Call me Liam Neeson because that joke was TAKEN!

About four years ago, I was at a party with some friends -- nothing too formal, just a bunch of friends hanging out, playing games, watching TV, etc.  One friend was a little drunk and made some racially tinged jokes at the expense of two friends who are black.  It didn't register to me, really, that the jokes had been made at all (I don't actually remember what the jokes were) and the two friends didn't seem to mind the joke.  The jokes seemed in the spirit of the evening, where a lot of people were made fun of for a lot of personal reasons.

The night ended rather abruptly when the two black gentlemen left and I got the sense that something was amiss -- it was just the sudden way that they departed.  You know how sometimes the way someone leaves might not *seem* off, but you can just tell someone's upset? It was like that.

I don't remember how I got word that they were both angry about the jokes, but I know I got it second hand. I reached out to both of them to apologize.  I told them that even though I hadn't made the jokes in question, I let it happen unanswered. I wasn't sensitive to their feelings. I hadn't been a good friend.  They both accepted the apology, but one went onto say something that still affects me four years later:

"It's okay -- you don't know what it's like to be a black person in a room full of white people. You can't know. That's not your fault, that doesn't make you a bad person. You just can't understand how I felt."

And that brings me to the Oscars.  I watched the Oscars with one friend.  We're both guys.  We loved it. We laughed our asses off at Seth MacFarlane's jokes.  Only hours later when I got home and read the reaction on Twitter did it even occur to me that his jokes could have been sexist. 

The more I think about it and the more intelligent, funny women I know who can most definitely "take a joke" have spoken out about it, the more I accept that I'm up against something I can't understand because I'm not a woman. And I'll bet a woman would be a far better judge than I in terms of what's sexist.

So with that in mind, yeah, Seth's show was sexist.  I don't think that was his intention, but that was his result.

To explore what I mean by "his intention", I'm going to go back in time four years once more:  In 2009, David Letterman angered the right wing with a joke about Sarah Palin's daughter (not the one of legal age, the younger one) having sex with a baseball player.  When he apologized, he offered an incredibly profound statement:

"I told a bad joke. I told a joke that was beyond flawed, and my intent is completely meaningless compared to the perception.  And since it was a joke I told, I feel that I need to do the right thing here and apologize for having told that joke. It's not your fault that it was misunderstood, it's my fault that it was misunderstood."

(Anyone who wants to point out Letterman's recent comments that he's not sure he should have apologized can bite me. This quote remains true, delivery's motivations be damned.)

I've never gotten 100% on board with the "people have to learn how to take a joke" crowd for a number of reasons, most of all that it implies that an audience owes something more than the price of admission.  I'm told again and again by funny people that "nothing should be sacred", but apparently the integrity of a joke is always sacred?  That doesn't line up.

I get what Seth was going for with the "Boobs" song. I don't need the joke explained to me.  But it seems the mass audience didn't.  That's the audience to whom the Oscars telecast is selling their show, and that's the difference.  Out of my male-centric tunnel vision (we ate sausage!), I can recognize that.  The Oscars are not a comedy show.  They feature comedy, but they are not a comedy show.  MacFarlane wasn't the right host for that show.

(Incidentally, I don't think he owes anyone an apology.  The Academy owes an apology -- they knew who they were hiring.)

 Comedy comes under enough fire from people who don't "get it," and I don't think that this should lead to a widespread discussion of "what's funny," as if a society could ever come to agreement on that.  I certainly don't think a comedian in a comedy club or a performer on a comedy show or what have you should have to censor themselves.  The venue demands honesty.  If someone sought out comedy, they shouldn't be surprised when they're offended (though laughter's the sound of surprise, right, improv nerds?!)

But by the same token, let's not pretend that every time someone gets offended it's because they "can't take a joke."  If comedy's all in the delivery, then doesn't that assume shared responsibility between the performer and the audience?  Why is the onus on them alone to be understanding?

There are a zillion reasons why that person could be offended, and some of them are perfectly valid.  Maybe it's something the rest of us can't possibly understand, and as show business's customer, they are allowed to overreact.  Particularly when it's during the Oscars, a show they might be watching for something other than the host.

I think Seth MacFarlane is an incredible comic talent.  But as an Oscars host, he was all wrong, and his show ended up being sexist.  I think that's too bad, because I've heard great things about him as a boss and collaborator from people who have worked with him (and not a one of those people were white males) I also feel badly if this cost him some fans who might otherwise love his work in the right context.

That said, the Lincoln joke was gold.

