Poised between Ellen Degeneres and her wide-eyed Pollyanna musings and Rosie O’Donnell’s bilious observances, there’s stand-up perennial Paula Poundstone. The Alabama native simply tattle-tales on herself in a signature deadpan, stumbling onto wince-making universal truths. Starting out in comedy clubs in 1979, the award-winning Poundstone made the transition to TV and has performed on several HBO specials. Adored by fellow comedians, she has been booked numerous times by Jay Leno and David Letterman. (A misguided 1993 TV variety series, however, lasted two episodes.)
While raising three kids as a single mother has limited her club gigs, Poundstone was able to transfer her coruscating wit intact to the page with her first book There’s Nothing In This Book That I Meant To Say (Random House, 2007). She has also written math books for students. Having just released her first CD, I Love Jokes: Paula Tells Them in Maine, Poundstone is in the process of writing her second book. From her home on the West Coast, the comedian shared her views on the new president, sleeping on Timothy Leary’s couch and the value of Dumbo’s feather.
Paula Poundstone will perform at the Bearsville Theater on March 7 at 9pm.
(845) 679-4406; www.bearsvilletheater.com.
CHRONOGRAM: You hail from Sudbury, Massachusetts. Have you ever gone back there for a reunion or for a stand-up gig?
PAULA POUNDSTONE: Many times, many times. I actually did a benefit at my high school many many times, starting in the 80s all the way up to the late 90s. And in the last couple of years, I brought my children to Sudbury, Massachusetts and we were going ñ now, you have to know Massachusetts well to know exactly how far out of oneís way you have to go to do this. We would be in Manchester, Mass. Which is on the North Shore and weíd be heading out to Pittsfield, Mass., which is in Western Mass. Weíd swing by Sudbury, withy the main purpose being to g to the penny candy store on Route 20 in Sudbury, mass. Candy hasn’t been a penny there since I was a little girl. But when you add all that gasoline to it, it isn’t a bargain.
CHRONOGRAM: A lot of comedian attribute their need for comedy to their past; to growing up. Was there anything about growing up in Sudbury, which helped define you as a person with a comic outlook on life?
PP: I don’t think so. Sudbury was a really nice place to grow up; it was fairly sheltered in most ways. We had conservation land behind our house ñ which, by the way, theyíve long since built on. They didn’t when I was a kid. I spent a lot of time walking around the woods and riding your bikes down streets where most people knew you. And if you did something stupid, somebody was gonna tell on you. Mrs. Gutcher told on me and Janet Ross for jumping out the second-floor window.
CHRONOGRAM: Did you hurt yourself?
PP: No! We were practicing for a fire, we told each other.
CHRONOGRAM: Was she just the neighborhood busybody?
PP: Well, we thought so, when we heard she ratted us out like that. We had no tolerance for what we viewed as disloyalty. But, as it turns out, it was probably a good thing.
CHRONOGRAM: From a quick survey of comedians in America, you emerge as one of the better-informed people —
PP: Thatís frightening.
CHRONOGRAM: As a testament to that, you have a great gig on the NPR current events show ìWait, Wait, Don’t Tell Me!î Does that require being more voracious about what you read on a weekly basis to keep up?
PP: No. I don’t even know how to describe how uninformed I am. And I try really hard during those weeks to keep up. I was just telling somebody today: I was in san Francisco for awhile, and I was lucky enough ñ not by anything I did by design, honestly ñ but I was lucky enough to be apart of the comedy scene back there that was very creative. The audiences looked for people who were doing insane things that were more alternative ñ or we told ourselves we were, anyway. And the audience told us we were. We all may have just been fooling ourselves. But it did feel like they were willing to wait for the laugh, they were willing to find the path les trod ñ not untrod, but less trod. It was jut really a great thing. And I was just telling somebody today: The truth is, at that time in my life, I didn’t ever watch he news; I had not a clue what was going on in the world outside of me. And when recently, theyíve talked about how unemployment rates are as high as they were in 1982, I had no idea the unemployment rate was high in 1982. I-I-I was alive and telling my jokes and doing fairly well, but just didn’t have a clue.
I lived one summer with Tim Leary ñ well, not really for a whole summer, but briefly ñ and he came and woke me up while taking a nap one time, which I thought was just terrible, and it was about 5 oíclock in the afternoon. And he said, ìThe news is on.î And I was like, ìYeah?î And he was all excited, jumping up and down like a little kid. And I could care less. And h said, ìYou don’t watch the news?î And I said, ìOf course I don’t watch the news.î And he said, ìWell, come watch it now.î And I said, ìNo, it would be like coming in in the middle of a movie.î And he said, ìAnything you have a question about, Barbara [his wife] and I will answer. My first question was ìWhatís South Africa?î
I mean, I was way uninformed. And therefore, it is with great pride that I take the stage on ìWait, Wait, Don’t Tell Me!î Iíve redeemed myself with the news, but Iím battered by the storm, Iím hanging on to the little bit of knowledge I can glean each week. And this is borne out by the fact that I lose repeatedly on that show; in seven years, I think maybe Iíve won four times now. And I may be exaggerating for the sake of publicity; it may have been three times.
CHRONOGRAM: I just wanted to confirm something; you lived with scientist and LSD advocate Timothy Leary?
PP: The guru of the 1960s—
CHRONOGRAM: — who is circling overhead in perpetual orbit?
