Are You Chimp Or Bonobo?

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Wandering around the new Human Evolution exhibit at the American Museum in New York, I came across an interesting fact.

The apes most closely related to us are chimps and bonobos. Of course I knew we share 99% of our DNA with chimps, but bonobos? I confess my ignorance. What the heck are they?

If somebody’d asked me, like on Jeopardy, I would have guessed some kind of food. Maybe a pastry.

But nope, they’re apes. They’re also known as Pygmy Chimps, are endangered, and found only in the Congo.

But here’s the interesting difference. Chimp society is dominated by the males, and their overwhelming urge is to be top banana. This gets established in the usual way of course: by fighting. And occasionally by killing each other.

Bonobos, on the other hand, are more laid back. The females keep things organized and peaceful. Status is much less of a big deal. Food tends to be shared, and if conflicts arise, they’re usually settled by (and I happily quote the museum here) “play and sex.”

This strikes me as way more civilized, and a LOT more fun.

So in your life, which are your closest cousins? Chimps or Bonobos?

If you (or people you know) are exhibiting a bit of Type A-ness, you might want to swing over to the zoo for a little nature lesson.

(And as the election nears, is it too much of a stretch to compare one party with chimps, and the other with bonobos? Just wondering….)

Here’s the link to the exhibit at the American Museum.

© 2000 Greg Tamblyn, Motivational Humorist and bonobo cousin

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One Day On The Fields Of France

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Recently I received a cryptic email letting me know that someone had made a video of my song, “One Day On The Fields Of France.” I clicked the link, watched the video, got a little teary (it’s that kind of song), and wondered who made this video and why?

So I sent an email reply with those very questions, and eventually was connected by phone to an amazing woman named Debbie Martin. Debbie owns an internet radio station, SeeQ Radio (Pronounced “seek”). She’d heard the song, was moved by it, and simply felt compelled to make a video of it. Wow, I thought.

This, despite the fact that she’s visually handicapped, and has more on her plate in terms of challenges than most 10 other people. I encourage you to check out SeeQ Radio for some inspiring, motivating, healing, and empowering music.

Here’s the video. Let me know what you think in the comments section, and feel free to let others know about it. (You might want to have some kleenex handy….)

Here’s the link for SeeQ Radio and Quantum Quest

~ Greg Tamblyn, Motivational Humorist and occasionally emotional songwriter

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The Palin Principle

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I like Sarah Palin. She’s not hard to like. She’s attractive, funny, and has serious charisma. She’s also kinda hot. She’d probably be fun to hang out with.

But haven’t we made this mistake before?

Sarah Palin already has the best job for her. She’s wildly popular as Governor of Alaska because she clobbered the oil companies to get $1200 a year for Alaska residents. (Sure, she sucks up a huge trough of federal money for things like roads and bridges, and she never bothered to give back the “Bridge To Nowhere” millions. But you know what, we can’t really send her to her room for that until all the other gravy-trainers get off the federal chow line. We could, however, ask her to be honest about it.)

She has no experience in foreign policy. Siberians and Yukon Eskimos are too busy sinking in melting tundra to invade Alaska. She has little experience in domestic policy. Alaskans don’t want anybody telling them how to live. That’s why they’re in Alaska. They know how to live. They hunt, fish, dogsled, ride snowmobiles, and play golf at midnight. They’re a breed and a continent apart. Colorful, freedom-loving people. Like Chris and Maggie on Northern Exposure. They also drink a lot. Sarah’s one of them and they love her. (Although I have no idea if she drinks a lot.)

Alaska’s where she belongs.

It’s the political “Peter Principle.” Successful people, great at their jobs, keep getting promoted, eventually beyond their level of expertise, in over their heads, then things go to hell.

Like I said, we’ve tried that once already this millennium. It hasn’t worked out so well.