(P.S.: Two months after the incident at the party, I sat with one of those same friends and watched Transformers 2.  There are two excruciatingly racist characters in that movie, and I was embarrassed watching it.  My friend had to stop me from walking out of the theater by saying,  "It's just a movie, calm down.")

Permission to Play

Below is a post by an improviser and actor named Dion Flynn.  He's someone whose work I am just getting to be familiar with.  You've seen him play President Obama on Late Night with Jimmy Fallon and can see him perform Monday nights at the PIT, among other venues.  He's pretty amazing, but the below is something that anyone in any profession can appreciate:

Permission To Play (Dion Flynn 2012)

We see an improv performer awaiting her turn onstage. She sweats. Her throat so dry it clicks when she swallows. The voice in her head demands she be Fantastic. Superhuman. Perfect.

The voice chides: "You'd better dazzle them with the most jaw-droppingly funny and astounding things you can think of." This mental villain is convincing because it speaks to our performer in her own voice.

Our performer sweats and waits to enter the playing space and with each passing second becomes less and less capable of doing anything creative, let alone: fantastic, funny or collaborative.

As performers on stage and in life we approach tasks with huge expectations of ourselves and others and for extra difficulty we bring a few suitcases full of unresolved issues and unmet needs. Sometimes the event at hand cannot provide what we are demanding of it.

"I want this next powerpoint presentation to complete me as a person."

"If my boss likes this report, I'll be safe forever."

They sound extreme, but we burden situations thusly all the time.

The year was 1999. I had just graduated from NYU's Graduate acting program and I hadn't been happy with myself as a performer for a while. I didn't know what the problem was.

I was performing various small roles in the Public Theater's production of Hamlet starring Liev Schrieber. The director, Andrei Serban, chose, at one point in the show, to turn up the lights on the audience so that we actors could confront the faces in the crowd. As stage performers we know that you can't always see every face beyond the first few rows. Well, when act 3 scene ii of the show came around every night with the house lights exposing our crowd, something strange happened.

I realized anew every night that my parents were not in the audience. And more significantly that I had ever thought they were.

You see, unbeknownst to me, I had been performing for a large part of my life (up 'til then) thinking, at some dim level, that my parents were in every darkened audience and that they were going to give my work their special brand of love and approval --- which they had in real life -- my parents were very supportive. However, there remained a deep and unconscious expectation which I brought to bear every performance. This unconscious drive fueled my need to perform and caused me deep unhappiness. For you see, no one from the outside can give us the necessary love and permission to play freely upon the stage. Any stage. No coach. No teacher.

This applies whether you are acting upon a stage off-Broadway or prepping a brief at a law firm with offices on Broadway.

The mental noise from my past can stop me from playing freely or from working effectively. See it. Say it. Surrender it.

1) I see that this is happening.
2) Admit it, knowing that it's ok.
3) Let it go and play.

Nowadays, I am performing again. Only, these days I have permission from inside myself to play freely. It's made all the difference.

"Next time, try debating" or, my letter to Barack Obama that he'll never read

Dear Mr. President,

There is a panic mode amongst liberals at election time that's never made much sense to me, but the "bed wetting" nature was in full effect last night after the debate.  Andrew Sullivan of the Daily Beast said your performance may have cost you the election.  The post-debate coverage on MSNBC was in full-scale panic mode -- I thought Chris Matthews was about to weep, Ed Schultz was about to physically explode and poor Rachel Maddow was going to come up tragically short with hip metaphors. That said, it was a pretty poor showing.  And poor is unacceptable.

I'm pretty biased towards you, Mr. President.  I think you've consistently appealed to our better nature as a country, and I believe your policies have kept our country out of a second great depression.  I like that you're a good father and the decency of your family values are a model more leaders (and people) should follow.

But Mr. President, if you're going to send me upwards of seventeen fundraising e-mails a day and ask for my money for your campaign, then you owe me more than leadership, you owe me treating your debate like you give a shit.  You owe me and your supporters, people who have put your name on their chests and knocked on doors for you, a fucking effort.

As much as I love you, I'm also aware you were elected President of the Harvard Law review.  What does that mean? That means a bunch of Harvard Law Students thought you werethe best.  What does that mean? That means a bunch of people who are probably unbearable pricks thought you were the best, which means you're probably an unbearable prick at times.

So be that unbearable prick to Mitt Romney.  Don't be that unbearable prick to your supporters.  That's what you did last night, Mr. President.  I appreciate that you're not comfortable playing the political game, and I admire that about you.  But if you want to win this thing, then you have to fight the way the game is fought.  You knew that going in.  We knew that going in.  You haven't let us down over four years.  Sure, you haven't always done what we wanted, but I always felt you tried.  Most people feel that way.

