The Blowhard

I think the first thing that stands out, among the numberless unpleasant qualities of the Blowhard, is that within two minutes of sitting down I could hear him compare himself to Larry David.  The Blowhard and company were late arrivals to the sushi bar.  He was accompanied by a middle-aged woman with a poor complexion and two college-aged kids, a boy and a girl.  I’m not entirely sure, but it seems as if the boy was the son and the girl, unfortunate soul, was dating the boy and forced to endure an evening of dining with this insufferable trio.  Why is it that I think that the young woman may have been an outsider?  First of all, she was the only one among them who had the words “please” and “thank you” in her arsenal.  Secondly, an aside directed at the young lady by the Blowhard himself made me think that she may have been a new initiate to their reprehensible way of life:

“The only time you’ll catch us drinking beer at a sushi bar is if they don’t have any sauvignon blanc.”

Well, Blowhard, I’m sorry you had to slum it.  I hope your delicate palate survived the experience of having as something as pedestrian a beer slosh across you precious tongue--the precious tongue that has no doubt given birth to so many of your Larry-David-style witticisms.  If one is not familiar with the work of Larry David, yet knows the Blowhard, one might assume the following:

Larry David is not at all funny.

Larry David is a pompous windbag.

Larry David is a snob.

Larry David is a bully.

Larry David has a shrewish, hateful wife.

Larry David has a grubby, selfish, dirty son with fat, dwarfish arms and legs and a complete lack of decorum while inside a restaurant.

Now, I must say I am familiar with the work of Larry David--I would even go as far as saying that I think Larry David is great.  He has made me laugh countless times.  The Blowhard, not so.  Let’s take a moment to examine an example of the Blowhard as jokesmith.

BLOWHARD (saddened at the lack of sauvignon blanc on the menu of a Japanese restaurant):  We’ll share a large Sapporro.  And we’ll take four waters.

UNFORTUNATELY-COMPLECTED WOMAN: I’ll take mine without ice.

SERVER:  Sure.

BLOWHARD:  Can I get all ice, no water?

The server attempts to smile, but before appropriate time for a reaction has passed, the Blowhard butts in.

BLOWHARD (straightfaced, with a hint of anger):  It was a joke.  It was a joke.

No one laughs.

Ah, yes.  Comedy, thy name is Blowhard.  I guess we can safely assume that he is not like Larry David in the sense that he brings laughter to the world.  Rather, he is like Larry David the character, played by Larry David the comedian, every interaction he takes part in inspires anger.  In Curb Your Enthusiasm, this tension is diffused over and over by comic beats.  In real life, it just builds.  The Blowhard is funny only in his own mind.  His self-righteousness is the ultimate funny-killer . . . A joke from his lips couldn’t do anything but sink.

If I may indulge in a bit of analysis, there is a difference between the type of manner comedy of Curb Your Enthusiasm, and some dude who goes around being an asshole and causes conflict simply for the sake of causing conflict.  In Curb Your Enthusiasm, it’s often Larry David’s attempts to be all inclusive and nice that backfire and get him in hot water.  In The Blowhard Show, the Blowhard is a pompous, unfunny jerk and people dislike him.  There is no punchline, no levity, no pathos.  Larry David is lovable and in the end he pays for all of his social blunders.  He is divested of his power and his anger and it is funny.  He is forced to suck it up or shrug it off.  That’s why we like him.  Blowhard, on the other hand, is a vain, pompous windbag who in the blink of an eye can launch into a long speech designed to instruct his family (and apparently his son has absorbed the teachings well because he is a pig of the vilest stripe).  Yes, Blowhard, I can see the comparison between you, a nobody asshole with a bad tan, and Larry David, a man who’s influence on the world of comedy cannot be measured.

The only way in which the Blowhard has outperformed anyone associated with Seinfeld is in that he somehow manages to dress worse than anybody who has ever appeared in a Larry David venture.  No small feat, considering this roster includes the likes of Jerry Seinfeld himself.  In the nineties these crimes against fashion garnered more than a few snickers (What was the alternative?  Did you want to see Jerry trade in his puffy white sneakers and denim shirt for a pair of Doc Marten’s and a flannel?  Certainly not.)  The Blowhard, for his night on the town, at some point had gone to the closet and voluntarily (VOLUNTARILY!) selected a green bowling shirt with a modified argyle pattern running down the left and right of the buttons.  I wonder if somehow the blowhard had happened upon a yard sale held by Tom Arnold or maybe the dude from Smashmouth in order to score such a fine article of clothing.  Now that I think about it, I think Jeff Garlin may have worn the same shirt in the episode where he admitted to Larry that he had a masturbation fantasy about Larry’s wife.  Appropriate, since the Blowhard has a masturbation fantasy about being Larry David.  It all comes full circle . . .

Before the drinks are on the table, the Blowhard begins talking about the episode of Curb Your Enthusiasm that revolves around a Cobb Salad.  This aired in 2001, I believe, and, to my recollection, is far from being the strongest episode in the series.  This episode, I overheard, was recommended by a friend who apparently also saw some Larry David-like qualities in the Blowhard.  Way to be on the cutting edge of entertainment, rehashing an episode of a sitcom that aired nearly a decade ago.  Blowhard, I’ve got a hot tip for you.  You really ought to check out a show called Welcome Back Kotter.  I can already see it--next time he goes out he’ll be comparing himself to Gabe Kaplan.  I can’t make any Gabe Kaplan jokes here because I was never desperate enough to watch that trash.  Well, maybe the Blowhard will grow out his mustache and start picking out his hair . . . But I somehow doubt that he’ll ever gain the good sense to pitch that lame bowling shirt.
   
For the benefit of the young lady, the Blowhard launches into a long-winded description of the episode, as if he had lived it himself.  The crater-faced harpy at his side chuckled, “It’s so true.  It’s just like what happened.”  What?  Wait.  You mean to tell me they’re saying that this, or something incredibly similar, actually happened to the Blowhard?  Did he get into an argument with someone who claimed to be a descendent of the person who invented the Cobb salad?  The odds of this happening are so slim, dare I say nonexistent, that I can only imagine the liberties that this clown has taken with the story.  Even if we give the Blowhard the benefit of the doubt and assume that even a micron of his story is true--what an incredibly trivial thing to blow out of proportion.  A salad argument!  We shall see, dear readers, that there is nothing too trivial for the Blowhard, and that salads, in fact, are an area of specialization for the Blowhard on his quest to misguidedly follow the lead of his comic hero.
 
I can see that this entry is going to run long, so I'll break it up into a few parts.  Stay tuned for the continuing saga.