Can we talk?

In this economy?!!?!?

Hi.

I didn’t want to write this post today because I’m tired but nobody wants to hear that so here’s the other things occupying my mind this week: watching people work and make interesting stuff (comedy, music) and finding laughter whenever and wherever I can because that’s my rope I’m hanging on to right now in this world…in this economy!?!? Yes, in this economy. So, let’s talk about laughs. Let’s talk about funny.

You’ve heard of Soap on a Rope, but what about Joan on a Phone?

So, can we talk? Josh and I watched the short tribute to Joan Rivers this week. In my opinion, it was way too short and should have been the length of a Ken Burns docuseries at the very least, but it was broadcast on NBC and their streaming service, THE ‘COCK, and they apparently only have so much time before they have to show our local news, chock full of car chases and weather reports about the Inland Empire, a place nobody has ever entered or left. Anyway, there were some pretty funny moments and reflections on JOAN RIVERS: A DEAD FUNNY ALL STAR TRIBUTE and if you need a ha-ha quick fix, check it out on THE ‘COCK. (Yes, I will insist on calling Peacock THE COCK because it’s right there in the name. If HBO MAX can become HBO [again], then Peacock can become THE COCK. Anything’s possible in streaming, right? Probably not, but who’s with me???)

I will always mourn and miss Joan Rivers and be thankful that I became a comedy fan specifically because of her. Joan’s punchy words were lights at the end of dark tunnels for me for a long time and continue to be often. I wouldn’t call Joan a poet, but she is a wordsmith who aimed to write at the highest level. Also, on a practical level, she just loved to work. Her reward for her work, paraphrasing her own words, was more work. This pairs with my favorite quote from stage director Peter Brook, work breeds work.

Josh and I also went to JUST LIKE HEAVEN Fest with out of town friends Adrienne and Francis and met up with local pals Tracy and Jen and new IRL bud Iva-Marie (we’ve known each other online for the last 5 years) and watched amazing musicians and singers like TV on the Radio, Rilo Kiley, and Vampire Weekend sweat it out in 100 degrees weather while we all attempted to dance in our limp, soaked clothes, leaving us delirious and laughing at our crispy existence. Adrienne mentioned several times, maybe hallucinating, that we were living in a simulation. Who was I to say we weren’t? Anyway, I ate big pretzels for the salt, I drank gallons of water, and I left the Rose Bowl feeling like a piece of leather. But did I and we also leave Pasadena pumped up and inspired by the music and the laughs? HELL YEAH!

So, everything I’m talking about here boils down to laughter (for survival or just for laughter’s sake) and when I think of laughter with poetry, I think of poet, Amy Lawless, who I find very funny. Her poem MY THERAPIST, may also give you some laughs during this wretched time.

MY THERAPIST
by Amy Lawless

I told my friend
the reason I don’t go to therapy:
I would lie to any therapist and adjust my
problems according to what
I think the therapist would want to hear

He said that means
I’m crazy and really need to go to therapy

I wouldn’t argue with this point

I give a name to a new kind of therapy:
Silence of Night

The sound a plastic bag makes
slapping against my thigh
as I walk home from the bodega

When I get home, therapy becomes the rosy ceiling after
I turn on my Himalayan salt lamp

Did you know Freud
never said the Irish were impervious to
psychoanalysis? Rather something
claimed again and again
without attribution
and finally made its way into Martin Scorsese’s film
The Departed
And now everyone thinks it’s true
But it’s not

Come on,
you’ve been there

At 4 am
when I couldn’t sleep I took an online quiz
and the result is
I’m a demon
of the night

I read the same Elizabeth Bishop poems
until I can hold the almanac
or taste dark brown tears
or feel the ancient wallpaper or see a gesture
I love

People walk around with names like Mike, Dave, Elliot, Jose, Keith, and it’s fine, it’s totally fine

I am an American
I shit like the Pope

It’s fine

I rebound ideas
off silence
I talk to it and there’s no
response, which in this way is its
own kind of response

Silence is a message
I listen

The “I am an American/ I shit like the Pope” is timely, no? I love how Lawless weaves her humor and her heart throughout this particular poem, ending on I listen, because that is so much of therapy, and life. Isn’t it? Listen for the jokes, for the words that get you through.

Okay, I’m still tired after writing this post and I apologize for typos, but I’m running on empty. Hope y’all are finding laughs wherever you are and whatever you’re doing. Leave a joke in honor of Joan in the comments.

Forever THE ‘COCK,

Kayla