read through the entire novel I still cannot figure out why he receives so much ink.
It's less than 30 minutes until the first Redskins' preseason game begins, and I feel I'm not being very clear, and certainly not very poignant, in my criticism, so I should just end here. "Spook Country" simply tries too hard, even for Gibson. In identifying so clearly the target of his paranoia, Gibson in turn forfeited his ability to pinpoint cultural phenomena, a skill he has been so freakishly accurate with in the past. It's the first book of his I haven't enjoyed at any level, no matter how difficult he always is to read.
Grade: C-
Well, William Gibson don't do clarity, and that's the primary reason why I'm one of the only people I know who loves his novels. He is, almost exclusively, purposefully and doggedly obtuse. He drops you into his novels like you should already know what's going on, which, of course, you never do. I take long gaps between Gibson reads, because my mind has to be sharp and in tip-top shape to keep up with them.
All that being said, his latest novel, 2007's "Spook Country," stinks. The second novel he's written in the present (as opposed to his uncannily imagined future), this work is marred by too much intention. It's easy to imagine a situation where Gibson heard the news reports about "illegal wiretapping" and decided to write a novel about it. Or, in the least, that's the idea that set him off into "Spook Country," which deals tangentially in government conspiracies, no-bid contracts, and the like. For the first time, a Gibson novel reads along the lines of a DNC talking points memo. In a book that is so disjointed, murky, and impenetrable (even for Gibson), these obviously political references stick out like a black-helicopter strobe light in the middle of a pitch-dark night. (Speaking of "dark knights" (OK, sorta), the brilliant Christopher Nolan film does a much better job engaging this issue of surveillance than Gibson's book does).
The most egregious fault of "Spook Country," though, comes back to Gibson's actual writing. The story centers around three central characters, and Gibson devotes a chapter to each back-to-back-to-back almost exclusively until the book reaches its conclusion and the individual plotlines begin to merge. The chapters are quite brief, many less than two pages, so you never really get to know the characters at all or feel anything for them, which has always been a strong point for Gibson. One of the three (I won't tell you which one), serves almost no purpose whatsoever, and having read through the entire novel I still cannot figure out why he receives so much ink.
It's less than 30 minutes until the first Redskins' preseason game begins, and I feel I'm not being very clear, and certainly not very poignant, in my criticism, so I should just end here. "Spook Country" simply tries too hard, even for Gibson. In identifying so clearly the target of his paranoia, Gibson in turn forfeited his ability to pinpoint cultural phenomena, a skill he has been so freakishly accurate with in the past. It's the first book of his I haven't enjoyed at any level, no matter how difficult he always is to read.
Grade: C-
Sunday, June 08, 2008
Wednesday, February 27, 2008
The Funniest Blog, well, Ever
Go read Stuff White People Like.
Right now. You won't be able to stop.
I particularly like this one on Whole Foods, this one on poor people, and, of course, this one on my boy, Barack Obama.
(Thanks again, Fuel/Friends)
Right now. You won't be able to stop.
I particularly like this one on Whole Foods, this one on poor people, and, of course, this one on my boy, Barack Obama.
(Thanks again, Fuel/Friends)
Sunday, October 14, 2007
New Blog: Riding the Metro
This weekend I launched a new, more traditional blog. I dubbed it "Down With the Freaks and the Ghouls" (bonus points for whomever knows where that line comes from), and you can find it at ridingthemetro.blogspot.com.
The new site is pretty self-explanatory, but basically it's going to be a personal record of the insane things I see riding Washington, D.C.'s subway system every day. The first few posts up there are just things I remember from the past few days—I meant to start doing this years ago and the idea never came to fruition for some reason. But it's just too much good material to leave unwritten. The goal is to update it on a daily basis, as soon as I get home from work.
You're in my world now, Grandma.
The new site is pretty self-explanatory, but basically it's going to be a personal record of the insane things I see riding Washington, D.C.'s subway system every day. The first few posts up there are just things I remember from the past few days—I meant to start doing this years ago and the idea never came to fruition for some reason. But it's just too much good material to leave unwritten. The goal is to update it on a daily basis, as soon as I get home from work.
You're in my world now, Grandma.
