The Comedian Next Door

John Branyan

The Comedian Next Door

  1. 1d ago

    Riff 105 - Trampolines, Crawdad holes, and childhood negotiation strategies

    We start with the kind of childhood where entertainment meant going outside and finding out what could hurt us. We remember trampolines, lizard catching, dirt piles, snowball fights, snow forts, King of the Hill, and the roughhousing that occasionally produced injuries but somehow failed to produce a formal investigation. Parenting and grandparenting give us a different view of the same activities, especially now that we’re the people responsible for keeping the children alive. From there, we get into animals, crawfish mounds in yards, and the lessons kids pick up from being around nature. We talk about childhood toys and the things we once considered valuable, along with feeding animals and the encounters that made the outdoors its own education. Then we take everything we learned about sharing space as children and apply it to adults, which is where the system begins to break down. Traffic, parking, music in public, motorcycles, noise, approachability, and cultural differences all raise the same question: how much of public behavior is governed by actual rules, and how much depends on everybody choosing to not be jerks? By the end, we’re comparing the social cues of adulthood with the much simpler negotiations of childhood, when a dirt pile, or a snow fort could settle the agenda. After jumping on trampolines we traded King of the Hill for a much more complicated game with no clearly marked hill.

  2. Sep 3

    Riff 104 - Remake the worst movies, pay for premium dirt, walk on movie star names

    Why hasn’t The Sound of Music been remade? That question makes us ponder the rules that determine which Hollywood properties can be recycled indefinitely and which apparently must remain untouched. Movie scenes and celebrity anecdotes keep complicating the distinction between cultural treasure and something people simply like for no good reason. Someone made proposal that Dolly Parton needs to be a saint, a proposal that's problematic on it's own terms but doubly probIematic when the proposition comes from an atheist. If canonization worked by popular vote, celebrities would arrive with ready-made constituencies, because fame has a way of turning reputation into evidence of virtue. Popular celebrities are assigned virtues by their fans. The focus widens to another cultural achievement: convincing people to buy things that are readily available for free. Water, dirt, coffee, and other everyday products become examples of what happens when marketing convinces us to pay a premium price for bargain level items.  By the time the Hollywood Walk of Fame enters the discussion, movies, sainthood, products, and celebrity status are all running on surprisingly similar rules. A classic film can become too revered to remake, Dolly Parton can accumulate saintly credentials through public affection, and water or dirt can acquire value through presentation—while Hollywood puts famous names into the sidewalk and lets everybody walk on them.

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The Comedian Next Door

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