What also sets off the “oh-oh” meter is that Sarah seems to have a lot of the same characteristics of the Current Disappointment. She’s rigid in her thinking, tends to see things in terms of absolute right and wrong, black and white, good vs evil. She likes to use the phrase “It’s God’s will” when talking about the Iraq war or her 30 billion pipeline.

According to German Theologian Karl Rahner, “There are two kinds of people in the world: people who need certainty, and people who seek understanding.”

We’ve already seen what it’s like to have a leader who thinks he’s right about everything, and when he’s not right, gets the evidence changed.

It’s like my friend Dr. Bowen White says, “When you’re sure you’re right, you’re stuck with what you already know.”

How about we choose a veep who’s willing to seek understanding. Someone who makes intelligent, considered decisions based on the advice of knowledgeable people who may differ in their views. Someone who wants to aim a little higher than shooting wolves on the ground from helicopters.

(Here’s a video about Sarah’s wolf-hunting philosophy.)

© 2008 Greg Tamblyn, Motivational Humorist and Registered American Voter

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Anybody Get That on Film?

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This is going to stretch your mind a little.

Reuben is exactly the same age as both his son-in-law and his father-in-law.

I can hear the wheels turning in your head: How is that possible? Wait, let me think about it a second….

(I’m going to explain it in the next paragraph, in case you’re a puzzle lover and want to figure it out first.)

Here’s how. Reuben’s daughter from his first wife married an older man, the same age as Reuben. Reuben’s second wife is a younger woman whose father is also the same age as Reuben.

That’s definitely one for Guinness.

Reuben retired from college teaching but didn’t like being retired. He bought a fast food franchise so he could get up at 4:00 every morning and bake muffins for his customers. He loves waking them up with coffee, chatting them up, and seeing their smiles as they chow down on fresh muffins.

Reuben and his wife were on one of our group trips to China. One night on the tour we learned that Reuben was 80 years old. Nobody could believe it. I would have guessed him at about 65 or even 60.

The next morning breakfast was served in the hotel lobby at some tables set up around reflecting pools. Reuben was a bit late and some of us were wondering where he was, when he and his big grin came striding across the lobby.

Some of the tables were placed close to the reflecting pools, and as Reuben crossed the corner of one pool, he missed his step. As we watched in horror, he fell backward like a big tall tree, hit the water spread-eagled in a reverse belly-flop, and made an enormous, raucous splash in the middle of the lobby.

In memory it seems like slow motion. We watched him teeter backwards, unable to right himself, and we all had the realization in the same split second that this 80 year old man was falling backwards into a shallow pool and there was nothing we could do about it! He’s older than we thought! Is this going to be a tragedy? What’s in the pool? Will he hit his head?

A second later, as we were scrambling out of our chairs, Reuben popped up in the knee-deep water, dripping wet. He gave us that big grin and said, “Anybody get that on film?”

Talk about comic relief. The Russian judge gave him a 9.0. Except for missing breakfast to change clothes, he was fine.

When I grow up I wanna be like Reuben.

© 2008 Greg Tamblyn, Motivational humorist and occasionally nervous tour guide

* Photos of one of our tours to China and Tibet.

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Snake Wine and Chicken Feet

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The Chinese government, out of concern for foreign sensibilities, has ordered that dog meat not be served in restaurants during the Olympics. It’s wonderful to know the dogs are safe for a couple of weeks. (No word, however about a similar reprieve for the Lamas in Tibet…)

My brain retains many colorful memories of China, many of which are about food. I have kind of a love/strange relationship with this admittedly mesmerizing country. Sort of like an old romance that continues to fascinate because of its weirdness. Going to China (three times!) was always a bit like going to another planet inhabited by friendly aliens.

In one town we stood outside a shop with crates of little animals on the sidewalk: chickens, ducks, rabbits, snakes, and some other creatures. Naturally we assumed it was a pet store. Strangely, however, there were no more cages inside. Instead, what we saw through the windows was a room full of tables and chairs….filled with people….happily munching on their selections from the sidewalk.

Real Chinese food is whole different universe of gustatory experience.

A fascinating activity is to stroll through an outdoor food market and count the number of dead animals you can’t identify. I made it to about 15 before I gave up. Our guide bragged that his fellow Chinese will eat “anything with 4 legs except a table, and anything that flies except a plane.”

In one nice eatery we were encouraged to try the fried crickets, chicken feet, and duck heads. Seriously. I know what you’re thinking. So how were they? Well, to be brutally, totally, bluntly frank about this, it was the one time in my adult life I can admit I would have been deliriously happy to see a McDonalds. Unless I wind up forgotten in a Turkish prison, lost in the Amazon, or starving in the Sahara, I will gladly leave certain poultry parts to the makers of dog food and fertilizer. And bugs? I refuse to steal the rightful food of birds and small rodents. Even to save face with the locals.

Like George Carlin famously said, “I don’t like eating something it looks like I should step on.”

Later, on a cruise down a river, I was riveted by a large jug of wine sitting on the lounge bar. It was a gallon jug of clear rice wine — with a dead snake in it about the size of the one that tried to eat Harry Potter. Snake wine. I’m not kidding. And, get this, made from a poisonous snake. (You see what I mean about another planet? Who would think of this?) Perhaps you’re saying to yourself, Oh sure, that’s weird, but it’s just some freaky tourist attraction to get people on that boat. My friends, have no doubt that what I tell you is true: snake wine is not only common, it’s a whole industry. (For verification of this, click the link at the bottom. You’ll be amazed.)

So there we were, cruising down this breathtakingly scenic river that had, over the eons, carved out the famous Karst topography which you so often see in hauntingly beautiful Chinese paintings of this area. After a couple of hours on the upper deck, a few of the American males in the group, including myself, went below to sit by the windows, drink beer, and engage in a joke telling session that produced some of the best laughs I’ve had in my whole joking lifetime.

Maybe it was the high level of our happy meter that brought the friendly bar gal over to our table. Whatever the reason, she showed up in the midst of our fun with a big smile and the aforementioned generous jug of snake wine (made from a poisonous snake!) for us to sample.

The thing is, I don’t drink much alcohol, so it affects me pretty quickly. By the time she showed up I’d had a couple of beers (maybe three?) and my resistance, to paraphrase the Borg, was futile. My compliance may also have had something to do with being in the company of four other macho Americans and not wishing to appear wimpish.

So, after a brief toast to the dead snake, we quaffed. As I recall, it tasted a bit like sake. In fact, it tasted exactly like sake. Except for the small piece of snake that got caught in my teeth.

It’ll be interesting to watch the Olympics and see how much of the real China gets through the broadcast filters. With any luck, they’ll be serving chicken feet and snake wine in Olympic Village.

© 2008 Greg Tamblyn, Motivational Humorist and occasional foreign traveler

* To visit Greg’s Group Travel page, click here.

* Click here to learn about snake wine and scorpion wine.

* Click here for pictures of weird food in the markets.

* The news is spreading. Here’s a NY Times article about the Chinese government forbidding serving dog meat at Beijing restaurants during the Olympics.

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How To Be Funny (from someone who had to learn it)

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Some people have asked me lately how to be funny, and my first response used to be, “How the heck should I know — I’m not funny.” But on the other hand, people have been laughing at me a lot lately. So maybe I can offer some clues.

Great starting points are surprise and absurdity. Like seeing two things together that don’t belong together. In a little town north of Sacramento there’s a building by the highway with two businesses in it: a mortuary and an espresso shop. Think of the marketing possibilities: “Coffee to die for.” Or “Our coffee can wake the dead!”

Speaking of food and things that don’t go together, I’m more than a little queasy about this new trend of putting fast food joints inside filling stations. Like a Taco Bell inside a Texaco, for example. I keep having this vision of some mechanic with 30-weight oil on his hands making my tostada. Talk about stopping for gas! (Ba da bump.)

Exaggeration can be very effective. My writing partner Richard Helm and I started getting together in Nashville for the sole purpose of writing weird songs, just to entertain ourselves and take a break from trying to write formula hits. Sometimes we laugh all through a session just from taking an idea to extremes.

In our song, “Self-Employment Made Harder By Difficult Boss,” (inspired by an article by my brother Jeff), the singer applies all the usual complaints about bosses to himself. He doesn’t pay himself enough, he doesn’t give himself enough time off, he makes fun of himself behind his own back, and he sends himself too many interoffice memos. He even sues himself for sexual harassment. Finally he works it all out and feels he has a good chance for “employee of the year.” It’s pretty silly, but an audience favorite because there’s some truth in there. It’s just taken to extremes. That’s another aspect of humor: some of it works precisely because it really sets off your truth meter.

The title of that song is a good example of wordplay. Words are a great source of fun, like “The Shootout at the I’m OK, You’re OK Corral.” (Again, two things that don’t belong together.) That song title alone has snared me lots of bookings. Other famous song title examples are “I’d Rather Have a Bottle in Front of Me Than a Frontal Lobotomy,” “I’m So Miserable Without You, It’s Like You Were Here,” and “She Was Pure As The New Fallen Snow, But She Drifted.” (Nobody is better at wordplay than country songwriters.) If you’re a word person, try putting together words in new ways, or making up your own.

It helps to decide to adopt a humor mindset. Look for oddities. Decide to keep your mind tuned to the humor wavelength. Walk around smiling like you’ve just heard or seen something funny, and people will think you’re funny. Or at least fun. As Bernie Siegel suggests, look at the world through the eyes of a child, see the absurdities, then comment on them. Read the comics. Collect jokes. Save funny thoughts and ideas. Share them with people. Get used to doing it. Find stuff that makes you laugh and wallow in it. Movies, books, cartoons, writers. Keep a humor journal.

Think of your most embarrassing moments. Keep a mental file so you can bring them up at appropriate times. Ditto with other weird stories from your life. Self-effacing humor is the most connecting.

One of my friends always has some embarrassing story about herself. She told me about getting served a meal on a plane (two things that certainly don’t go together any more), and because she was sitting between two huge people there was no room for her arms. She couldn’t cut her food because her elbows kept banging into her breasts. That’s a great visual. And she’s got big, beautiful….laughter. (You thought I was going to say “breasts,” didn’t you! See, you were surprised.) A great laugh is a great asset. People like to be around good laughers, because it makes us laugh. It’s contagious. So don’t hold back. Laugh big.

You don’t have to always come up with the perfect line or just the right funny idea to say in every situation. But if you stay relaxed and don’t try too hard, you’ll come up with your share. You can be “sneaky” funny. When you unexpectedly blow one in there every so often, people will think you’re even funnier than you are, because they don’t expect it. (This pretty much sums up my whole career.)

I grew up with lots of friends who are much funnier and quicker than I am, including both of my brothers. Once or twice at a show I was introduced as a comedian, and I had to put a screeching halt to that, because it changes expectations. Real, professional comedians have brains from another planet. They’re wired differently, like they’re on permanent speed. So I use the word “humorist.” A humorist is a person who thinks slower than a comedian.

However, I have noticed that for some reason my ability to be funny increases when I’m on stage. I once heard George Carlin say that his comedy shows are like a stage play, he does them the exact same way every time. One thing this does is relax you, because you know what you’re going to say. Then some other, unused part of your brain is free to be playful and spontaneous, occasionally surprising you with a good line.

Knowing what you’re going to say on stage also helps you become good at repeatedly telling the same story in a way that’s funny. Sort of like an actor. It’s a skill you can develop, even if you’re not a performer.

A doctor friend of mine is a very funny guy to be around, and also a hilarious speaker and performer. He’s quick, good with words, has wild ideas, and loves to instantly change your state of mind by saying what you least expect at any moment. Sometimes you can see a little Cosby or Groucho in his delivery, so you know he’s paid attention to funny people. He’s also good at telling and retelling stories. But for all his funniness, he cannot tell, or even remember jokes. It’s amazing. He has what I call “joke disability.” It’s really bad. He just can’t remember them. And if he does try to retell one that I’ve just told him, it bombs. It’s not funny, except that it’s funny that he can’t do it. So we laugh about that. But he doesn’t need jokes. He’s great at spontaneous humor, and telling stories from his own life. So he plays to his strengths.

Another author and speaker friend who loves humor incorporates it into his shows in different kinds of ways: slides of cartoons, puns, and funny stories. Plus he’s great at telling jokes. It’s very effective. You play to your strengths.

So decide to have the humor mindset. Start slow, and build a little every week. Just figure out what entertains you, and share that with people. Remember to relax–let it come. Trying too hard to be funny will blow it every time. I’ve gotten some great laughs by just smiling when people were expecting a line. It’s better sometimes to just be silent and let them think you’re brilliant.

© 2008 Greg Tamblyn, Motivational Humorist and occasional funny person.

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Sacred Clown Wedding

Posted by admin under CONSCIOUSNESS

Picture, if you will, an enchanting arboretum brimming with colorful flowers and other bright growing things. It’s a glorious sunny autumn day. A bride and groom are surrounded by admiring friends and family. A sacred ceremony is about to unfold for two loving people. It’s also, coincidentally, the 799th anniversary of Rumi’s birthday. Music and poetry are flowing from the loudspeakers. It’s a perfect wedding in every way.

Except for this: one of the Rumi readers is Patch Adams.

Here’s how it goes. A Russian friend starts things off with a powerful love song which nobody understands, it being in Russian, but which moves everybody to tears by the passion of the performance. Other musicians contribute songs. Inspiring selections of Rumi poetry enliven the proceedings.

About halfway through this idyllic ceremony, Patch gets up to read. He’s dressed, as always, in full technicolor clown regalia, with half of his long gray hair dyed blue. If you saw the movie Patch Adams, you begin to understand the force of outrageousness that Patch is. (Remember how he mooned the crowd at his graduation?)

Patch is tall (6 feet 6), so when he stands to recite, I start to adjust the microphone up to his mouth. He asks me to leave it aimed at the middle of his chest. He then launches into an emotional reading of a 30-line Rumi masterpiece (a translation by Coleman Barks), of which I will reprint only the first five lines here:

Love has taken away my practices and filled me with poetry.
I tried to keep quietly repeating no strength but yours, but I couldn’t.
I had to clap and sing.
I used to be respectable and chaste and stable,
But who can stand in this strong wind and remember these things?

As soon as the line about the “strong wind” comes out, Patch (or some unknown accomplice) triggers a piece of poetic license hidden in his chest pocket: an electronic whoopee cushion. Suddenly we’re serenaded by a long, loud, and tonally impressive blast of flatulence, fully amplified and resounding through the arboretum.

Some of us laugh, some don’t, and pretty much everybody looks shocked. Especially the bride’s relatives from assorted small towns in Iowa. After the tittering dies down, Patch waits a second then continues reading. Not content to leave it to chance that anybody somehow missed what just happened, the whoopee cushion erupts three more times during the poem.

Those of us who know Patch chalk it up to Patch being himself. If you invite Patch to be in your wedding, you expect the unexpected and take what you get. Those who don’t know him, I have no idea what they think. I’m reasonably sure it’s not what they signed up for. I’m also certain they’ll be talking about it for a long time. Especially when they forget to take their Beano.

Patch is a dead-on personification of the archetype of the Fool. The Fool’s job is to shake us up. He flings us into new perspectives by blasting us out of our comfort zones, our preconceived notions, our common attachments and habitual responses. The Fool reminds us that what we perceive as universal order is always able to morph into chaos at any moment. God is a magician with a sense of humor. Laughter is a healthy response to the burst soap bubble of our expectations.