‘Heroes Die,’ by Matthew Stover
I recently finished reading “Heroes Die,” an excellent sci-fi/fantasy novel by Matthew Stover. I don’t post much about books around here, but this work is so fascinating, it requires a mention.
Stover wrote one of my favorite Star Wars novels, 2002’s “Traitor,” a crucial entry in the sprawling “New Jedi Order” series. “Traitor” stands out among the morass of SW fiction because it’s so different from all the others, eschewing straightforward storytelling for more nonlinear, challenging, and thought-provoking prose; nothing about it wrapped up into the typical nice, neat bundle by the end. And even though it remains Stover’s only entry in the post-“Return of the Jedi” Star Wars Expanded Universe, “Traitor” nonetheless irrevocably changed the tone of the NJO and continues to affect the current (albeit middling) “Legacy of the Force” series some five years later.
“Traitor” was also a big deal for Stover as an author, as it effectively put him on the sci-fi/fantasy literary map. Although his first novel, “Iron Dawn,” was published in 1997, “Heroes Die” is his only work still in print (more’s the pity).
“Heroes Die” is a heady brew of gut-clenching action, social and political commentary, and romance. Here's a description to make your head spin: The novel is a combination of William Gibson’s Sprawl trilogy, Terry Goodkind’s “Sword of Truth” series, and Robert Ludlum’s Bourne trilogy. It’s set in a not-too-distant future, presumably after some cataclysmic event has forever altered global society (keep in mind, this was written in 1995, pre-9/11). To get away from the horrors of daily life, where a good number of Earth’s population are little more than slaves, citizens turn to entertainment, and technology has advanced to the point where they can virtually live through created characters’ lives. Here’s the catch: What the characters go through isn’t make-believe. When they’re out on Adventure and get stabbed, they really do get stabbed. No stunt doubles, collapsing blades, and fake blood here.
The Actors’ Adventures occur on Overworld, a planet in an alternate universe that’s straight out of a medieval fantasy novel. Like Goodkind’s “Truth” series, this is a violent world ruled by an all-powerful godlike figure who, though ruthless as a Hitler, believes he’s doing the work of a god for the benefit of his people. And like Gibson’s use of “flipping” into a virtual realm, the Actors in Stover’s novel are actually physically transported to this Overworld and dropped into the middle of strenuous situations; while they engage in their Adventures, the folks back home see and feel everything as though they’re riding right behind the Actors’ eyes.
The fabulous main character is an Actor named Hari Michaelson, whose Overworld persona Caine is a legendary knife-wielding assassin in the mold of Jason Bourne. In “Heroes Die,” Stover pits Michaelson/Caine against the powers-that-be in both worlds; as he struggles to save his wife’s life from the sword-and-sorcery of Overworld, he must simultaneously navigate the politics of Earth and, somehow, try to not get dead on either side.
Don’t expect to gain any moral insight from “Heroes Die,” because Stover makes it quite clear in a Q&A included in the back of the most recent paperback edition that he believes morality is nothing more than a social construct, there is no God, yada, yada, yada (oh, and Republicans are the source of all evil in this country—what a shock). But his novel works on both the visceral and the intellectual level. In the way that Gibson predicted cyberspace and virtual reality 25 years ago, in “Heroes Die,” Stover effectively predicted how reality television would make the horrible misfortunes of a few entertaining for millions. This novel also hints at the astounding emergence of online role-playing games, where some participants seem to feel more comfortable in a simulated nether-world than in their own skin. The future of entertainment Stover paints here doesn’t really seem that far off, and that’s a disturbing notion.
As much as I loved this maelstrom of a novel, I can’t wholly endorse it to everyone because in his attempt to go through the looking glass, Stover uses a mix of first- and third-person narration that forces his readers to actually become the viewers that are so abhorrently portrayed in the book. The action is so intense and thrilling, you can see why millions would want to view it, even as you cringe away from it; Stover has studied several different forms of martial arts, so his depiction of hand-to-hand combat is spot-on brilliant (one fight actually brings to mind the astounding scene in the hotel room from “The Bourne Ultimatum”). “Heroes Die” is incredibly violent, and features a couple characters in particular that are so vile, it’s hard to read through their passages—I almost put this book down for good a few different times.
