A triple threat: Comedian, bodybuilder, man of letters
Andrew Ginsburg has put Southport on the map.
Unfortunately, he’s put it in some wrong places on the map. Places that may be south, but don’t have ports.
For the past few years, Ginsburg has been writing letters to the editor to newspapers across the country. He figured out quickly that editors favor letters from people who reside in their state. So when Ginsburg fills out an online form for a letter, he cites Southport as his town, while conveniently neglecting to change the name of the state.
As a result, editors at the Idaho Press, for example, were apparently unaware that the Gem State lacks a Southport. So yeah, he cheated. “I know, it’s bad,” Ginsburg says.
His tone makes it sound like a confession, but Ginsburg is a standup comic, that category of humanity that feels guilty about absolutely nothing, least of all pulling one over on editorial page editors.
We’ll give him a pass, because Ginsburg committed to writing efficiently, reasoning that “the challenge of writing a premise and arguing a point in 150 words or less was not unlike joke writing, where brevity is rewarded and ‘the kicker’ has to pack a punch.”
Think that’s easy? I lapped 150 words two paragraphs ago.
Ginsburg is a fitness trainer by day and a comic by night. As a bodybuilder he could be Batman without the padded Hollywood Underoos, but would occasionally have to tell Commissioner Gordon, “Sorry, I’m busy. Maybe you can tell the Joker to catch my act at the Gotham Comedy Club.”
After COVID stole his stage in 2020, Ginsburg decided to express himself via “missives,” a word favored by one of his inspirations, gonzo journalist Hunter S. Thompson (“he made letters cool”). The Hartford Courant published his first effort, a love letter to the new “drive-by” birthday parties that spared parents small talk, lukewarm pizza and toddlers crankied
“They write that ‘we’re considering it for publication.’ Which is sort of like saying ‘I may go out with you. I may not,’ ” Andrew Ginsburg
up by frosting on the ride home.
He followed it up by sending a letter to The New York Times, which is like a stand-up opening a tour by playing Madison Square Garden. Unlike most papers, the Times responded with its own form letter of questions, along with a hint of hope.
“They write that ‘we’re considering it for publication.’ Which is sort of like saying ‘I may go out with you. I may not,’ ” Ginsburg cracks.
The Times published the letter, and he quickly added the Boston Globe, Chicago Tribune and Washington Post to his collection. Most of the time, he never heard from editors who ran his material. That changed when he crossed the pond for his 19th submission.
“I’m calling from the Guardian,” he says, imitating an accent that makes it sound like his editor was channeling Dick Van Dyke in “Mary Poppins.”
After returning stateside, he started checking off states by getting published in the likes of the Caledonian Record, the North Platte Telegraph, the Daily Ardmoreite, the Maui News, the Daily Nonpareil, the Laramie Boomerang and the paper with a name any comic would love and readers will immediately factcheck: the Tillamook
Headlight Herald.
The count currently stands at 70 letters in 49 newspapers across 36 states. He harbored hopes he was chasing some kind of record, only to be humbled by the Google reveal that Subhash Chandra Agrawal of India published 3,699 letters.
“To protect my ego, I wondered why this lazy man couldn’t write one more, and round it out nicely.”
Ginsburg still has a lot of miles to cover. His list of “states to be dealt with later” consists of Maine, Rhode Island, Alabama, Louisiana, Alaska, Delaware, Arkansas, Mississippi, Ohio, Nevada, Washington, South Carolina, Georgia and South Dakota. He understands why he has yet to break through in conservative states such as Alabama and Mississippi, but isn’t giving up hope.
His real grudge is with his New England neighbors.
“Maine was the one I was pissed about,” Ginsburg says in mock outrage. “C’mon, you guys are so close. I’m very angry at Maine and Rhode Island. Dude, the stuff was up to par.”
Unlike other writers I’ve known who made similar efforts, Ginsburg uses fresh material for each letter. Humor infuses much of his writing, but many of them address
serious topics, such as same-sex marriage, the Israel-Hamas war and abortion. If he is wrong about anything, it’s that “columnists have the coolest job. … Writing a column has always been a fantasy. You pick any topic and write a column and hopefully people like it. The freedom is beautiful.”
(Counterpoint: Freedom is just another word for too much left to muse.)
As the pandemic waned, Ginsburg shifted his writing focus to a different format. In 2017, he published “Pumping Irony: How to Build Muscle, Lose Weight, and Have the Last Laugh.” Now, with three children (ages 2, 4 and 6), he is trying to write his first children’s book, a format that demands similar discipline. “They are so judicious with words,” he says he has learned. “So 600 words is on the high side. I have to cut it down to 450 words.”
As for checking off those other states, he pledged that “If there’s another pandemic I’ll go after the remaining states.” (Who says there’s no bright side to COVID?)
Alas, I have to share with Ginsburg that we won’t be able to publish the letter that inspired this column. It now being redundant and all.
But in hopes of helping him get the last laugh, I offer this editorial advice: Maine is home to a town named Southport.