By Gaëtan L. CharleboisTo say I am a fan of Mike Birbiglia is a bit of an understatement.
I love recorded comedy (aside from the Wagner, there's more of it on my iPod than anything else) and I buy and download damn near anything. (That gets me in trouble, sometimes; ie: Dane Cook, the unfunniest fucking man in America.) On a whim, once, I downloaded a recording called My Secret Public Journal and I was absolutely hooked. This became the recording I'd turn to whenever I was sad because Birbiglia's embroidered true stories about his life were also sad—in the hysterically funny sense of the word.