“Heroes Die” is most certainly NC-17. The brutality and degradation are similar to that of Goodkind, only in Goodkind’s world the darkness is always balanced by light and nobility; in Overworld, there are only dark and darker shades of black, where the best you can cling to is the anti-hero code Caine lives by.
Stover wrote one of my favorite Star Wars novels, 2002’s “Traitor,” a crucial entry in the sprawling “New Jedi Order” series. “Traitor” stands out among the morass of SW fiction because it’s so different from all the others, eschewing straightforward storytelling for more nonlinear, challenging, and thought-provoking prose; nothing about it wrapped up into the typical nice, neat bundle by the end. And even though it remains Stover’s only entry in the post-“Return of the Jedi” Star Wars Expanded Universe, “Traitor” nonetheless irrevocably changed the tone of the NJO and continues to affect the current (albeit middling) “Legacy of the Force” series some five years later.
“Traitor” was also a big deal for Stover as an author, as it effectively put him on the sci-fi/fantasy literary map. Although his first novel, “Iron Dawn,” was published in 1997, “Heroes Die” is his only work still in print (more’s the pity).
“Heroes Die” is a heady brew of gut-clenching action, social and political commentary, and romance. Here's a description to make your head spin: The novel is a combination of William Gibson’s Sprawl trilogy, Terry Goodkind’s “Sword of Truth” series, and Robert Ludlum’s Bourne trilogy. It’s set in a not-too-distant future, presumably after some cataclysmic event has forever altered global society (keep in mind, this was written in 1995, pre-9/11). To get away from the horrors of daily life, where a good number of Earth’s population are little more than slaves, citizens turn to entertainment, and technology has advanced to the point where they can virtually live through created characters’ lives. Here’s the catch: What the characters go through isn’t make-believe. When they’re out on Adventure and get stabbed, they really do get stabbed. No stunt doubles, collapsing blades, and fake blood here.
The Actors’ Adventures occur on Overworld, a planet in an alternate universe that’s straight out of a medieval fantasy novel. Like Goodkind’s “Truth” series, this is a violent world ruled by an all-powerful godlike figure who, though ruthless as a Hitler, believes he’s doing the work of a god for the benefit of his people. And like Gibson’s use of “flipping” into a virtual realm, the Actors in Stover’s novel are actually physically transported to this Overworld and dropped into the middle of strenuous situations; while they engage in their Adventures, the folks back home see and feel everything as though they’re riding right behind the Actors’ eyes.
The fabulous main character is an Actor named Hari Michaelson, whose Overworld persona Caine is a legendary knife-wielding assassin in the mold of Jason Bourne. In “Heroes Die,” Stover pits Michaelson/Caine against the powers-that-be in both worlds; as he struggles to save his wife’s life from the sword-and-sorcery of Overworld, he must simultaneously navigate the politics of Earth and, somehow, try to not get dead on either side.
Don’t expect to gain any moral insight from “Heroes Die,” because Stover makes it quite clear in a Q&A included in the back of the most recent paperback edition that he believes morality is nothing more than a social construct, there is no God, yada, yada, yada (oh, and Republicans are the source of all evil in this country—what a shock). But his novel works on both the visceral and the intellectual level. In the way that Gibson predicted cyberspace and virtual reality 25 years ago, in “Heroes Die,” Stover effectively predicted how reality television would make the horrible misfortunes of a few entertaining for millions. This novel also hints at the astounding emergence of online role-playing games, where some participants seem to feel more comfortable in a simulated nether-world than in their own skin. The future of entertainment Stover paints here doesn’t really seem that far off, and that’s a disturbing notion.
As much as I loved this maelstrom of a novel, I can’t wholly endorse it to everyone because in his attempt to go through the looking glass, Stover uses a mix of first- and third-person narration that forces his readers to actually become the viewers that are so abhorrently portrayed in the book. The action is so intense and thrilling, you can see why millions would want to view it, even as you cringe away from it; Stover has studied several different forms of martial arts, so his depiction of hand-to-hand combat is spot-on brilliant (one fight actually brings to mind the astounding scene in the hotel room from “The Bourne Ultimatum”). “Heroes Die” is incredibly violent, and features a couple characters in particular that are so vile, it’s hard to read through their passages—I almost put this book down for good a few different times.
