Bernie Mac, an edgy and very funny comedian (in my opinion) was invited to speak at an Obama luncheon recently. Since he is a comedian, he spoke as a comedian and not some celebrity pseudo political pundit. One woman, according to the report I read, objected to a joke he did on menopause and this caused Obama to chastise him publicly, right there at the luncheon. If I were Bernie Mac, that would be the last effort I made on Obama's behalf.
When did we all lose our sense of humor? When did it become acceptable for one person's taste to trump the majority? I bet most of the people at that luncheon had a great time and laughed at Bernie's jokes. But he gets chided like a school because one, or even a few, people objected to his brand of humor? I say, F - 'em if they can't take a joke.
I have heard many complaints over the years about Dan Rattiner's phony articles that he plants in Dan's Papers. People get fooled and they get mad and sometimes call the paper to complain. But any East Ender knows, you can't call yourself a real East Ender until you've been punked by Dan's Papers at least once. I've been punked but good on more than one occasion. Once, I even called the paper to see if there was a way I could help the poor woman whose plight was the featured phony article. Dan got me good and I laughed at myself. Dan, like any mature adult, expects that you can handle a joke. He relies on the fact that your fragile ego will not crumble under the weight of a story about a secret old subway line that runs to the Hamptons. If he, or anyone who writes comedy, capitulated to the protest of every moron who didn't get the joke, the paper would be all events pictures with no text.
Without question I've written material that someone, somewhere, didn't like. Humor is completely subjective. Like Bill Cosby says, "The minute you start writing material to please other people, you're lost as a comic." I've always remembered that quote because it keeps me true to myself and my wackadoodle view of the world of Shelter Island that so many of my Island friends love. But the only reason they're laughing, is because they are way over in the wackadoodle zone themselves.
Case in point: I was off loading some items at the Goody Pile at our local dump and met a friend whose friend had just left her a peck of clams and conchs in her kitchen. "What am I supposed to do with the conchs? He said cook them and eat them."
"Sure, they're scungili. They're just big snails. Steam them, pull them out, chop them into small pieces, sauté in butter, garlic and wine, and add to spaghetti sauce, they taste great." I said.
"You can eat them?" she asked incredulously.
"Or you can give them to friends who eat them," I said, wanting to give her a viable Island option.
"Come and get 'em."
So, I left a pile of boys clothes at the Goody Pile and got a pail of scungili. I made a nice sauce and brought her a sample so she could test it. We split the pretty conch shells. Conchs for clothes, a perfect Island trade. These things do not happen in Ohio where snails are just snails and not dinner.
And how do conchs connect to comedy? Both can be loved or hated, both can get you into hot water, and both go better with wine.
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