I try not to do multiple posts in a single day. Partially because I don’t want to exhaust the last three or four ideas I have before the end of September, but also because I’m fantastically lazy. But once in a while something comes along that demands immediate attention.
Right now is one of those times.
Ballooned Brother-in-law reminded me of this over the neverending New Year festivations, and it is incumbent upon me to share it with you.
As you may know, I read excessively. Really, it’s obnoxious, and it throws off the national average. I’m trying to cut down, but then, well, then this sort of thing happens.
I refer to Ant Farm, by smart guy Simon Rich. His dad’s Frank Rich, and he got a two book deal before he graduated from Haaaaaaa-vaaahhd (sorry, Boston U insecurity requires me to refer to it that way any time it comes up).
2 excerpts have already been published in the New Yorker ("The Wisdom of Children" and "Hey, Look"), so you know it’s hyper-literate, and pretentious and quite possibly paddlin’-worthy. But it also happens to be hilarious. The kind of funny that makes you want to walk directly to your car and slam your head repeatedly in the driver’s-side door, if only so you might lose, via concussion, the knowledge that you’ll never write something so good. It makes me want to hunt this Simon guy down and punch him in the nads, then apologize profusely and buy him round after round of drinks.
Like Demetri Martin, he is a comedy wolf in indie-geek sheep’s skinny jeans.
So kudos, Simon. And damn you straight to hell. But mostly kudos.