“Heroes Die” is most certainly NC-17. The brutality and degradation are similar to that of Goodkind, only in Goodkind’s world the darkness is always balanced by light and nobility; in Overworld, there are only dark and darker shades of black, where the best you can cling to is the anti-hero code Caine lives by.
Tuesday, September 11, 2007
It Could Have Been Me … It Could Have Been My Family … It Could Have Been My Friends … It Could Have Been …
… anyone.
"You're Missing," by Bruce Springsteen (from 2002's "The Rising")
Shirts in the closet, shoes in the hall
Mama's in the kitchen, baby and all
Everything is everything
Everything is everything
But you're missing
Coffee cups on the counter, jackets on the chair
Papers on the doorstep, you're not there
Everything is everything
Everything is everything
But you're missing
Pictures on the nightstand, TV's on in the den
Your house is waiting, your house is waiting
For you to walk in, for you to walk in
But you're missing, you're missing
You're missing when I shut out the lights
You're missing when I close my eyes
You're missing when I see the sun rise
You're missing
Children are asking if it's alright
Will you be in our arms tonight?
Morning is morning, the evening falls I have
Too much room in my bed, too many phone calls
How's everything, everything?
Everything, everything
You're missing, you're missing
God's drifting in heaven, devil's in the mailbox
I got dust on my shoes, nothing but teardrops
Friday, March 10, 2006
Take Another Little Piece of My Heart
Ironically, I was just thinking of Myrtle Beach this morning as I stepped off the Metro onto the King Street platform and a warm breeze swept across my face. I always reminisce about Myrtle on days like this—when it’s warmer than expected and the air smells particularly fresh. Living in South Carolina for a year and a half, there were times I swore I could smell the salt water in the air, even from three hours away.
There are places in this world that are sources for such joy and dear memories, I actually hold them in my heart like a person. Myrtle Beach—for all its kitschy glitz and neon—is one of those locales.
And it’s about to change irrevocably.
Burroughs & Chapin Co. Inc., owners of downtown Myrtle’s Pavilion amusement park, announced Thursday the 58-year-old facility will close after the 2006 season. It’s a blow to me, personally, because the Pavilion is an institution in my life. My family went to Myrtle on a near-annual basis throughout my childhood, and, of course, the amusement park—which seems to magically appear up out of the street along Highway 17—was always a highlight of every trip to the Grand Strand. “Galaxy” and “Corkscrew” were two of my first roller coasters (they’re already gone, actually); the “Log Flume” was a must, as it bordered the street, beckoning to me as soon as we got out of the car; and the “Rainbow,” with its gorgeous views of the ocean, flipped my stomach every time.
This shutdown has been in the offing for years—nearly a decade, from what I read. Burroughs & Chapin say it’s been a struggle just to break even, and attendance has flatlined. Plans haven’t been finalized for what will now occupy the 11 acres of prime real estate at the hub of Myrtle Beach tourism, but the owners say it will be a mix of condos, shopping, and other attractions. In other words, it’ll go from one of the most unique sites on the strip to looking just like everything else.
I can understand why they made the decision, though. Nostalgia doesn’t pay the bills. I hadn’t ridden even one of the attractions in a decade or more, but not because I didn’t want to—they just got too expensive. And in the current bloodthirsty real estate market, the Pavilion’s sweet site is sure to be worth millions and millions.
So I’m not going to rant like some misty-eyed moron. These guys are businessmen. I understand that.
But that doesn’t mean I have to like it. I can go to the Gap (well, okay, I don’t EVER do that), or eat at some chain restaurant here in Maryland. There was only one Pavilion, and for a good portion of my life, it was one of my favorite places on the planet. Even now, it was a little like Disney World for me—just walking around that place transported me to another time. For a few moments, even as a skeptical 26-year-old, I didn’t have a care in the world, content to just take in the sights, smells, and sounds of my youth. Sappy? Sure. I don’t care—those that can’t put the cares of this world aside once in a while are bound to drown in them. You can’t just slip something else into the place in my heart occupied by the Pavilion. It doesn’t work that way.
Or maybe it does.
