I love to laugh. I have been blessed with the ability to “Find the Funny” in pretty much every situation, with the curse of cackling during wildly inappropriate situations. (I put the “fun” in funeral).
In my younger days, I spent a fair amount of time with a frozen drink in one hand and a cig in the other, leaning back in my chair whilst hooting and hollering away in the lounge of The Comedy Connection in my home city. I was loud, making questionable decisions, and loved every minute of laughing along with the crowd. Steve Sweeney was always my favorite live show to catch. His wicked Boston accent and his ranting about all things New England was beyond relatable and hysterical. I loved it.
As I grew older, my poor choices diminished along with my hearing. My cigs were officially retired in 1997, and my frozen drinks downgraded to a soda. My love for live comedy remained, but suddenly it was noticeably more difficult to enjoy an evening out as I once did. I first noticed it back in 2008 when I snagged coveted tickets to one of my favorite comics, George Carlin. My seats were relatively close to the stage and while I could hear him, the clarity of speech was startlingly diminished compared to previous stand up shows. My desire to attend a live stand up show came to a sudden and screeching halt. I left that show feeling defeated that once again my hearing loss took away an activity that I loved, however rare of an indulgence.
I shied away from stand-up comedy shows for the next 11 years, until I was surprised with tickets to see my all-time favorite comedian, Norm McDonald. I fell hard for Norm during his time on SNL. His unapologetic and unhinged style resonated deeply with my own unapologetic and unhinged humor. My ecstatic reaction shifted quickly to quiet, internal panic because I had no idea how I was going to be able to enjoy the show. How would I hear and understand him? By 2018 my hearing had decreased to the point that I could not watch any media without captions, and even with the captions it was becoming increasingly difficult to make out the clarity of speech, resulting in my “reading” the TV more than anything else.
I trooped to the Wilbur Theater the evening of the show hoping that I would be able to enjoy enough to have a few laughs with the rest of the crowd. As I trudged along, I thought about how I would need to decide if I would laugh along with the audience if I missed a joke, or if I would sit in silence wondering forever what was so humorous.
Upon arrival, I learned that this particular show was being recorded for a Netflix special to be released later on in the year. I could have cried. This guaranteed that I would be able to watch back the show from home and really enjoy every minute from the comfort of my couch with the aid of captions.
I did love being in the same room with Norm, even though I know I did not get at least 50% of the jokes, but found comfort in knowing that I could watch it back later on upon its Netflix release.
It was worth every second of effort as Norm passed away in 2021.
RIP, Turd Ferguson, and thanks for the laughs.
Leave a Reply