T.

We saw (and heard) George Carlin tonight
at lovely Benaroya Hall where there is so much
leg room that you don't have to stand up when
someone walks down your aisle. We sat high up
in tier three, up flight after flight of stairs, and looked
down, down, dizzyingly down to the stage, where the
seventy-year-old Mr. Carlin, or "the old fuck", as he
refers to himself, pulled out all the stops. Nothing
passes him by -- no cliche, no platitude, no corporate
slogan, no political double-speak, no Bushian mumbo-jumbo.
It's all there to be examined, parsed, dissected and layed
out in cross-section, with all parts labeled. He is brilliant
and raunchy and gut-splittingly funny. Carlin began
the evening by poking fun at his advancing age, then
moved on to three particularly off-color jokes, followed
by rants on subjects ranging from Perfect Children to
What We Say To Widows At A Funeral. There is something
incredibly energizing to be in such a sizeable crowd
of laughing people.