Nothing reminds you more of your own mortality than to see those you looked up to or had an impact in your life disappear. Ever since finding an old Bill Cosby record stashed in my father's vinyl collection I've loved stand-up comedy. And the first record I every bought was George Carlin's A Place for My Stuff. When I was in junior high we used to have sleep overs that would consist of massive amounts of soda, comic books, Nintendo, and comedy records. Carlin was always the favorite of us all. His was the most observant, the most silly and at the same time to most perceptive of the foibles and idiocy we bring upon ourselves. He was always in on the joke, and he could always just by the tone of his voice elicit a laugh out of me.
Carlin passed away yesterday at the age of 71, apparently of heart failure, and it feels a little like your favorite crazy uncle isn't going to be around to wear the lamp shade anymore.
This just sucks. Again.
And since everyone will do it, as it seems a fitting tribute to the man, let's just get those seven words down one more time: