Louisville: My Funny Town

"They are also unimpressed by the Golden Globes."
@usernamelesser

It's January, so over at Consuming Louisville, the lovely and talented Ms. Michelle Jones is featuring her annual column "One Thing I Love About Louisville." I participated a bunch of years ago back when I was still blogging anonymously and before I ever knew anyone here in town; it was actually how I ended up meeting Michelle, who has since become a dear friend and who helped to change my Louisville life.

I've always wanted to participate again, but I'm always flummoxed. How do I come up with ONE thing I love about this city that I love SO MUCH.

Inevitably, after the deadline to volunteer passes, I think of something. And of course, I've thought of that something this year.

One thing I love about Louisville: Louisville is full of funny people.

Google the "funniest actor in Louisville." The top search result leads to my boyfriend. (Who, in my humble opinion, also deserves the title "best laugh in Louisville" and maybe even "most unsung altruist in Louisville.") Sometimes, when I mention that to someone – "you know, my boyfriend's been called the 'funniest actor in Louisville'– people will respond: "Well, IS he?"

And the answer, I think, is yes. He also happens to be a very funny person when not in character. It's what drew me to him in the first place. And it's one of the many things that keeps me psyched about loving him on a day-to-day basis.

I gravitate toward funny people. I like to think that I'm a funny person myself. But the people I love most in the world– and in this city–  are the people who make me laugh hardest and longest.

And it's not just the "expected" people; I spend a lot of time with actors and performers and writers and "public figures," and it's not surprising that they're quick with a quip.

It's my friend who graffitis her Twitter pictures with images of cats.

It's the fact sometimes I will lose whole hours at work because my co-workers (all of whom are my "superiors" at work, so I feel justified in playing along) get on a roll with funny stories.

It's my favorite mom and our friends rewriting the rulebook for the Montessori school her daughter attends.

But no joke, the funniest thing I've seen all year is local twitter humorist "Brokey McPoverty" (best handle ever!) and her #RespectableHipHop meme.

I have to admit, I follow then unfollow Brokey all the time. She's a prolific tweeter, and sometimes when she's on a roll, it is pure gold. And sometimes I'm so busy that her prolificness is just too much for my feed, and I pull the plug.

But after this most recent "roll," I may never pull the plug again.

Genius.

From her blog:

Last night, much of Twitter united to reclaim and rewrite our favorite less-than-progressive rap and hip hop lyrics.  It was a beautiful thing.

It all started when I was listening to 2 Chainz, which I do when there’s no one around to judge me for it, and I thought about the line “She got a big booty, so I call her big booty.”  I thought to myself, really?  You can’t find a more inventive nickname than that?  This is what’s passing for a rap lyric these days?  Then I thought to myself–how fucking rude.  You strip her of her name–her entire identity–and refer to her by her ass??  Inappropriate, 2 Chainz.  Not cool at all.  So, I revised it for him.

Then figured, why not help out some other misguided hippety hop rappers, too.  Thankfully, Twitter joined in on the campaign and what we got was a few of the most hilarious hours of tweets I’ve seen in awhile.  Not putting all of them here was tough, but here are some of the best.

I laughed so hard I hurt myself. That's the best kind of ouch in the world.

We have a lot of "professionally funny" people here in Louisville. We're lucky to have the Comedy Caravan and The Bard's Town. I'm not too broken up about the loss of The Improv on 4th Street Live! because we have these two homegrown venues. We have the Louisville Improvisors and Le Petomane Theatre Ensemble.  Hunter S. Thompson was funny. Muhammad Ali was and is hilarious at times.

There's Kentucky for Kentucky and Lebowski Fest. And we're about to host Pee Wee Over Louisville.

Joseph Ley's, Why Louisville, even the recently-departed and WAY-controversial Lynn's Paradise Cafe: funny stuff.

We're a funny town. We're a smart town. And I love that so often I will meet a new person and think: "Wow, that's the funniest conversation I've had in...."

In what? A week? Maybe? At most?

I love that Louisvillagers makes me laugh. For all the right reasons. Y'all are funny, funny people. Thank you for entertaining me.

Depp + Thompson + Columbia

Phew, now that the albatross of the 600th post is off my neck, here's something fun and frivolous:

Johnny Depp (KY native) + Hunter S. Thompson (Louisville native) + Columbia University (my Alma Mater) = Yay!

Monday, Johnny Depp showed the upcoming film RUM DIARY based on the last (quasi-autobiographical) novel of the late Hunter S. Thompson at the Columbia Journalism School.

From the Columbia Spectator: http://www.columbiaspectator.com/2011/10/24/rum-diary

From EW.com:  http://popwatch.ew.com/2011/10/25/johnny-depp-rum-diary-hunter-thompson/

Best quote:

For the final question of the panel, Lemann asked Depp if he would ever consider playing Thompson for a third time.  “Oh yeah,” Depp said. “I wake up with the bastard. He’s always there.”

I've seen several people ask about this on Twitter, but I haven't heard a response: is any theatre in Louisville doing anything special for the RUM DIARY premier?  If you know, drop a note my way.

Happy Deathday, Hunter S. Thompson

February 20 marks the fourth anniversary of the death of Hunter S. Thompson, Loueyvillager extraordinaire.

The makers of Flying Dog Beer-- whose labels are designed by the HST cohort, illustrator Ralph Steadman-- mark the occasion by blogging reflections on the good doctor's life by people who knew him well.

George Stranahan recalls an episode with a peacock and a badminton net and a perilous climb. He writes, "I was learning that [HST] had an extraordinary sense of his own capacities either drunk or sober." I don't know why I find that statement so lovely, but I do.

Steadman describes his annual HST deathday ritual: "What I do every year is take a large sheet of paper, a bottle of ink and a brush, look up at the moon - even if there isn’t one - then I whack it with the biggest blot I can make, date it and time- and then I sign it and toast his memory in a bottle of beer. I find it the most satisfying thing to do and it frees the frustration and sense of loss."

Lou hearts HST. She's always had a thing for men who are bad for her.

Happy deathday, Dr. Thompson. We hope you're happier wherever you are.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, HUNTER S. THOMPSON!!!

He would have been 71.

Also, in Hunter S. news: Gonzo opens today at the Baxter. Unfortunately with The Dark Knight and Mama Mia also opening, well... I'm thinking that's where people's theater dollars will be spent this weekend.

Hey... on that poster, Hunter S. kinda looks like Lou!

Required Derby Reading: "This Saw Boone?"

This time next week, I'll probably be sunburned and stupid after Oaks Day at Churchill Downs. "Stupid" is not necessarily a euphamism for "drunk," as I've learned the hard way that Lou + adult beverages + open betting windows = Ramen Noodles for the next few weeks.

Last year at this time, I felt like I had a better handle on the ponies. Or at least I thought I did. I put my big money on Dominican to take it all. There was no alcohol involved in that bet; she'd won me good money at the Bluegrass Stakes.

This year Mama has an awesome futures bet on Denis of Cork. All the pony pundits say that he's been working out like he's the one to beat, unfortunately he hasn't yet earned his way onto the Derby card. Keep your fingers crossed for me.

I've been getting myself in the mood by reading classic Derby essays by Faulkner and our native son Hunter S. Thompson.

If you're a Derby purist, Faulkner's 1955 Sports Illustrated articles celebrate the beauty of the Bluegrass region and the magestic athleticism of the thoroughbred racehorse: So it is not just betting, the chance to prove with money your luck or what you call your judgment, that draws people to horse races. It is much deeper than that. It is a sublimation, a transference: man, with his admiration for speed and strength, physical power far beyond what he himself is capable of, projects his own desire for physical supremacy, victory, onto the agent—the baseball or football team, the prizefighter. Only the horse race is more universal because the brutality of the prizefight is absent, as well as the attenuation of football or baseball—the long time needed for the orgasm of victory to occur, where in the horse race it is a matter of minutes, never over two or three, repeated six or eight or 10 times in one afternoon.