But I sure didn't feel that way last night.

Withholding money until you try debating,
Tom Brennan

Recent events suggest that fuck it, you're going to do this yourself.

Pensacola, FL.

Events at your office around about 5:46 in the afternoon on a Friday suggest that that fuck it, you're going to do this yourself.  This will occur despite the fact that everyone you work with has the same job and thus, arguably, the same level of education and intuition as you do and should therefore be perfectly capable of getting it the fuck done. Nevertheless, no one in this office-shaped septic tank is apparently smart enough to just knuckle down, nut up, and take care of this stupid fucking bullshit.  You then proceeded to storm down the hall, poor a cup of coffee and mutter about how "this god damn place is killing you," and that your mother was correct in her assertion that you should have gone to fucking law school.  At press time, you were buying ice cream for an intern as an apology for telling him to "get his doughy, college ass home if he wasn't going to fucking help you."  The intern in question bought a Chip-Wich.

Words, Words, Words...

Been off the map for the past few days with a nasty virus.  Tons of fun, lying on a sofa bed in agonizing pain, drenched in cold sweats and aching...well...everywhere.  And the madness! Oh the Madness.  But I'm back and getting caught up on the news.

Earlier today, MSNBC co-host Toure apologized for his comments on Thursday, when he argued that the Romney campaign was engaging in the "niggerization" of President Obama.  His argument was that Romney's recent attempts to paint the Obama campaign as a "campaign of anger and hate" was intended to stoke racial fears in white voters, placing the image of the angry black man in their heads.

While I don't entirely agree with Toure (also, Toure, pal, I love you, but you're a journalist. Get a last name), I think it's a fair argument to make.  Don't get me wrong, I do not believe the Republican Party is racist.  But I do believe they know exactly what they're doing when they say Barack Obama is running a "Gangster Government" and they'll take whatever comments like that will provide.

But while I don't entirely agree, I'm not sure why he had to apologize.  I guess it's because of the word he used.  Again, not sure why. He wasn't using it hatefully, he was making an argument.  He was stating his beliefs and he may have used some shocking language, but he used it to make a clear point.  He wasn't even trying to paint Romney as a racist, just as an opportunist.  And to be fair, Romney's running for President, so, he is an opportunist.

Meanwhile, over on Fox, Geraldo Rivera, a running joke in the newsmedia who somehow managed to have two names, asked if a "Lesbian Cabal" was secretly running the Department of Homeland Security.  Recently the DHS has come under fire due to a number of sexual harassment lawsuits, with male employees claiming they have been on the receiving end of intimidation, humiliation and degradation.  One of the top aides to DHS Secretary Janet Napolitano has taken a leave of absence thanks to the lawsuits. It seems Geraldo was trying to be playful in his comments on this case. What with how playful it is.

Now, I don't know much about this case beyond the facts and won't comment.  But I'm not sure where lesbianism comes into play.  Maybe some of the folks in charge are lesbians, I just don't know that for a fact.  I know rumors have abounded in political circles that Secretary Napolitano is a lesbian. She denies it, but to be fair to those who perpetuate the myth, Ms. Napolitano is single, has short hair and is a bit on the hefty side.  So, y'know, she must be a lesbian, right? Makes sense? Makes sense.

Even if the people in charge of DHS are lesbians and every fact in this case were true, that wouldn't make them a secret cabal of lesbians. It would make them a secret cabal of assholes.

And yet, to my knowledge and web search, I have seen no apology from Geraldo for what he said.  Were I in a position to order him to apologize, would I? Probably not, Geraldo is a joke in and of himself, and I don't think jokes should ever be apologized for.

But if Toure, a black man who has likely been on the receiving end of "niggerization" in his life has to apologize for a word, then Geraldo should have to apologize for his words, and for the ideas that, knowingly or unknowingly, he propagates with his inappropriate comments: that women in power may be lesbians, that lesbians are different and have a secret agenda against us, and that they are anti-men.

 See, words aren't the problem. As George Carlin said, there are no bad words, just bad thoughts. Bad ideas. Why are words punished more than thoughts? Toure had a point worth exploring, right or wrong. Geraldo made an offensive joke for fun.

If this seems like a vague line of thought, I apologize, cause I'm figuring this out as I go. But in an era where stand up comedians have to apologize for jokes, I think it's baffling that a journalist would have to apologize for using a word in an articulate point and another wouldn't have to apologize for making a vulgar attempt at humor.

Speaking of George, I'm gonna let him finish this one for me.



(Side note, I don't know if Toure has ever experienced "niggerization" but he was born and raised in Boston, so, I'm gonna bet I'm right.)