The Fool — the Trickster — has a long, historic tradition in hundreds of cultures. The Hopi have their Sacred Clowns, who are allowed to disrupt even the most holy ceremonies with their unruly and sometimes funny behavior. (Not every time, of course, but periodically.) St. Francis used to walk around naked in public. Rumi offended dogmatic religious authorities by dancing and whirling in the markets, spouting stream-of-consciousness poetry about God as Love. The medieval court jester spoke dangerous truths to the king in jokes and riddles. The Japanese Kihune pokes fun at the overly serious, at greedy merchants, and at self-obsessed Samurai. Tom Sawyer, Brer Rabbit, and Leprechauns all have elements of the Trickster.

The Navajo have a wonderful tradition called the “First Laugh Ceremony.” When a baby is born, he/she is watched over constantly by a member of the family until the day of the child’s first laugh. That day marks the birth of the child as a social being, and a celebration is organized by the person who witnessed the laugh. This strikes me as beautiful, meaningful, and if the child happens to be a male, way more fun than circumcision.

There is an indigenous creation myth — I forget which culture — where the Great Spirit actually farts the world into existence. (One is tempted to think of this particular God as a male. Possibly that’s a sexist remark, but most of my ex-girlfriends would agree.) Either way, a creation story like that pretty well answers the question of why God allows suffering.

I don’t know for sure how the bride and groom feel, but I have no doubt that all who were present have this wedding preserved in vivid holographic sound and color in their memory banks. I would have treasured it regardless, because of my love for the people involved, the beautiful day, and the connection with Rumi. Thanks to Patch, however, it will always have a special flavor.

But I’m not sure I’ll invite him to my wedding.

© 2008 Greg Tamblyn, your friendly neighborhood Motivational Humorist.

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Crop Circles Are Earth Burps

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A new crop circle appeared overnight in Wiltshire England. This one has concentric shapes that represent the famous equation of pi. For those who don’t remember your math, pi is the precise ratio of the lemon filling to the meringue.

Many people attribute crop circles, variously, to extra-terrestrials, beings from other dimensions, mother earth, and other entities trying to send us messages of some urgency. These messages could be about the survival of mankind, or changes in planetary consciousness, or the Quidditch scores at Hogwarts.

I never gave a thought to crop circles before I caught a lecture by an “expert.” Admittedly, it was fascinating, and to his credit, the expert didn’t offer any definitive explanations, preferring to leave that to M. Night Shyamalan.

But now, thanks to an expensive college education and Occams Razor (the principle that all things being equal, the simplest explanation is always the dog ate my homework), I have deduced the explanation: Crop Circles are Earth Burps. Or, if you live in Philadelphia: Earth Farts.

Seriously! Read on..

For the uninitiated (like myself), crop circles appear quite suddenly in amazing geometric patterns. Sort of like marching bands at halftime. They have measurable magnetic energy changes in their immediate areas. (If they were in Iraq, this would be indisputable evidence of WMDs.) They leave traces of intense heat that bends the crops in a certain bizarre way but does not destroy them. Exactly like when I try to microwave a Stouffer’s spinach souffle.

They also tend to appear in the same general locations over time. Often these become “sacred sites” where people throughout history have built stone circles, cathedrals, and later, shopping malls. These sites, our expert mentioned, happen to be places in the British Isles and the Canadian plains where the bedrock is usually softer limestone. Also where the natives drink a lot of beer.

Having majored in geology (I was confused, I wanted to be a rock star), this made my ears prick up. Especially because at the same conference we had just seen demonstrations of how sound waves leave distinctive geometric patterns in sand. Which explains why after a Metallica concert your brain makes the world looks like a Picasso painting for three days.