If you're happier in the infield, good ol' Hunter S. provides a dizzying account of his first experience with Ralph Steadman at the 1970 Derby. Considered the first example of Thompson's trademark "gonzo journalism," "The Kentucky Derby is Decadent and Depraved" uses the Derby as only a backdrop for an essay that's more about overindulgence, the international and social politics of the Vietnam/post-Civil Rights era, and-- as always with Thompson-- Thompson himself.

He writes: This was the last coherent decision we were able to make for the next forty-eight hours. From that point on--almost from the very moment we started out to the track--we lost all control of events and spent the rest of the weekend churning around in a sea of drunken horrors. My notes and recollections from Derby Day are somewhat scrambled....But now, looking at the big red notebook I carried all through that scene, I see more or less what happened. The book itself is somewhat mangled and bent; some of the pages are torn, others are shriveled and stained by what appears to be whiskey, but taken as a whole, with sporadic memory flashes, the notes seem to tell the story.

Interesting that Thompson notes in his essay that they didn't sell alcohol in the infield during Derby and that it cost $25 to park in the driveway of one of the houses near Churchill; some things change and some things stay the same. Weird that inflation hasn't yet taken hold of the neighbors in the Churchill 'hood ($25 is still about right these days) but in our increasingly parental society somehow Churchill has gotten less concerned about personal safety (booze in the infield-- heck yeah).

Enjoy your required reading!

Loueyville SE: IdeaFestival 2007-- Thursday Night "Taste of Innovation" and "It Never Got Weird Enough for Me"

Thursday was fairly low key. I hightailed it down to the convention center to hit my first event, which was the Taste of Innovation featuring sampling booths from most of Louisville’s best restaurants. This gets a “Cheap Eats” rating because for $10 you could eat and drink to your heart’s content—sampling food that would be $20+ a plate at nearly all of the restaurants. A chefs and a bartender gave demonstrations. Everything I had was extraordinary (with the exception of an uneatably weird sushi-tuna-steak thing from, surprisingly Jeff Ruby’s Steakhouse—he of “refused service to OJ Simpson” fame).

Leave it to me, however, to have preferred the booze to all else—Woodford Reserve’s Liquid Bourbon Ball was a drink that I will no doubt add to my repertoire—seems like a great winter drink. You can find the recipe here.

The silent auction quickly mounted beyond my price-range, but there were still good deals to be had if you had $500+.

The Hunter Thompson documentary “Buy the Ticket, Take the Ride” aired first on the Starz! Network and was part of the IF After Dark series in an event called “It Never Got Weird Enough for Me.” The movie, narrated by Nick Nolte, and all but stolen by Gary Busey in all his addled-wackiness, featured the highlights of Thompson’s life from his childhood in Louisville to his suicide at Owl Creek Ranch in 2005.

In September of 2005, after Hurricane Katrina, I stopped in my exile at a writer’s retreat in New Smyrna Beach, Florida. The guest teacher was Tom Corcoran, the writer of the Alex Rutledge mysteries, and he’d just returned from Thompson’s memorial service which had been largely funded by Johnny Depp and during which Thompson’s ashes were blasted out of a two-thumb-fist-topped cannon. Tom’s stories of the event (scroll down to 9-8-05 “Flip Flop” entry) were a nice, brief diversion. I half expected to see him in the movie. I did not expect to see my staid, distinguished, bow-tie-wearing real estate agent (actually, the brother of my real estate agent who stood in for her at my closing) as one of Thompson’s childhood friends.

The University of Louisville is currently trying to get its hands on the Thompson archives. From what I understand, there’s been some double-dealing and weirdness associated with that acquisition, as highlighted by an audience member who directed a question at Thompson’s son, Juan, during the panel discussion. I’ll try to remember to look into that.

The panel featured Juan Thompson, the director Tom Thurman, the writer Tom Marksbury, and childhood friend Ralston Steenrod (not my real estate agent). The film was interesting enough for me to consider moving on to a Thompson read-fest after I finish my Harry Potter read-fest. The panel discussion wasn’t particularly illuminating, although it’s worth noting that Marksbury seemed a bit bitter that the Starz! Network tried to make the film “more about Johnny Depp and Sean Penn” than about Thompson