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I Know I Am, But What Are You?
Humorous essays from the most senior correspondent on "The Daily Show" discuss her past life in Canada, her unusual career history, and her point of view on a variety of subjects.
242 pages, Hardcover
First published June 1, 2010
216 people are currently reading
15584 people want to read
About the author
Samantha Bee
6 books126 followersSamantha Bee is a Canadian comedic actress and author best known as a correspondent for The Daily Show with Jon Stewart.
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 920 reviews
May 26, 2010
As Sam's father I have to say her book is amazing! I love her and it. I promise to read it the second it becomes available, even though I had to buy 4 copies, to give to friends and relatives. We have a funny family what can I say? Odd even. Bye, I have to go and shave the dog.
August 20, 2010
Samantha Bee is irreverent, disgusting, and offensive. And yet...
I kept reading. I kept laughing. My 5 year old son spotted the lady in the bee costume and asked me to read to him, especially because I'd just let out a chuckle. He was fascinated by the back cover which featured Ken, two Barbies and Rainbow Brite and I can't even go there. My 10 year old son walked in on me reading and asked me what was so funny. I'd been laughing again. I didn't know it.
Written in chronological order, the essays detail her disturbing yet normal formative years. Disturbing in that she had a crush on Jesus and fancied him to be like Kris Kristofferson. Disturbing in that there were monologues discussing sexual verbs I did not understand. Offensive enough to close the book and repent for reading such offensive material then sell it on eBay. And yet...
When faced with the choice of father-wrath for missing an important wedding and boyfriend-wrath in favor or teenage drama that, this time he really is serious, he will break up with you if you don't spend all day with him, never mind that you've listened to him breathe all night long, she makes the obvious choice. I mean, really, what hormonal teenage girl hasn't considered punishing everybody she loves by killing herself?
I laughed until I had tears rolling down my cheeks. I understand the meaning of "Canadian" much more clearly. I am alarmed at the irony that a U.S. political pundit uses Samantha Bee as a senior-senior correspondent. I am even more alarmed that being a "senior" means that she feels she has to defend Rock Hudson's sexual preference and she owned more than one satin shell jacket.
Mine was blue.
Highly offensive material in this book including comparisons between Jon Bon Jovi and David B. Roth and choosing David B. Roth over Bon Jovi while in her formative years. I'm certain she'd be stunned to know that there actually are rainbow sweater survivors who knew that Bon Jovi had an ageless sex appeal and staying power.
Samantha Bee articulates many of the thought processes the generation x -ers were too awkward to formulate. She also articulates experiences some generation x-ers were too innocent to comprehend. I would not recommend this book to anybody, in good conscience.
In bad conscience, I do insist that those who read in public or who have children remove the dustcover. Also, if reading in public, prepare a cover story for those annoying people who just can't seem to leave the book lover alone. You know the ones. They see a person reading and run right over to ask what you're reading, what is it about, is it good, and then begin to highlight the chronicles of Twilight's Edward.
Rated R - NC-17
4 and half stars.
I kept reading. I kept laughing. My 5 year old son spotted the lady in the bee costume and asked me to read to him, especially because I'd just let out a chuckle. He was fascinated by the back cover which featured Ken, two Barbies and Rainbow Brite and I can't even go there. My 10 year old son walked in on me reading and asked me what was so funny. I'd been laughing again. I didn't know it.
Written in chronological order, the essays detail her disturbing yet normal formative years. Disturbing in that she had a crush on Jesus and fancied him to be like Kris Kristofferson. Disturbing in that there were monologues discussing sexual verbs I did not understand. Offensive enough to close the book and repent for reading such offensive material then sell it on eBay. And yet...
When faced with the choice of father-wrath for missing an important wedding and boyfriend-wrath in favor or teenage drama that, this time he really is serious, he will break up with you if you don't spend all day with him, never mind that you've listened to him breathe all night long, she makes the obvious choice. I mean, really, what hormonal teenage girl hasn't considered punishing everybody she loves by killing herself?
I laughed until I had tears rolling down my cheeks. I understand the meaning of "Canadian" much more clearly. I am alarmed at the irony that a U.S. political pundit uses Samantha Bee as a senior-senior correspondent. I am even more alarmed that being a "senior" means that she feels she has to defend Rock Hudson's sexual preference and she owned more than one satin shell jacket.
Mine was blue.
Highly offensive material in this book including comparisons between Jon Bon Jovi and David B. Roth and choosing David B. Roth over Bon Jovi while in her formative years. I'm certain she'd be stunned to know that there actually are rainbow sweater survivors who knew that Bon Jovi had an ageless sex appeal and staying power.
Samantha Bee articulates many of the thought processes the generation x -ers were too awkward to formulate. She also articulates experiences some generation x-ers were too innocent to comprehend. I would not recommend this book to anybody, in good conscience.
In bad conscience, I do insist that those who read in public or who have children remove the dustcover. Also, if reading in public, prepare a cover story for those annoying people who just can't seem to leave the book lover alone. You know the ones. They see a person reading and run right over to ask what you're reading, what is it about, is it good, and then begin to highlight the chronicles of Twilight's Edward.
Rated R - NC-17
4 and half stars.
May 15, 2012
Having recently read Sarah Silverman's book Bedwetter, I decided, apparently, to conduct a tour of favorite female comics. Anyway, unlike Silverman, Bee actually manages to construct a book that is plausibly biographical. It's made of anecdotes, but by connecting them with words like "then" and "so, next" an impression of linearity and narrative coherence is subtly conveyed. (Sorry Sarah! Luv you!) It also contains some genuinely funny material that you probably haven't heard Bee perform. Her early career in juvenile delinquency and car thievery, her mind blowing (parent cringing) pubescent experiments in self-endangerment with shady over-age men, her experiences with compulsive pet acquisition and neglect, and her humiliating involvement with cheesy fourth rate theater that led her to meet Jason Jones, all made it very difficult for my spouse to fall asleep as I read in bed. Not only did I have to laugh, but I had to wake her up to read about the cat that tried to copulate with Samantha's head. Unlike the Silverman book where you probably had to pre-love the Sarah to grok the book, this one is LOL city even if you haven't experienced Samantha on the Daily Show. It's light as a feather, but lots of fun.
