Janeane Garofalo is Fucked Up

Last night, I watched Real Time With Bill Mahrer, a real favorite in this household. It was an older episode-- I'm behind the times on my tv right now because I was busy getting married and losing my best friend, regardless, I cringed a little when Janeane Garofalo's name was mentioned as a guest, because the last time I saw her, it was on Conan or Letterman, she was pushing Ratatouille, and she seemed, well a little fucked up on drugs. Last night, all my suspicions were confirmed, as she ranted on incessantly, interrupting both Rob Thomas of Matchbox Twenty fame and the hyper-polite Salman Rushdie. Man, was it a nightmare. Now, I'm the kind of person who routinely gets embarrassed for other people when my "you're making a complete fucking ass of yourself" meter goes up, and yes, that meter of mine is a touch sensitive. Maybe it's because I have a few such "characters" in my family past, but I'm aware of the fact that I am somewhat more sensitive than others to feeling shame for people who don't have the sense to feel it for themselves.

This was NOT one of those cases. Have you ever been the only stoned or drunk person in a room full of people, and no one, I mean no one is catching your vibe when you burst out with a rant about Kathy Bates in Fried Green Tomatoes, only to realize the next day that you like, totally forgot to mention both the name "Kathy Bates" and the title "Fried Green Tomatoes"? I know I haven't. But this was just like that. Now, I agree with Janeane Garofalo's politics, and I used to listen to her occasionally on Air America. I also consider myself "in the know" when it comes to topics such as the uber-liberal line of thought on say, the war in Iraq, so, I assume I got her WAY better than some bored fuck flipping through the channels in Cleveland (no offense to Cleveland) on the night that this originally aired. Neither Thomas nor Rushdie could get a word in edge-wise, and I'm fairly certain I'm not exaggerating when I say that the air on that sound stage was polluted with anxiety and fear -- that Garofalo would veer COMPLETELY off topic and there would be no way to bail her out, as they seem to have NUMEROUS times last night. To watch them have to pick up the fine tendrils, the clues she was laying left and right, to try and weave into some sense... what is it? Diet pills? Cocaine? Can't tell. My experience with drugs is basically limited to my vitamin supplements, but I know fucked-upedness when I see it. And I saw it.

Turns out it's not just frat boys that love W. Bush who are annoying when spouting mystical political catch phrases. Who knew?