Doug Hamlin

George Carlin left a legacy of language behind when he died Sunday night. Cynics (and fans of Carlin mostly are) will remember him for the seven words — you certainly couldn’t avoid them in obituaries and tributes to the man this week. But Carlin wasn’t a fan just of foul language. He loved euphemism; that is, he loved to attack them. He was famous for a bit on how shell shock evolved to become post-traumatic stress disorder. “I’ll bet ya, if we’d still been calling it shell shock, some of those Vietnam veterans might have gotten the attention they needed at the time,” he said.

One of my favorite Carlin albums is “Jammin’ in New York.” I was pleased this week to read it was also one of Carlin’s favorites. The album is full gems such as the ”Bigger-Dick Foreign Policy Theory” and a biting critique of cemeteries. But my favorite track from the album — indeed, the track that endeared Carlin’s wit to me back in high school — is a hilarious sendup of airline announcements — perhaps too easy a target in this age, but it was edgy in his heyday.

This week, the AP released the 2008 edition of The Associated Press Stylebook, the so-called bible of journalism. This, no doubt, would have provided endless fodder for Carlin. Changes from the previous edition include mentally retarded being replaced with mentally disabled and several updates to race and ethnicity entries. It even includes a new entry on post-traumatic stress disorder. Carlin would have been proud, or repulsed. They’re just words, he probably would have reminded us.

But Carlin wasn’t oblivious to the power of words — something he shared with the best journalists. He knew how to deliver a message straight to the gut — no dillydallying, no pulled punches, no… well you get the idea. It’s his critique of the English language, as much the AP and a cadre of wonderful writing and reporting teachers I’ve had, that, I believe, helped me to be a stronger writer and editor.

George Carlin was 71 when he died. I had the pleasure of seeing him perform once at the Orpheum Theatre in Minneapolis. That must have been about two years ago. I know that because he made a joke about his age — 69 — being his favorite number. Classy, George.

His performance that day was a little odd. He read from a script because he said the material was all fresh, and he didn’t want to disappoint by screwing up. I wondered if he was just getting too old to remember his own material. Regardless, he delivered a wonderful performance.

George Carlin was acerbic and impudent. He could be crass, some might say repugnant. But he knew how to use words to their full potential, and, I imagine, one always knew where he stood with Carlin. He said what he meant, and he didn’t much care if it hurt your feelings. In a world full of euphemisms, pandering and outright lies, that directness will be missed.

George Carlin - Airline Announcements

NPR’s Scott Simon added his own list of words Carlin probably hated today.

Tags:   ap · comedy · george carlin · language · tributeNo Comments.

Last week, a story in Slate about one woman’s attempt to become a morning person struck a chord with me. I identified all too well with the lede.

When I told my friends I had found a way to transform myself into a morning person, they responded in one of two ways. The night people leaned in as if I were about to reveal the location of a stash of pirate gold. The morning people simply regarded me with pity and wonder. “I just don’t understand why it’s so hard,” said one friend, a Danish medical student. “I can get up anytime I want.”

To a dawn-deprived night crawler such as myself, waking up at 10 or later has long been a sure way to appear lazy in the eyes of the successful. My propensity for staying up and waking up late dates back to high school, and it has only intensified since then. It’s not uncommon for me to go to bed while the sun is rising.

Truth is, I like staying up late. I get work done, I send e-mail, I watch movies and I listen to music, all while the rest of America snoozes. And back when I worked on a copy desk, work fit right in to my late-night lifestyle.

But after reading about the marginal success (or outright failure, depending on how you look at it) of the Slate writer, I decided (within minutes or reading the article) that I had to try it too.

Why change if being a night owl works for me? Well, I never said being a night owl works for me. I said I like it. In fact, it very much doesn’t work for me. It makes me feel isolated from a world on a different schedule. I wake up, and half the day is over. And besides, someday (hopefully sooner than later) I’ll have a job that requires me to get up at 6 like the rest of the downtown drones.

So I did what the article said. I bought the melatonin. I limited my evening light exposure. I set my alarm. I took a morning walk. And it all felt great. The first day.

I chronicled it via Twitter.

• 6:18 p.m.: I decide to become a morning person with a magical article.
• 7:43 p.m.: I ponder one of life’s great questions.
• 7:50 p.m.: I buy the melatonin.
• 8:11 p.m.: I consider giving up the experiment because of all the great things on the Internet that await my discovery.
• 9:14 p.m.: I am a little drowsy. Just a little.
• 9:15 p.m.: I am passing time.
• 9:32 p.m.: I still passing time.
• 9:42 p.m.: I am watching Hulu.
• 10:09 p.m.: I am wide awake.
• 10:43 p.m.: I am being stubborn.
• 10:58 p.m.: I try to sleep.
• 6:02 a.m.: I am awake and agitated.
• 6:38 a.m.: I am walking. It’s beautiful outside.
• 7:35 a.m.: I am reading The New York Times.

That’s where the chronicle ends. That day turned out to be fairly normal for me. I sat in on a couple classes that I later decided not to take. I went to bed at a reasonable time.

And then I woke up around 11 the next day. And here I am writing about the whole experience at 2:40 a.m.

Tags:   experiment · morning · night · sleepNo Comments.