Now I'd better go read a book about the Holocaust, just so I don't float away.
Now I'd better go read a book about the Holocaust, just so I don't float away.
March 13, 2010
Uses the word "vaginables". So basically the best book ever
November 16, 2010
my hopes were not high, because "the daily show" started really offending me about a year ago when it started playing sexism & homophobia for laughs all the time, like we live in such a post-oppression society that liberals can do that shit with a wink & it's all okay. then i read a bunch of stuff about what a hostile work environment "the daily show" tends to be for women, which certainly seems accurate if the questionable jokes & dearth of female on-air talent is any indication, & it made me wonder what samantha bee was doing there. plus i have heard way too many smug dudes repeat her lady-based jokes in casual conversation like they're supposed to get a laugh from a joke that's actually only funny coming from a woman, & is sexist & offensive coming from a dude. & the whole thing made me wonder about samantha bee even more.
so i got this at the library. & it was way funnier than i expected! yes, there's a lot of smut & profanity. i expected as much. don't like that stuff? skip this book, & save your boring one-star reviews for something you actually didn't like for coherent reasons.
my favorite line was the bit about how her family's car was "the antithesis of design & desirability. it was like driving hitler's mustache."
some say that this book is akin to david sedaris. um...not so much. not every book of humorous essays needs to be compared to david sedaris, okay? it's not like he invented the form. i'd say this is more like laurie notaro, except for actually funny, & the conclusions to the essays are not so hackneyed that you want to tear out your own eyeballs.
so i got this at the library. & it was way funnier than i expected! yes, there's a lot of smut & profanity. i expected as much. don't like that stuff? skip this book, & save your boring one-star reviews for something you actually didn't like for coherent reasons.
my favorite line was the bit about how her family's car was "the antithesis of design & desirability. it was like driving hitler's mustache."
some say that this book is akin to david sedaris. um...not so much. not every book of humorous essays needs to be compared to david sedaris, okay? it's not like he invented the form. i'd say this is more like laurie notaro, except for actually funny, & the conclusions to the essays are not so hackneyed that you want to tear out your own eyeballs.
January 3, 2012
Overall, Samantha Bee's pieces on The Daily Show are more amusing than the sections of this book. It offers more smiles than chuckles.
However, the last half of the book does to seem to be sharper and more finely sketched than the first half.
As Bee takes us through her early childhood years, although each incident and characterization is exaggerated for comedic effect, it hints of more honesty than humor. Her parents seemed to have been selfish, neglectful, and incapable of nurturing. They certainly aren't painted as anywhere near abusive, but when you wouldn't even have rated an honorable mention on your mother, father or stepmother's Top 10 list or priorities, it's got to lead to the "tears of a clown" and, no doubt, is just the sort of dysfunctional upbringing that has shaped the lives of hundreds of comedians. Still, it invoked a little more concern than comedy.
I was also concerned that I identified so closely with some of Bee's more exaggerated neuroses. She was probably just kidding, but I really do suffer from an acute fear of "poo dust." The way she described her middle-aged boyfriend's bathroom habits fueled all my toilet phobias, which are already way out of control. She also described an affinity with older people and uncanny communion with her Grandma's outdated point of view that struck way too close to home. Maybe that's why I teared up reading the book's acknowledgments, especially: "And to my grandmother, whom I miss so much it makes my bones ache. What the hell were you thinking, dying on me like that?"
Of course, like all sneaky Canadians, she tries to convince us that she and Jason Jones take figure-skating lightly, mocking the sport over a tub of popcorn, but I know they feel the same sense of outrage over Jamie Sale and Davie Pelletier's perceived slight just as strongly as their comrades and are still conspiring to make the world pay.
In the end, Sam leaves us with memories of her amorous cat and a pink horse-riding helmet, topped with a straw hat, which may just be worth the price of the book purchase -- as long as you got it on clearance.
However, the last half of the book does to seem to be sharper and more finely sketched than the first half.
As Bee takes us through her early childhood years, although each incident and characterization is exaggerated for comedic effect, it hints of more honesty than humor. Her parents seemed to have been selfish, neglectful, and incapable of nurturing. They certainly aren't painted as anywhere near abusive, but when you wouldn't even have rated an honorable mention on your mother, father or stepmother's Top 10 list or priorities, it's got to lead to the "tears of a clown" and, no doubt, is just the sort of dysfunctional upbringing that has shaped the lives of hundreds of comedians. Still, it invoked a little more concern than comedy.
I was also concerned that I identified so closely with some of Bee's more exaggerated neuroses. She was probably just kidding, but I really do suffer from an acute fear of "poo dust." The way she described her middle-aged boyfriend's bathroom habits fueled all my toilet phobias, which are already way out of control. She also described an affinity with older people and uncanny communion with her Grandma's outdated point of view that struck way too close to home. Maybe that's why I teared up reading the book's acknowledgments, especially: "And to my grandmother, whom I miss so much it makes my bones ache. What the hell were you thinking, dying on me like that?"
Of course, like all sneaky Canadians, she tries to convince us that she and Jason Jones take figure-skating lightly, mocking the sport over a tub of popcorn, but I know they feel the same sense of outrage over Jamie Sale and Davie Pelletier's perceived slight just as strongly as their comrades and are still conspiring to make the world pay.
In the end, Sam leaves us with memories of her amorous cat and a pink horse-riding helmet, topped with a straw hat, which may just be worth the price of the book purchase -- as long as you got it on clearance.
February 20, 2019
Bullet Review:
I've enjoyed Full Frontal with Samantha Bee, so when Audible had a daily deal of this book, I snapped it up. I've had mixed results with these types of books, but this tended more towards the funny spectrum (A la Bossypants by Tina Fey, my gold standard) than some of the other reads I've had (One More Thing by BJ Novak, ...Seriously, I'm kidding by Ellen DeGeneres, Me Talk Pretty One Day by David Sedaris and Is It Just Me? by Whoopi Goldberg). Some of this is foul, but if you've seen Bee's show, then you should be prepared. Honestly, I just had a good time listening to the crazy stories; it was nice to listen to something and get a chuckle.
I've enjoyed Full Frontal with Samantha Bee, so when Audible had a daily deal of this book, I snapped it up. I've had mixed results with these types of books, but this tended more towards the funny spectrum (A la Bossypants by Tina Fey, my gold standard) than some of the other reads I've had (One More Thing by BJ Novak, ...Seriously, I'm kidding by Ellen DeGeneres, Me Talk Pretty One Day by David Sedaris and Is It Just Me? by Whoopi Goldberg). Some of this is foul, but if you've seen Bee's show, then you should be prepared. Honestly, I just had a good time listening to the crazy stories; it was nice to listen to something and get a chuckle.
October 8, 2013
We don't always have to read great literature - sometimes we can read something just for fun
I liked Samantha Bee's book. A lot. It was unexpectedly thoughtful and revealing. I did expect it to be funny and it did not disappoint. I laughed out loud in public.
I couldn't help comparing it to Tina Fey's Bossipants. I REALLY expected and WANTED to like Bossipants but I was disappointed. Fey's book was sold as autobiographical but it was not. It was more of a stand-up session & verged on the condescending. I learned very little about Tina that I couldn't Google.
On the other hand, Bee's book reads more like a mini autobiography. Her life is revealed in essays that felt both insightful and genuine - as well as hilarious. I learned a great deal about her eccentric upbringing and the people and experiences which led her to the choices she's made. It was sad, fun and informative. I finished it in two nights.
Why 3 stars? I loved the book but it is not great literature. That being said, we don't always have to read great literature. Sometimes we can read something because it's fun. I recommend it if you want to get to know this funny Daily Show woman better.
I liked Samantha Bee's book. A lot. It was unexpectedly thoughtful and revealing. I did expect it to be funny and it did not disappoint. I laughed out loud in public.
I couldn't help comparing it to Tina Fey's Bossipants. I REALLY expected and WANTED to like Bossipants but I was disappointed. Fey's book was sold as autobiographical but it was not. It was more of a stand-up session & verged on the condescending. I learned very little about Tina that I couldn't Google.
On the other hand, Bee's book reads more like a mini autobiography. Her life is revealed in essays that felt both insightful and genuine - as well as hilarious. I learned a great deal about her eccentric upbringing and the people and experiences which led her to the choices she's made. It was sad, fun and informative. I finished it in two nights.
Why 3 stars? I loved the book but it is not great literature. That being said, we don't always have to read great literature. Sometimes we can read something because it's fun. I recommend it if you want to get to know this funny Daily Show woman better.
May 22, 2018
3.5 of 5 stars
Not consistently hilarious but some really laugh out loud parts. Still worth a read (or listen -- Samantha narrates!)
Not consistently hilarious but some really laugh out loud parts. Still worth a read (or listen -- Samantha narrates!)
May 28, 2011
There are few books that make me shoot soda out of my nose. There are even fewer books that I will admit have made me do so. But Samantha Bee did it. And thank goodness the mishap happened in private and not in public. Actually, I take that back. If you're going to read this book, do it in public. Be that person that laughs to yourself. Loudly. Hysterically. Do it on public transportation. Do it on a park bench. Make people stare. Dare them to give you an evil glare that says they think you're nuts. This one is worth it. They say laughing burns calories. Your critics can't say that. So there. The joke's on them.
Samantha Bee, Daily Show correspondent writes about it all. Nothing is off limits. Be prepared for laughter, awkward situations, and vulgarity. She writes about getting into trouble or at least trying our hardest to have that sexy edge that all the cool kids in the movies do.
She writes about her shriveled-up, frail old woman hands and the way they bring her peace in the realization that we do in fact all age. She writes about those connections with our animals that seem endearing to us, but may just come across as creepy and weird to...well anyone, even us when we really stop and think about the voices we use to talk to them when no-one is actually around. She writes about her parents' insanity. (Let's be honest. Not one of our parents our sane. They're all quirky. Mine and most of my friends' could easily be portrayed in a novel, movie, etc. as a character that gets loads of laughs. Just for being themselves.) She even writes about an eery situation she finds herself in when a stranger makes a snap assumption that she is dating her own parent. Creepy, yes? Thank all the men going through mid-life crises dating women young enough to be their daughters for this one. You all deserve a slap on the wrist for the awkwardness that now commonly ensues when a young girl innocently goes out to dinner with her father. And she goes on to touch that oh so taboo subject, "the birds and the bees" and the conversation that goes on between parent and child in the hope of preparing them (or scaring them) from every taking part in such an activity. Or sometimes the simple passing of a book on the subject to deter the entire thing.
I could go on. And on.
Samantha Bee, Daily Show correspondent writes about it all. Nothing is off limits. Be prepared for laughter, awkward situations, and vulgarity. She writes about getting into trouble or at least trying our hardest to have that sexy edge that all the cool kids in the movies do.
She writes about her shriveled-up, frail old woman hands and the way they bring her peace in the realization that we do in fact all age. She writes about those connections with our animals that seem endearing to us, but may just come across as creepy and weird to...well anyone, even us when we really stop and think about the voices we use to talk to them when no-one is actually around. She writes about her parents' insanity. (Let's be honest. Not one of our parents our sane. They're all quirky. Mine and most of my friends' could easily be portrayed in a novel, movie, etc. as a character that gets loads of laughs. Just for being themselves.) She even writes about an eery situation she finds herself in when a stranger makes a snap assumption that she is dating her own parent. Creepy, yes? Thank all the men going through mid-life crises dating women young enough to be their daughters for this one. You all deserve a slap on the wrist for the awkwardness that now commonly ensues when a young girl innocently goes out to dinner with her father. And she goes on to touch that oh so taboo subject, "the birds and the bees" and the conversation that goes on between parent and child in the hope of preparing them (or scaring them) from every taking part in such an activity. Or sometimes the simple passing of a book on the subject to deter the entire thing.
I could go on. And on.
March 7, 2013
3.5 stars
Yesterday was a snow day, with actual accumulation, which in this area is akin to a Bigfoot sighting, in that it’s very rare and outsiders view you with scorn when you tell them what you saw: “We got six inches!” “Oh, really? Six whole inches? Wooow.” I didn’t have to work and I decided to carpe the diem for reading. This was the second book I read yesterday, and definitely the funniest.
Samantha Bee is irreverent, sarcastic, and Canadian, with a surprisingly high tolerance for pharmaceutical drugs. She has been employed at a frame store, an illegal casino, a penis clinic, as an anime character in a touring children’s show, and as the customer service rep who had to watch all the “home videos” accidentally returned to the video rental place. Penises are frequently exposed to her and once a cat tried to have sex with her head. She is a woman after my own heart.
Pretty much every chapter in this book had me laughing obnoxiously, but I think my favorite was “May December Never Come,” because what she describes has actually happened to me and oh my god it was horrible:
“There’s really nothing creepier than going somewhere with one of your parents and having people think you are together, as a couple. Of lovers. Who do it. With each other. The only way to describe how this makes me feel is to say it makes my vagina nauseous, if that’s even physically possible.”
When my little sister was born, my dad and I were sitting outside the baby chamber, where they keep all the newborns, chuckling over how much she resembled a Mexican sumo wrestler. A couple walked by and smiled at us, and the following exchange took place:
WOMAN: New baby?
MY DAD: Yeah.
MAN: (pointing her finger at each of us in turn) Which one is yours?
MY DAD: (not nearly alarmed enough) Oh no, this is my daughter.
ME: Hurk.
It’s been seven years and I am still afflicted with nausea of the stomach and the vagina every time I think about it.
I’m adding Samantha to my list of future lady-author friends. Sam, when can we meet for bacon? I work at a pet store. I can hook you up with some kittens.
Yesterday was a snow day, with actual accumulation, which in this area is akin to a Bigfoot sighting, in that it’s very rare and outsiders view you with scorn when you tell them what you saw: “We got six inches!” “Oh, really? Six whole inches? Wooow.” I didn’t have to work and I decided to carpe the diem for reading. This was the second book I read yesterday, and definitely the funniest.
Samantha Bee is irreverent, sarcastic, and Canadian, with a surprisingly high tolerance for pharmaceutical drugs. She has been employed at a frame store, an illegal casino, a penis clinic, as an anime character in a touring children’s show, and as the customer service rep who had to watch all the “home videos” accidentally returned to the video rental place. Penises are frequently exposed to her and once a cat tried to have sex with her head. She is a woman after my own heart.
Pretty much every chapter in this book had me laughing obnoxiously, but I think my favorite was “May December Never Come,” because what she describes has actually happened to me and oh my god it was horrible:
“There’s really nothing creepier than going somewhere with one of your parents and having people think you are together, as a couple. Of lovers. Who do it. With each other. The only way to describe how this makes me feel is to say it makes my vagina nauseous, if that’s even physically possible.”
When my little sister was born, my dad and I were sitting outside the baby chamber, where they keep all the newborns, chuckling over how much she resembled a Mexican sumo wrestler. A couple walked by and smiled at us, and the following exchange took place:
WOMAN: New baby?
MY DAD: Yeah.
MAN: (pointing her finger at each of us in turn) Which one is yours?
MY DAD: (not nearly alarmed enough) Oh no, this is my daughter.
ME: Hurk.
It’s been seven years and I am still afflicted with nausea of the stomach and the vagina every time I think about it.
I’m adding Samantha to my list of future lady-author friends. Sam, when can we meet for bacon? I work at a pet store. I can hook you up with some kittens.
December 28, 2010
Everyone has a favorite laugh. Mine? The snicker that you get when you read something uncontrollably funny at your desk that no one else can see. It comes from somewhere in your gut, but because you are in public and probably not supposed to be reading something funny, you have to swallow it back so your whole face starts to jiggle like your sobbing or maybe have somehow lost your mind, but really you are in throes in laughter ecstasy. Prime example - Hyperbole and a Half. I can't even look at the header without having to bite on my lip, for fear my roommate will think that I am laughing at him at this moment instead of Allie's self-caricature.
But I've never had a book make me laugh my favorite laugh. Oh, I've had a good laugh out loud, or a quiet to-myself laugh, or a snicker or hell, even a belly laugh. But nothing made me laugh out loud in an embarrassingly face-contortionist manner in public quite like Samantha Bee did. It's not the writing, which is sometimes repetitive for the sake of building momentum. It's the mindset, that she selected these stories, felt these emotions, chose these words. And I felt like I was learning a secret about her, the secrets of her past. And they are pretty effing hilarious secrets.
On the Sedaris hilarious essay scale, however, these were a little lower than I'd hoped that they'd be. But that didn't stop me from shaking like a leaf from laughter while trying not to draw attention to myself on the early morning PATH train.
But I've never had a book make me laugh my favorite laugh. Oh, I've had a good laugh out loud, or a quiet to-myself laugh, or a snicker or hell, even a belly laugh. But nothing made me laugh out loud in an embarrassingly face-contortionist manner in public quite like Samantha Bee did. It's not the writing, which is sometimes repetitive for the sake of building momentum. It's the mindset, that she selected these stories, felt these emotions, chose these words. And I felt like I was learning a secret about her, the secrets of her past. And they are pretty effing hilarious secrets.
On the Sedaris hilarious essay scale, however, these were a little lower than I'd hoped that they'd be. But that didn't stop me from shaking like a leaf from laughter while trying not to draw attention to myself on the early morning PATH train.
November 15, 2017
I love Sam Bee, but I was a bit underwhelmed by this book. It’s essentially a series of comic vignettes about her life. I guess I just wanted more about how she became such a badass feminist political journalism hero. There’s none of that. It’s mostly awkwardness, weird family stuff, and lots of jokes about old people having sex or animals having sex. I laughed, but the book wasn’t what I wanted. So this three star review may be more about my expectations being dashed by juvenile humor, rather than about the merits of the book itself.
July 14, 2017
It's not that this book didn't make me laugh, because it did. And it's not that the audio narration wasn't good, because it was. I just really didn't like the content in this. That feels weird to say about someone's memoir, but I didn't.
Most memoirs like this take the reader on a moderately linear path through the author's life, with each major section containing various stories. The stories are usually 60% actually interesting and 40% filled out with jokes. I enjoy this format.
This book, however, doesn't really explain the author's life at all. It just showcases what I can only assume are the six weirdest things the author could remember ever happening to her. The writing wasn't very funny. I laughed, but it was mostly an uncomfortable response to how disturbing some of the stories were. I felt bad for her, and I feel like that's not how I was intended to respond to this.
