Okay, so I’m a little late in joining the Lewis Black admiration society. Previous to my recent reading of I’m Dreaming of a Black Christmas, I might have seen him a few times providing commentary on TV, and I know I caught one of his routines on the Comedy Channel and thought to myself, “This guy’s gonna have a heart attack if he doesn’t take it down a notch.”
As most of us know, it’s one thing to watch a comedy routine, but reading someone’s book is naturally a more intimate experience. Thank goodness.
Lewis, thanks for holding up a mirror and showing us parts of ourselves that are just plain ridiculous. And thanks for expressing frustrations and outrage with words we all say inside our heads, but are sometimes hesitant to voice. Personally, I’m not a fan of the “F” word, but when you write it or say it, I find myself nodding my head and smiling. I”m a “shit” person myself. It seems to fit the moment, escapes my mouth before I know it’s there, and I’ve never understood why it’s viewed as being so offensive. It’s just another word for “poop.”
Anyway, thanks for being familiar and letting us experience part of life lived vicariously through you. Rant on. Make us think and maybe even wake up a bit to the idiocy around us. And a special thanks for your latest book. At times I laughed so hard my eyes watered; at other times you touched my heart gently.
If you’re ever in Columbia, Missouri – a great college town, by the way – my husband and I extend to you an open invitation for dinner and wine. Well, the invite really just comes from me, but he thinks you’re familiar, too.