So here’s my brilliant reasoning. We know very little about the inner earth, but we do know that it has a solid inner core of metal, surrounded by a molten outer core, covered by a crusty mantle. Not unlike Dick Cheney. And this stuff is very hot. (If you don’t believe me, stick your finger in a volcano.) We know that liquid in motion produces waves. We know that waves have specific geometric signatures. So this hot, molten outer core is constantly producing intense, heated, vibrational outbursts with unpredictable results. Not unlike Dick Cheney.

What I figure is that every once in awhile when the conditions are right, one of these intensely hot wave vibrations makes it all the way to the surface through some of the softer rock, and erupts through Wallace and Gromit’s plowed field, leaving behind a puzzling, often indecipherable geometric pattern. Like tattoos on an NBA player.

Thus, crop circles are Earth Burps! Or if you live in Kansas City and eat a lot of barbeque, Earth Acid Reflux.

Either that, or the ETs have been watching too many Marx Brothers movies.

© 2008 Greg Tamblyn

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So Long, George

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“Tonight’s forecast: dark. Continued dark until morning, when there will be scattered light.”

“You see all these low pressure systems on the weather map? Man, that’s a lot of lows. What this country need is more highs.”

– Al Sleet, the hippy dippy weatherman

I’m gonna miss George Carlin. Back in the ’60s when he was doing Al Sleet on “That Was The Week That Was” (or whatever it was called), he regularly cracked me up. Then when I saw him doing standup, like on Carson, he was even better, and of course got everybody’s attention with “The Seven Words You Can’t Say On Television.” I caught that one live, and in my own adolescent way, felt kinda liberated.

Later on he famously reduced the 10 commandments to two. (Thou Shall Not Kill, and what was the other one?) He got a little angry in more recent years, and of course didn’t believe in any kind of afterlife and saw no hope for the human race.* (His book Brain Droppings was really hard to read, just too negative.) Some of that stuff was a bit depressing, but often it was still funny and the main thing is it compelled you to think.

*I’ve always wondered about optimism vs. pessimism, and cynicism vs. enthusiasm. Are we born with those tendencies, or shaped that way?

Even if I’m too much of an optimist to agree with him, he did what he wanted to do, which was challenge us to re-evaluate our sacred cows. He said if a couple people walked out of his show, he knew he was doing his job that night.

We need people like George who speak the truth, wake us up a bit, and especially if they can make it funny. He was an original, made us laugh, and that’s a great thing

So long, George. If there is an afterlife, I hope God has a sense of humor.

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More Now Later

Posted by admin under CONSCIOUSNESS

I’m just back from Nashville and a few days writing songs, which as I’m sure you know is great fun and hard work. (What? You’re not falling for the hard work part? I think it was Oscar Wilde who said there are times when art almost approaches the dignity of manual labor.) Anyway, that’s why I haven’t posted in a week. All my creative juices were getting sucked into songwriting. Which is fine by me.

My friend Richard Helm and I were inspired to write a song about living in the “Now.” What got us going were some funny comments from my out-on-the-fringe doctor pal, Bowen White. So here’s what we’ve come up with, although we’re still tweaking. (Psst….no stealing! Teams of angry lawyers will camp on your lawn and paint “Thief” signs on your car….)

MORE NOW LATER

In the past I used to wish I could live in the Now
I knew if I knew then what I’d know later, I’d stop fretting my future
I was looking forward to the Now that hadn’t happened yet
There was plenty of Now back then too, but I used to forget

I’m in the Now a lot more now
And here’s what’s even greater
Spontaneously somehow
There’s always more Now later

I’m in the Now a lot more now
Living happy ever after
You never ever can run out
There’s always more Now later

A wise man had words of wisdom for the lifestyle that I’ve got
He said less is more, so I don’t do a lot
But I’ve transcended that, I’m the master, don’t you doubt it
I’m so good at doing nothing, no one (even) knows about it.

I’m in the Now a lot more now
I’m no procrastinator
I never hurry, I never worry
There’s always more Now later

© 2008 Greg Tamblyn, Richard Helm, Bowen White

(If you’re new to this blog and don’t know about my songs, click here.)

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