Most memoirs like this take the reader on a moderately linear path through the author's life, with each major section containing various stories. The stories are usually 60% actually interesting and 40% filled out with jokes. I enjoy this format.
This book, however, doesn't really explain the author's life at all. It just showcases what I can only assume are the six weirdest things the author could remember ever happening to her. The writing wasn't very funny. I laughed, but it was mostly an uncomfortable response to how disturbing some of the stories were. I felt bad for her, and I feel like that's not how I was intended to respond to this.
July 21, 2010
I really did laugh quite a bit while reading this one. I thought I would die when Samantha (I can call you Samantha, right?) related her sexual education when her mother gave her a little red book. I can't imagine a nice Catholic girl posing her Barbies that way. You can see what I am talking about by buying the book and looking at the back cover. No peekies here.
I am really missing Samantha on the Daily Show, especially her bee costume. Maybe she should have her own show on Comedy Central? I think anyone who enjoys Jen Lancaster or David Sedaris will love this one.
I am really missing Samantha on the Daily Show, especially her bee costume. Maybe she should have her own show on Comedy Central? I think anyone who enjoys Jen Lancaster or David Sedaris will love this one.
April 2, 2018
I listened to the audio version of this book as I ran. The book is a memoir. Samantha Bee tells stories about her life, mostly from childhood. Samantha's childhood was actually sad, but the way she told the stories was quite funny. I just couldn't take it in large portions. My tolerance for sarcasm isn't super high. I enjoyed the book every time I listened, but I would turn it off after about 1/2 hour. It must not be a very long book, because I finished it pretty quickly.
August 30, 2023
DNF. I’d vote for Ms. Bee for President. I stand by her right to be crude, rude, and offensive. And thank heavens she is. But listening to this incredibly lewd memoir (not judging, just sayin’) didn’t have the punch or payoff for me that her satirical journalism offers.
May 17, 2020
I am a very mysterious person, I guess, with a lot of complexities . . .
Only a few short months before my transformation into a bitch-on-wheels, I was as innocent as a lamb to the slaughter.
-Samantha Bee
Descriptive sexual content dominates this autobiography of humorous happenings. The overall tone is a bit much of what I don't like. I found plenty of things funny, but the book is comprised of chapter after chapter where sex is the main topic.
I'm going to donate this book to the Little Free Library in my neighborhood because I don't want to read it again and I don't want it in my home anymore.
Favorite Passages:
My maternal and paternal great-great grandmothers both divorced their husbands, and later went on to marry different kinds of sex perverts . . .
______
I slept with a dirty strip of squirrel fur that I had ripped off my grandmother's coat and called my "rat." If I couldn't find my rat, I would sob quietly and moan "Ratty" until my mother fished him out of the garbage again for the last time.
______
"Who does she think she's fooling, anyway, with those big juicy boobs? Not me! I can spot fake boobs from a mile away! Jeebus H. Krispies - are you seeing this? Get those things in a proper top. There are children present! Disgusting. So fake. Hanging all out of that bikini top. Let me put on my glasses so I can get a better look."
______
Imagine my surprise when I opened my lunch box one day to find that the extremely rare roast beef my mom had prepared the night before had exuded so much blood into the plastic wrap that my sandwich looked like an IV bag I was planning to administer for lunch. Well, at least it drew people's eyes away from my outfits for a while. My report card read "Cries easily."
______
The children on the playground began to rely on my breadth of perverted knowledge to spice up our below average games.
______
Not liking hot ham doesn't make a person a freak. In my opinion, it makes a person seem sensible and capable of discernment. But in my family, consumption of ham equals normal. And deciding whether or not to bite into a big, hot, squeaky Easter ham covered in sweet fruit goo is the barometer that determines whether you are thinking clearly or in one of your "crazy" phases.
"Are you eating ham these days? You're not a vegetarian right now, are you? We're having ham, is that going to be okay, or do I need to make you one of your special 'vegetable stacks'? How many pieces of ham do you want? Have some more ham - there's lots! This one came special ordered from Virginia and weighs twenty-seven pounds! There's even ham in the dessert!"
______
"I think the hardest time for her is waking up in the morning . . . those moments before she remembers who she is, and thinks instead about who she was."
______
"No. My mother would get really upset if someone drove me all the way home."
"Wouldn't it be faster than taking the subway and then a bus this late at night?" I shrugged with that one.
"Yeah, but she doesn't like me taking the easy way out. She wants me to know about hardship and the value of a dollar and how far a dollar can take you on public transportation."
______
"I have to be home at five on the dot or my mother will freak."
"Well, you're pretty close by, can't you just stay a little longer and then I'll walk you home? Can't your mother do without you for one dinner?"
"No. She really needs me. I take care of her. I have to feed her, and by five o'clock she's really hungry. I can't let her feed herself. She can't."
"Why?"
"She was born without arms. She's a human worm."
______
I can't remember her name offhand, but I had a distant aunt who was a butcher at a meat-packing plant. And by "butcher," I don't mean to imply that she was in there gently frenching the remaining flesh from pasture-fed lamb chops. She was employed hauling carcasses and doing the rough cuts on metal slab in a meat factory. My father called her Rameeda the Beast, and it suited her perfectly. She was about eight feet tall, was missing two fingers, and had a voice that coincidentally recalled the sound of a band saw cutting through human knuckles. The last time I saw her, she was smoking hands-free and microwaving a prime rib roast for Christmas dinner, while the rest of us were busy patting down the dining room chairs with Scotch tape to get rid of the molting fur of an ancient basset hound named Mr. Diggity.
My aunt's missing fingers haunted me. It looked like she had sewn the ends of her fingers closed with black yarn, and then cauterized them with boiling snake venom. I was mesmerized by them. I don't know if she suffered from any form of phantom limb syndrome, but I certainly did that Christmas, watching her tiny stumps struggle to attach the paper crowns that were meant to adorn the bony ends of our crown rib roast.
"Aww, fuck it. Merry Christmas, everyone," she said, as she slammed the naked roast onto the table. "Digg-ski in-ski."
______
If I could somehow bite someone else's hands off and attach them to my wrists, that would actually be great.