PP: Yeah. Itís as it should be. Yeah, I knew him; he was a friend of a friend, and I knew him in that friend of a friend way. And one time we were at a party, and I was a bit shy of a place to live. And his wife made the sad mistake of saying, ìWell, you can stay with us.î Most of the people I knew at that time in my life were a little bit more solvent than I was. I was still in my early 20s and doing the friendís couch to the friendís rug routine. I had some friends who sere older than me, and they just didn’t do that anymore. So there was a little bit of shame with which I pulled into their driveway that fated day. Tim opened his arms and said, ìConsider this one of your homes on the planet,î which was such a Tim Leary thing to say. And hen I overstayed my welcome, to be totally honest with you, and he began ñ Iím sure, he didn’t say it with his words ñ to wish I had more homes on the planet.
CHRONOGRAM: But now Santa Monica is—
PP: — my home on the planet.
CHRONOGRAM: Youíve committed yourself to a lot of causes: social issues like the Comic Relief concerts; and political matters like a column in Mother Jones and 1993 inauguration coverage on Tonight with Jay Leno. Youíre also a spokesperson for Friends of Libraries USA. As an unapologetic left-leaning liberal, do you see the election of President Obama as a signal of less comic material?
PP: I don’t think so. Itís true that I might be hard-pressed to parody him. Itís the rest of us that deserve mocking at this point. I was hearing this story on NPR today, a really sad story about some penguins. Theyíre not the Emperor penguin; theyíre a different breed of penguin. They are so hardwired to do what theyíve always done, which is: they jump off their ice place, and they swim out to the good fishing ground. They do it every day; theyíve always done it. As the ice melts, the distance to their food place gets longer. They can only fish during the day. So, on their way to that place, they pass many other fish that they can eat. But thatís not their eating place, so they won’t eat there. They have to go to the original eating place; theyíre that hardwired. And they are, therefore, not able to have enough hours of daylight to sustain themselves, and therefore theyíre dying out of malnutrition.
Human beings, and particularly Americans, are clearly that hardwired as well. Because no matter how many times I hear that we’re on the brink of disaster, every speech I hear that tells me things are really [okay], I just readjust my fantasy of who it is thatís going to rescue us before this summer. I fund myself just unable to grasp that notion; I don’t know what to do with that. When Obama came, there was something so compelling about this guy, that I just can’t bring myself to believe that heís not going to rescue us. You know what I mean? So after awhile, itís us whoís a little bit silly.
I didn’t think we should have a big inauguration festivity. I think he should have been sworn in ñ not on the Q.T. exactly, but really on a cut-rate [level] and then get into that office and get to work. I really feel like the celebration happened in Chicago on the night of the election. And that now he really needs to proceed with hard work. And when we have achievement, we should then celebrate ñ when weíve fixed something. W4e should party so loud that Canada calls the cops on us.
I watched the [election night gathering in Grant Park] on TV like so many people did. I watched this huge crowd ñ some people are actually climbing on the Ulysses S. Grant statue. I watched this huge crowd of people and [Obama] would say, ìThere are storm clouds gatheringî and they would cheer and smile! I thought, What is it about us? So, I don’t really see him as the [one] to parody so much as the rest of us.
CHRONOGRAM: In what ways have your three children had an effect on your comic style and choice of material?
PP: Iím more tired; I deliver my jokes more slowly. You know, my act is largely autobiographical and always has been. Even when I talk about politics, I only talk about politics as I experience it; Iím not a Rhodes scholar. Iím certainly not fair and balanced. I talk about the little bit that I know. I admit openly that I might be wrong right from the start; itís just my perception on that day. But when I was 19 years old and just starting out, I talked about bussing tables and taking public transportation ñ and it looks like Iíll be doing that again soon. So my kids came along, and I talk about being the best-I-can-do parent ñ with no answers and no advice to share.
CHRONOGRAM: You made the decision to make your court-ordered alcoholism rehabilitation a part of your act, and audience allegiance came back to you tenfold. Did you have any doubts that would happen?
PP: I don’t know if anythingís happened tenfold; everything has been an uphill and difficult slog, both personally and professionally as a result of all of that. It’s funny to say that I made the decision; the truth is that , again, because my act is largely autobiographical, there was no decision to be made. I talk about what Iím doing and how Iím doing it ñ even if I were working on a rockpile, I guess. In a way, there wasnít really a choice to be made. There was some mean mail, too, but largely I got a lot of mail of support. I got a lot of people literally pulling over while I was walking the dog. Itís like kicking an anthill and watching them get right back to work, rebuilding the anthill. Except that in this case, I kicked my own anthill.
I wasnít working huge amphitheatres to begin with; I worked a couple but they werenít full. I wasnít breaking any records in terms of audience size to begin with. I think Iíve always been a bit of an unacquired taste. But thereís some diehard fans.
CHRONOGRAM: Nothing kills comedy faster than analyzing it, so weíll refrain from that. But I will ask you to share the best advice from a fellow comedian.
PP: Dana Carvey and I used to philosophize about comedy a lot. Itís not so much that he was correct, but it was like Dumboís feather. He used to tell me, it didn’t matter what other [comedians] were doing around me. Heíd tell me, you have this really special quality, and you canít manufacture that. Itís the thing that all else comes from. And I don’t even know what that means really in retrospect, but at the time I loved hearing it. One day he took this yellow legal pad, which he used for his own notes, and he drew a diagram that somehow illustrated this point. I remember there was a circle somewhere in the center. And I carried it with me for years actually, kind of like Dumboís feather. It didn’t even need to be true; it just needed to be that I believed that. And I did for awhile. [laughs] I now see from a financial point of view how that doesn’t work out at all. But God, it felt good to hear him say it.
CHRONOGRAM: Final question. Do you think George Carlin and Sam Kinison have anything to discuss up in heaven?
PP: I think the good news for both of them is that there is no heaven.
This article appears in March 2009.