The day I met Joe Kubert

A few months ago, my colleague at Marvel, Senior Editor Nick Lowe, was kind enough to invite me to join him to spend a day working off-site at the Kubert School in Dover New Jersey, the three year technical school specializing in sequential art story telling.  In short, it's comic book college, and it was founded by a legend of the profession, Joe Kubert.

Our job that day was to review the portfolio of the school's soon-to-graduate senior class.  The day went very well--the school clearly doesn't just teach it's students how to be artists but also how to be professionals.  They were a group of smart, hard working students with some real talent, and I was happy to give them my advice and insight for whatever it was worth.

As the day wound down and we wrapped up with the students and were taken downstairs too spend some time with Joe Kubert in his office.  As we walked downstairs, I felt this sudden rush of anxiety.  I was nervous, and with good reason.


First of all, the Kubert School itself uses an old high school building for it's campus.  It was picked, in part, because the tall, wide windows provide optimum lighting for the students to work on their projects.  Joe's office was once, I assume, the principal's office.  I instantly felt like a seventeen year old boy in trouble.  But more importantly, Joe Kubert is, as I mentioned before, a legend in our industry.  The man's first paying work was technically in 1938 when he was 13 years old.  He started drawing in the Golden Age of Comics.  He was (I believe) still working up to this year.  His school produced some of the finest artists working in comics today.  It could be argued that he's responsible for a generation of comics art.

I'm telling you all of this so that you'll understand why I entered his office and instantly said to myself, "You have no business offering your opinions on comics to this man."

Yet, Mr. Kubert was an incredibly warm, welcoming man who treated myself and Nick as equals -- as fellow professionals in the field. At eighty-five years old, he was sharp as ever.  Still, I stayed pretty quiet and listened. I coasted on my expert listening face until Joe turned to me and asked me directly, "Tom, what do you think?"

Seriously? Joe Kubert just asked me what I "thought"? Joe. Kubert. Really? This was happening in my life?
I'm quick to mock myself as one of the comic biz's least knowledgeable editors when it comes to my knowledge of the business's history.   So I can't say I was ever intimately familiar with Joe's work as a reader.  But I know his impact.  I work with artists who studied under him.  I work with artists who worked as art assistants to him.  To have this man ask me my opinion felt important.  Perhaps even wrong.  How can this legend ask me, at best a novice and at worst a cowardly fraud what he "thinks" about comics?

But then something amazing happened.  I answered. And I listened to myself -- I was making sense.  I was speaking like a knowledgeable professional.  Again, I have no memory what we were talking about.  I just know I was right.

"I agree with you, Tom." Joe told me when I finished my point, adding, "I couldn't have said it better myself."

I'll bet he could.  Shortly after that conversation, we left Joe's office and began our trip back to New York.


When I found out a few hours ago that Joe Kubert died today, I froze.  I was walking down a busy sidewalk and stopped right in my tracks.  This is a man who I spent about 30 minutes of my life talking with, and yet, the effect he had on me may have very well changed my life.  And all he had to do was ask me my opinion and then confirm for me that maybe, just maybe, I'm not an idiot.  I believed in myself that day.

My thoughts and prayers are with the Kubert family today.  The man lead an amazing life and while we should celebrate that fact, there's nothing harder than losing someone you've loved who has always been there.  I don't know what I want my life to be, but I know one thing -- if I'm the kind of person whose death can stop a man I met once in his tracks and whose words can inspire a near stranger, well, then, I'll feel I did all right.


Thanks for making me believe in myself, Mr. Kubert.

Did Romney Just Take the Bait?

With this morning's announcement of Paul Ryan as Mitt Romney's running mate on the 2012 GOP Ticket, a few things spring to mind.  First of all if elections are decided on which candidate you want ot have a beer with, I don't know what anyone is going to do this time around. Biden doesn't drink, Obama's a Harvard Law grad, so he's gotta be unbearable two drinks in, Romney's a Mormon and Paul Ryan's ID isn't fooling any bouncer.

Moreover, at face value, this seems like an odd move for Romney.  Yes, Ryan's a fresh face and a rising star in his party, and yes, he's a leading voice on the economy for his party.  But he's also a leader of the least productive Congress on record, which seems antithetical to Mitt Romney's anti-politician, outsider message. To me, I think Mitt Romney just fell into a trap set by the Conservative leaders of his party who never wanted him as candidate in the first place.  Let me explain.

Ot seemed like a no-brainer  for Romney to pick a Governor or someone not currently in the Congress.  It would reinforce the "Washington has failed" argument Romney is trying to push.  Over at the Wall Street Journal, my friend Robert George made a great argument for Bobby Jindal, Governor of Louisiana, a few weeks back, and he touched on the idea of political narratives.  And that's where the Ryan pick confuses me.  