______
She disliked certain shows with such intensity that she watched them every day just to spite them and punish them. . . "Damn you, Victor Newman. Damn you. Argh! Oh, I could just smash him."
______
Unfortunately, due to a terrible accident at birth (i.e., not being born to people of means), I am forced to fight against my most basic nature and work for a living.
______
A local woman had half her face bitten off by her horse while trying to feed him carrots from her own mouth. My mother tried to justify it, but we all knew better . . .
"Well, I hardly think she was trying to neck with him . . ."
"She should stick some sugar cubes down her blouse next time and see how things turn out."
______
Kittens in the barn, kittens in the wood pile, kittens living in a tire swing, kittens in your purse. There were so many kittens that you had to check your boots before putting your feet into them, the way that you have to check your shoes for spiders when you're camping. My mother gave away kittens like some people give away zucchini and tomatoes at the end of a particularly abundant harvest."
"Oh, leaving so soon? Take a bucket of kittens with you for the car . . . "
______
We liked to spend our days dyeing our hair purple in the sink, bleaching our mustaches, and accumulating cats. We had four between us. You couldn't take a step into our apartment without getting kitty litter embedded in your foot, which was one of the reasons nobody ever came over, but certainly not the only one.
______
"Stop!" I cried. "You're dipping the tail in the sauce!"
"What?" he said densely. "It's edible, isn't it?" I noticed that he didn't seem to have any leftover tails on his cocktail plate. This guy was like a fucking seagull. I'd have to remember to cut all the plastic six-pack soda rings in the house so he didn't choke on one the next time he filter-fed in our apartment.
______
"Dammit! I told you not to get me towels! I have too many towels!" she hissed.
"But these ones are so soft and the ones you have in the bathroom are so scratchy! I thought you'd like them! You deserve softness!"
"Just don't get me gifts! Jesus! I told you not to. I begged you not to." She was practically in tears.
"I'm so sorry!"
Angry glare. "Just don't let it happen again."
I suppose they had a point. They just didn't want me spending what little money I had on frivolous things when they felt they had everything they needed for the rest of their lives. It didn't really help my case that they had such a skewed notion of what things cost that they could imagine that a set of hand towels would be equal to the cost of a year's college tuition.
My grandad had recently held a garage sale in which he priced everything ludicrously high. A rabbit-ear television set that got two channels in black-and-white had a price tag of $100 on it. A giant brown crocheted owl perched on a stick was priced at $45, and the piece de resistance, a picnic basket, was priced at $150. What could possibly be in that picnic basket? I wondered. When I opened it up, I found a dog-eared copy of I'm OK, You're OK, some rusty toenail clippers, a box of douching powder from the 1950s, and some leftover tubing from a home enema kit. It suddenly made sense that they might think a sweater vest from the Gap could be worth down payment on a house.
It has always been this way, and it has been a hard road. My whole life has been a series of gift misfires, all with the best of intentions.
______
"Fuck, Saman-za! Fuck!" His German accent literally came out of nowhere. I was so pissed off, but also, still very confused. "Pass auf, du Trampeltier! Mein Gott, Samanza! Fuck!"
I had had it.
"No, fuck you, you fucker!" I shouted at him. "Don't you swear at me! Leave me the fuck alone, you fucker - face!"
Only a few short months before my transformation into a bitch-on-wheels, I was as innocent as a lamb to the slaughter.
-Samantha Bee
Descriptive sexual content dominates this autobiography of humorous happenings. The overall tone is a bit much of what I don't like. I found plenty of things funny, but the book is comprised of chapter after chapter where sex is the main topic.
I'm going to donate this book to the Little Free Library in my neighborhood because I don't want to read it again and I don't want it in my home anymore.
Favorite Passages:
My maternal and paternal great-great grandmothers both divorced their husbands, and later went on to marry different kinds of sex perverts . . .
______
I slept with a dirty strip of squirrel fur that I had ripped off my grandmother's coat and called my "rat." If I couldn't find my rat, I would sob quietly and moan "Ratty" until my mother fished him out of the garbage again for the last time.
______
"Who does she think she's fooling, anyway, with those big juicy boobs? Not me! I can spot fake boobs from a mile away! Jeebus H. Krispies - are you seeing this? Get those things in a proper top. There are children present! Disgusting. So fake. Hanging all out of that bikini top. Let me put on my glasses so I can get a better look."
______
Imagine my surprise when I opened my lunch box one day to find that the extremely rare roast beef my mom had prepared the night before had exuded so much blood into the plastic wrap that my sandwich looked like an IV bag I was planning to administer for lunch. Well, at least it drew people's eyes away from my outfits for a while. My report card read "Cries easily."
______
The children on the playground began to rely on my breadth of perverted knowledge to spice up our below average games.
______
Not liking hot ham doesn't make a person a freak. In my opinion, it makes a person seem sensible and capable of discernment. But in my family, consumption of ham equals normal. And deciding whether or not to bite into a big, hot, squeaky Easter ham covered in sweet fruit goo is the barometer that determines whether you are thinking clearly or in one of your "crazy" phases.
"Are you eating ham these days? You're not a vegetarian right now, are you? We're having ham, is that going to be okay, or do I need to make you one of your special 'vegetable stacks'? How many pieces of ham do you want? Have some more ham - there's lots! This one came special ordered from Virginia and weighs twenty-seven pounds! There's even ham in the dessert!"
______
"I think the hardest time for her is waking up in the morning . . . those moments before she remembers who she is, and thinks instead about who she was."
______
"No. My mother would get really upset if someone drove me all the way home."
"Wouldn't it be faster than taking the subway and then a bus this late at night?" I shrugged with that one.
"Yeah, but she doesn't like me taking the easy way out. She wants me to know about hardship and the value of a dollar and how far a dollar can take you on public transportation."
______
"I have to be home at five on the dot or my mother will freak."
"Well, you're pretty close by, can't you just stay a little longer and then I'll walk you home? Can't your mother do without you for one dinner?"
"No. She really needs me. I take care of her. I have to feed her, and by five o'clock she's really hungry. I can't let her feed herself. She can't."
"Why?"
"She was born without arms. She's a human worm."