Let’s face it: Myrtle Beach’s Pavilion hadn’t been the Pavilion of my youth for a while. Must be time to find a new place to fill that hole. Life goes on, man.
And, hey, at least I still have the Golden Griddle. For now, anyway.
Tuesday, November 22, 2005
An Amazing Day
This is a personal-story post that I want to avoid in this space, but this was just too cool to pass up.
On Saturday, I was fortunate enough to spend a day at the Georgia Aquarium in Atlanta, which I will be writing about for March's issue of FUNWORLD. It is almost beyond description how incredible the aquarium is, which is problematic since it's my job to, hello, describe it.
Anyway, here are a few pictures from Saturday, with more to come. The first is me standing in front of a recreation of a coral reef. The other two are taken from inside the "tunnel" that literally goes through the aquarium's six MILLION gallon tank.
I recommend everyone go to this place at some point in their lives.
On Saturday, I was fortunate enough to spend a day at the Georgia Aquarium in Atlanta, which I will be writing about for March's issue of FUNWORLD. It is almost beyond description how incredible the aquarium is, which is problematic since it's my job to, hello, describe it.
Anyway, here are a few pictures from Saturday, with more to come. The first is me standing in front of a recreation of a coral reef. The other two are taken from inside the "tunnel" that literally goes through the aquarium's six MILLION gallon tank.
I recommend everyone go to this place at some point in their lives.
Friday, May 21, 2004
Cosby: Still the man
—Originally published 5.21.04
Bill Cosby ranked No. 8 on Comedy Central's recent list of the "100 Greatest Standups of All Time," but he'll always be top dog in my book.
I had the great fortune to see the legendary comic last weekend in Asheville, N.C., and he was worth the drive and the money twice over.
I don't have much experience with standup comedians -- matter of fact, last weekend was the first time I saw one in person -- but they fascinate me nonetheless.
I would encourage everyone to rent/buy "Comedian," a documentary about the genre released in 2002. Filmmaker Christian Charles went on a quest to discover "the story of a joke," because it's really hard to be funny -- there's a science and method to comics' madness, which I've grown to appreciate since watching this film.
"Comedian" focuses primarily on Jerry Seinfeld -- another of my favorites -- after he discarded the primary act that led to his superstardom. (His final performance of these jokes is captured on 1998's "I'm Telling You for the Last Time," also a must.) Charles follows Seinfeld through the rigors of constructing a new set, starting from a few minutes at New York comedy clubs on through to bigger venues and longer shows.
At the same time, Charles follows a younger little-known comic, Orny Adams, as he tries to build his own reputation in the unflinching business.
It's a great movie and a fascinating subject. I mention it here, though, because my man Cos makes a cameo, as he and Jerry discuss the business backstage before a show. Bill is referred to reverentially by not only Seinfeld (No. 12 on Comedy Central's list, by the way), but Chris Rock, as well (who snagged the fifth spot).
During one scene, you see Rock and Seinfeld chatting in a bar somewhere and Cosby comes up. Rock tells Seinfeld he went to see the legend recently and Cosby had all new material from the time before. It makes Rock feel like a fraud, the comic admits. The scene effectively displays Cosby's greatness, and he doesn't tell a single joke on-camera. Apparently, he can do in no time what it takes other comics a lifetime to build.
Cosby must obviously love doing standup, because at 66, I'm sure he is financially set for the rest of his life. He doesn't have to stay out on the road, much less write new material.
Sunday night he could have easily tread water on past successes. As a kid, I used to listen to his old comedy albums all the time (which I now I listen to them all the time on CD). If he had gone through "Buck, Buck," "Revenge" or "To Russell, My Brother, Whom I Slept With," I would have left the auditorium without a complaint.
I don't know if Cosby was doing brand-new material Sunday night or not, but it certainly wasn't from anything I'd heard before. He prefaced his set by saying he's been married 40 years, and no one told him anything he could use before his nuptials. He was there to help people like me -- young married men.
Only somebody who's been around as long as Cosby could get away with wearing a T-shirt, sweatpants and sandals (with socks, no less!) onstage. But within minutes of hitting the spotlight, Cosby's appearance was long forgotten.