The winning campaigns in modern American history are the ones that produce a narrative, and really, "modern" is a subjective phrase.  Kennedy ran on the New Frontier, Johnson on continuing the late Kennedy's dream, and Nixon on restoring order to an unruly America.

More recently, Bill Clinton made the running mate part of the story, picking, as Robert George points out, a "clone" of himself in Al Gore, to demonstrate a new Democratic Party, not  defined by geography but by ideas.  In 2000, Bush sought to restore dignity to the White House, and picked a man from his father's administration, arguably a dignified team, to do so.  And in 2008, Barack Obama picked Senator Joe Biden due to his strong working class roots to help re-define the Democratic Party as a party of the people who's candidates are "average guys"

So what, exactly, does Paul Ryan's pick mean?  I wouldn't go with Ryan's personal narrative  Ryan doesn't have a bad past in any of my readings -- the fact that his father, grandfather and great-grandfather all died young of heart attacks makes him someone for whom I can't help but feel a great deal of sympathy.  It seems like he is a good family man and has a fine mother who pushed him to succeed.

But the man has spent most of his adult life working in government.  He stayed quiet during the Bush Administration's economic mismanagement, and then only decided ot stand up on matters of the economy once a Democrat was in office.  I don't fault him on that, necessarily -- I get how the party system and seniority systems in Congress work.  But the record in those Bush years can only reinforce the image that Mitt Romney's campaign is one of say-anything, do-anything flip-flopping.

So besides keeping the argument about the economy, one that isn't a slam dunk for either man, why did Romney pick him?  Last night, Robert Costa of the conservative-leaning National Review,  took to Twitter to argue that the pick means Mitt Romney "understands the times, what Wisconsin means to the right and the national debate" and linked to his article in March about the cheese state's recent swing to the right.

It's an interesting point, but I don't think it's correct. I don't think Mitt Romney is running for election just to help the Republican party in the state of Wisconsin or any state.  And I think the conservative movement's very recent near-bed wetting excitement over Paul Ryan isn't about helping Mitt Romney. It's about helping the GOP take the White House in 2016.

It's a running joke in political circles that the Republican Party always nominates the runner-up from the last election.  I can't find any definitive sources vouching for it, mind you, so I concede this argument is formed entirely based off what I've heard at parties in my days hobnobbing amongst reporters and political types.  (And before you say I only talk to Democrats, I go to all kinds of Republican events.  Those guys and gals have a better sense of humor).

Of the last 8 Republican Presidential nominees, only two hadn't finished as the runner-up in the previous primary campaign.  Those two? George W. Bush, who had the benefit of a family name, and Gerald Ford, who had never run for President before he ascended to the office after Nixon's resignation.

If there isn't a science to it, then it's certainly clear that losing the Republican Nomination is still a major stepping stone in the party (wrap your brain around that logic).  So if that's true, what else is true?  Among other things, your second place options are Rick Santorum, Ron Paul and Newt Gingrich.

Yikes.

It was pretty public how displeased the GOP establishment was with their options for the election.  The Draft InsertRepublicanWhoJustDidAGreatJobBeatingUpDavidGregoryHere movement was in full swing.  Even Paul Ryan himself was mentioned often as a potential candidate.

The pick of Paul Ryan reads like Mitt Romney trying to appease the establishment.  And the motives of the establishment read to me like a group plotting to take it's beating this fall while sling-shotting the Boy Wonder onto the national stage, at the expense of Mitt Romney's chances.

Of course, I could be wrong.  Ryan has a ton of positives.  He's never come off as particularly mean-spirited in his remarks, and he could put Wisconsin in play.  His fiscal policies could attract the Ron Paul crowd.  I highly doubt it--people do vote for the top of the ticket, not the bottom.  And Mitt is still the face of this campaign

But even if I'm wrong, in the game of political narratives, you have two choices:

(1) The President who inherited a terrible economy and has worked relentlessly at fixing it (whether you agree with his decisions or not) and his running mate, who's played a key role in negotiating those solutions with a stagnant congress.

(2) The extremely wealthy governor who can't take a punch and his running mate who has at best has been mired in a do-nothing congress and, at worst, has been culpable in that congress's laziness.  

If I'm Paul Ryan and the GOP establishment, I spend this fall pushing the former.  In short, I think Paul Ryan 2016 is kicking off right now in Virginia.

*=worth noting, the preceding editorial was written by an author who will delight in reminding older voters in PA this fall that Paul Ryan wants to slash Medicare.