______
I can't remember her name offhand, but I had a distant aunt who was a butcher at a meat-packing plant. And by "butcher," I don't mean to imply that she was in there gently frenching the remaining flesh from pasture-fed lamb chops. She was employed hauling carcasses and doing the rough cuts on metal slab in a meat factory. My father called her Rameeda the Beast, and it suited her perfectly. She was about eight feet tall, was missing two fingers, and had a voice that coincidentally recalled the sound of a band saw cutting through human knuckles. The last time I saw her, she was smoking hands-free and microwaving a prime rib roast for Christmas dinner, while the rest of us were busy patting down the dining room chairs with Scotch tape to get rid of the molting fur of an ancient basset hound named Mr. Diggity.
My aunt's missing fingers haunted me. It looked like she had sewn the ends of her fingers closed with black yarn, and then cauterized them with boiling snake venom. I was mesmerized by them. I don't know if she suffered from any form of phantom limb syndrome, but I certainly did that Christmas, watching her tiny stumps struggle to attach the paper crowns that were meant to adorn the bony ends of our crown rib roast.
"Aww, fuck it. Merry Christmas, everyone," she said, as she slammed the naked roast onto the table. "Digg-ski in-ski."
______
If I could somehow bite someone else's hands off and attach them to my wrists, that would actually be great.
______
She disliked certain shows with such intensity that she watched them every day just to spite them and punish them. . . "Damn you, Victor Newman. Damn you. Argh! Oh, I could just smash him."
______
Unfortunately, due to a terrible accident at birth (i.e., not being born to people of means), I am forced to fight against my most basic nature and work for a living.
______
A local woman had half her face bitten off by her horse while trying to feed him carrots from her own mouth. My mother tried to justify it, but we all knew better . . .
"Well, I hardly think she was trying to neck with him . . ."
"She should stick some sugar cubes down her blouse next time and see how things turn out."
______
Kittens in the barn, kittens in the wood pile, kittens living in a tire swing, kittens in your purse. There were so many kittens that you had to check your boots before putting your feet into them, the way that you have to check your shoes for spiders when you're camping. My mother gave away kittens like some people give away zucchini and tomatoes at the end of a particularly abundant harvest."
"Oh, leaving so soon? Take a bucket of kittens with you for the car . . . "
______
We liked to spend our days dyeing our hair purple in the sink, bleaching our mustaches, and accumulating cats. We had four between us. You couldn't take a step into our apartment without getting kitty litter embedded in your foot, which was one of the reasons nobody ever came over, but certainly not the only one.
______
"Stop!" I cried. "You're dipping the tail in the sauce!"
"What?" he said densely. "It's edible, isn't it?" I noticed that he didn't seem to have any leftover tails on his cocktail plate. This guy was like a fucking seagull. I'd have to remember to cut all the plastic six-pack soda rings in the house so he didn't choke on one the next time he filter-fed in our apartment.
______
"Dammit! I told you not to get me towels! I have too many towels!" she hissed.
"But these ones are so soft and the ones you have in the bathroom are so scratchy! I thought you'd like them! You deserve softness!"
"Just don't get me gifts! Jesus! I told you not to. I begged you not to." She was practically in tears.
"I'm so sorry!"
Angry glare. "Just don't let it happen again."
I suppose they had a point. They just didn't want me spending what little money I had on frivolous things when they felt they had everything they needed for the rest of their lives. It didn't really help my case that they had such a skewed notion of what things cost that they could imagine that a set of hand towels would be equal to the cost of a year's college tuition.
My grandad had recently held a garage sale in which he priced everything ludicrously high. A rabbit-ear television set that got two channels in black-and-white had a price tag of $100 on it. A giant brown crocheted owl perched on a stick was priced at $45, and the piece de resistance, a picnic basket, was priced at $150. What could possibly be in that picnic basket? I wondered. When I opened it up, I found a dog-eared copy of I'm OK, You're OK, some rusty toenail clippers, a box of douching powder from the 1950s, and some leftover tubing from a home enema kit. It suddenly made sense that they might think a sweater vest from the Gap could be worth down payment on a house.
It has always been this way, and it has been a hard road. My whole life has been a series of gift misfires, all with the best of intentions.
______
"Fuck, Saman-za! Fuck!" His German accent literally came out of nowhere. I was so pissed off, but also, still very confused. "Pass auf, du Trampeltier! Mein Gott, Samanza! Fuck!"
I had had it.
"No, fuck you, you fucker!" I shouted at him. "Don't you swear at me! Leave me the fuck alone, you fucker - face!"
March 12, 2013
I listened to this as a book-on-tape largely because it seemed a little fluffy to waste valuable reading time on, and also because I have an acute crush on Samantha Bee and figured I'd enjoy hearing it entirely in her voice. I did.
Honestly, a lot of the book was really entertaining. It was often funny, obnoxious, and profane, and I liked that a lot. But great swatches of it just went on far too long for no apparent purpose, and I found my mind drifting as I rode the bus to work, or whatever. It could have used a stronger edit-- it seemed as though she'd turned in an MS and her editor asked her to make it longer, so she did so with much lower quality work. When she's on, she's funny as anything, and I was especially interested in hearing about her experiences growing up as a car thief, etc. But when she isn't on, it just drags. I have a feeling she could do better, and that this was something a publisher rushed her to get out.
Honestly, a lot of the book was really entertaining. It was often funny, obnoxious, and profane, and I liked that a lot. But great swatches of it just went on far too long for no apparent purpose, and I found my mind drifting as I rode the bus to work, or whatever. It could have used a stronger edit-- it seemed as though she'd turned in an MS and her editor asked her to make it longer, so she did so with much lower quality work. When she's on, she's funny as anything, and I was especially interested in hearing about her experiences growing up as a car thief, etc. But when she isn't on, it just drags. I have a feeling she could do better, and that this was something a publisher rushed her to get out.
December 7, 2016
I'm a big fan of Samantha Bee's TV show Full Frontal, and I was aware of her earlier run on The Daily Show. I wish she had waited until she had a year or two of her own show under her belt before writing a memoir-lite. There are some genuine laugh out loud moments, even a few must-read-this-aloud-to-someone-now moments. So three stars for that. But I kept wishing the book were funnier. And I kept hoping for one of those subtle, unifying threads. It never emerged. I hope this book does not preclude her writing another one in three or four years, with more narrative skill under her hot-pink bike helmet (reference to the final chapter).