What followed was an hour and a half of absolute hilarity. My sides were hurting a half-hour in and I had trouble using the binoculars because they shook too much with my laughter. My favorite thing about Cosby is he doesn't tell jokes -- there are few recognizable punch-lines in the traditional sense, just funny story after funny story. That's what separates him from so many others, and what keeps him fresh for every generation -- there were people older than my parents and younger than my youngest brother at the show Sunday night, and they were all laughing.
He ended the night, though, with an encore of sorts and a send-up to us lifelong fans. The last five minutes of his show were spent talking about the dentist, one of his all-time great bits from the album/video "Himself."
If your only exposure to Cosby is from his NBC sitcom (not that the show isn't funny), go buy a few of his CDs. Then judge for yourself if he's not deserving of No. 1.
Bill Cosby ranked No. 8 on Comedy Central's recent list of the "100 Greatest Standups of All Time," but he'll always be top dog in my book.
I had the great fortune to see the legendary comic last weekend in Asheville, N.C., and he was worth the drive and the money twice over.
I don't have much experience with standup comedians -- matter of fact, last weekend was the first time I saw one in person -- but they fascinate me nonetheless.
I would encourage everyone to rent/buy "Comedian," a documentary about the genre released in 2002. Filmmaker Christian Charles went on a quest to discover "the story of a joke," because it's really hard to be funny -- there's a science and method to comics' madness, which I've grown to appreciate since watching this film.
"Comedian" focuses primarily on Jerry Seinfeld -- another of my favorites -- after he discarded the primary act that led to his superstardom. (His final performance of these jokes is captured on 1998's "I'm Telling You for the Last Time," also a must.) Charles follows Seinfeld through the rigors of constructing a new set, starting from a few minutes at New York comedy clubs on through to bigger venues and longer shows.
At the same time, Charles follows a younger little-known comic, Orny Adams, as he tries to build his own reputation in the unflinching business.
It's a great movie and a fascinating subject. I mention it here, though, because my man Cos makes a cameo, as he and Jerry discuss the business backstage before a show. Bill is referred to reverentially by not only Seinfeld (No. 12 on Comedy Central's list, by the way), but Chris Rock, as well (who snagged the fifth spot).
During one scene, you see Rock and Seinfeld chatting in a bar somewhere and Cosby comes up. Rock tells Seinfeld he went to see the legend recently and Cosby had all new material from the time before. It makes Rock feel like a fraud, the comic admits. The scene effectively displays Cosby's greatness, and he doesn't tell a single joke on-camera. Apparently, he can do in no time what it takes other comics a lifetime to build.
Cosby must obviously love doing standup, because at 66, I'm sure he is financially set for the rest of his life. He doesn't have to stay out on the road, much less write new material.
Sunday night he could have easily tread water on past successes. As a kid, I used to listen to his old comedy albums all the time (which I now I listen to them all the time on CD). If he had gone through "Buck, Buck," "Revenge" or "To Russell, My Brother, Whom I Slept With," I would have left the auditorium without a complaint.
I don't know if Cosby was doing brand-new material Sunday night or not, but it certainly wasn't from anything I'd heard before. He prefaced his set by saying he's been married 40 years, and no one told him anything he could use before his nuptials. He was there to help people like me -- young married men.
Only somebody who's been around as long as Cosby could get away with wearing a T-shirt, sweatpants and sandals (with socks, no less!) onstage. But within minutes of hitting the spotlight, Cosby's appearance was long forgotten.
What followed was an hour and a half of absolute hilarity. My sides were hurting a half-hour in and I had trouble using the binoculars because they shook too much with my laughter. My favorite thing about Cosby is he doesn't tell jokes -- there are few recognizable punch-lines in the traditional sense, just funny story after funny story. That's what separates him from so many others, and what keeps him fresh for every generation -- there were people older than my parents and younger than my youngest brother at the show Sunday night, and they were all laughing.
He ended the night, though, with an encore of sorts and a send-up to us lifelong fans. The last five minutes of his show were spent talking about the dentist, one of his all-time great bits from the album/video "Himself."
If your only exposure to Cosby is from his NBC sitcom (not that the show isn't funny), go buy a few of his CDs. Then judge for yourself if he's not deserving of No. 1.
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