I'm Gonna Miss You, Mitch

Mitch Hedberg 

Lately, a lot of mornings I wake up and I can smell cinnamon. Then I want cinnamon rolls. But there are no cinnamon rolls in the house. I asked a coworker if she had ever done this. She looked at me strangely and laughed. “No,” she said. “You are in your own reality on that one.”

Then I discovered that Mitch Hedberg had died. Oddly enough I discovered this while surfing blogs,and came across Margaret Cho’s blog which had a touching tribute to him. At first I thought she was kidding.

He was one of my favorite comedians. He had a joke style that had been compared with Stephen Wright, but his delivery was more like one of the old “beat” poets from the 50’s on pot. He often wore shades on stage with his slightly long hair down in his face. He reminded me of Kurt Cobain with a bizarre sense of humor.

I somehow missed the announcement of his death, but many times I have thought of him, especially when I would say to someone, “don’t even act like you didn’t ...” He died of a heart attack in New Jersey back on March 30. Then I started smelling cinnamon. Maybe Mitch was trying to contact me from the spirit world.
He had so many good routines and a unique way of looking at the world around him. Instead of the “thinking man’s comedian,” you might say he was the “existentialist’s comedian.” Here are examples of his unique vision.

I like cinnamon rolls, but I don't always have time to make a pan. That's why I wish they would sell cinnamon roll incense. After all I'd rather light a stick and have my roommate wake up with false hopes.

One time a guy handed me a picture of himself and he said. "Here's a picture of me when I was younger." Every picture of you is when you were younger. "Here's a picture of me when I'm older." How'd you pull that off? Let me see that camera.


I like cottage cheese. That's why I want to try other dwelling cheeses, too. How about studio apartment cheese? Tent cheese? Mobile home cheese? Do not eat mobile home cheese in a tornado.

I had a velco wallet in a casino. That sound annoyed the hell out of me. Whenever I lost money, and I opened the wallet, it was like the sound of my addiction.

Mr. Pibb is a poor imitation of Dr. Pepper. Dude didn't even get his degree.

I brought a donut and the guy gave me a receipt for the donut. I don't need a receipt for the donut, I give you the money, you give me the donut, end of transaction. We do not need to bring ink and paper into this. I can not imagine the scenerio where I would have to prove that I bought a donut. Some skeptical friend:"Don't even act like I didn't get that donut. I got the documentation right here."

I’m going to miss you, Mitch.