December 13, 2016
I'm more convinced she's my spirit animal. Funny, weird, uncomfortable. A fun time. Definitely difficult reading on my commute and trying to not be the weird one on the bus smiling and laughing to herself. But then again, nobody bothered me when I was...Funny, weird, uncomfortable. An overall good time.
April 26, 2018
A disappointing memoir that made me think less of her than I did before I listened to her read it. I find her political commentary to be witty, edgy and spot on but the story of her young adult years was tedious. She portrayed herself as an unlikable young woman who lacked much of a moral compass (and I'm not a prude). I will still enjoy her current work but could have skipped this.
April 6, 2019
cringe.
I was hoping for a funny/candid memoir and while Bee opens herself up and gets verrrry personal (which I applaud, I commend anyone so giving with their humanness/transparency/life) I found this mostly sad and cringe-y, not funny (though trying a little too hard to be), with no cohesive goal or purpose... Even memoirs should have a theme...
I was hoping for a funny/candid memoir and while Bee opens herself up and gets verrrry personal (which I applaud, I commend anyone so giving with their humanness/transparency/life) I found this mostly sad and cringe-y, not funny (though trying a little too hard to be), with no cohesive goal or purpose... Even memoirs should have a theme...
March 29, 2018
It was a light and interesting look at what makes Sam B. I was, however, kinda hoping for the Full Frontal Samantha Bee and that was not this. I also wish that there was more about her and Jason. Listening to her talk about him you could tell what a cool and interesting couple they are.
November 16, 2018
I had so much fun reading this book and learning more about Samantha Bee - a woman who I admire and look up to. I laughed and laughed - sometimes to the point of crying - at her awkward and hilarious and relatable stories. Samantha is weird as hell, so funny, and super fucking adorable.
March 29, 2014
The best part was the story about her cat Newton, the frisky feral feline that tried to ...(I'm not kidding either)
April 3, 2018
I first saw Samantha Bee on Full-Frontal, which I think is hysterical. This book was humorous, but not quite as funny as that.
April 6, 2018
Fun autobiography. Much more intense than I imagined, in it's own way.
April 12, 2018
I love Samatha Bee. I want her to be the goddess of my commune. She’s inappropriate, brilliant, and amusing.
February 22, 2021
Memoirs by comedians always seem to leer back at me when I look at them. The act of putting out a book feels like part-and-parcel of being a successful television comedian, and the results are generally underwhelming to read. I want to clarify here that I don't have a skillset near as broad as someone who can perform for stage and studio and still manage to write a full book, and I don't mean to denigrate comedians for making the effort to put out books in general. Logically, moving from performance to composition makes sense in a profession where most of your material is yourself anyways. It makes sense, it's just not all that exciting to me.
Samantha Bee's I Know I Am, But What Are You? encapsulates a lot of the reasons why I generally don't like this kind of writing, but is also really enjoyable much of the time. Generally, the things I don't like about the memoirs of comedians (being a little precious about their own image, the feeling that the writer felt that they really sunk one in with a piece of clunky wordplay, and the general "getting cute"-ness that comedians cannot help but engage in occasionally when writing books) are well-balanced by things I enjoy about Samantha Bee herself.
Bee is very honest about how strange and gross her childhood was, which is comforting to hear and gives you the sense that even though her writing is a little awkward and forced sometimes, she's not being dishonest about herself. Are there obvious screenwriterly touches to the dialogue between characters? Yes. Does it feel manipulative? No. Her lack of self-cringing makes this a more interesting and down-to-earth read than it would have been if she spent the entire book whinging about how embarrassing she was. A big strength of Samantha Bee's is that she clearly knows what she is about and doesn't try to fuck you around about it.
That all being said, there is a sense that this was something that she kinda hopped into first as a cool idea and then went about completing with no real plan. Most of the stories in this memoir end very abruptly, straining to find an appropriate call-back to put a button on the narrative before ending on some general maxim, and it's kinda just... off? The structure is really loose and feels like Bee realized that she wanted to tell a bunch of stories informative of her character but kinda lost the actual thesis of a lot of them and so there doesn't feel like much of a point to end on other than the fact that she found a specific part of her life Sensible Chuckle-level funny.
I don't know. I feel like I'm being too harsh. The book is fine! It has a good voice, and it's obvious to me that a lot of my issues are issues I'd have with any writer who's a little new and shaky on their feet. I probably won't read this again, but it was a nice way to pass the time and I got a few laughs from it. If you like Samantha Bee, you will probably like this book.
ADDENDUM: I did not mention this because I wrote this review at 1 AM after powering through the last of it, but this was definitely written by a cishet comedian in the Year of Our Lord AD 2010 and boy howdy does it show. There is a lot of weird vague misogyny and an instance of the T-slur. Not great! Just saying!
Samantha Bee's I Know I Am, But What Are You? encapsulates a lot of the reasons why I generally don't like this kind of writing, but is also really enjoyable much of the time. Generally, the things I don't like about the memoirs of comedians (being a little precious about their own image, the feeling that the writer felt that they really sunk one in with a piece of clunky wordplay, and the general "getting cute"-ness that comedians cannot help but engage in occasionally when writing books) are well-balanced by things I enjoy about Samantha Bee herself.
Bee is very honest about how strange and gross her childhood was, which is comforting to hear and gives you the sense that even though her writing is a little awkward and forced sometimes, she's not being dishonest about herself. Are there obvious screenwriterly touches to the dialogue between characters? Yes. Does it feel manipulative? No. Her lack of self-cringing makes this a more interesting and down-to-earth read than it would have been if she spent the entire book whinging about how embarrassing she was. A big strength of Samantha Bee's is that she clearly knows what she is about and doesn't try to fuck you around about it.
That all being said, there is a sense that this was something that she kinda hopped into first as a cool idea and then went about completing with no real plan. Most of the stories in this memoir end very abruptly, straining to find an appropriate call-back to put a button on the narrative before ending on some general maxim, and it's kinda just... off? The structure is really loose and feels like Bee realized that she wanted to tell a bunch of stories informative of her character but kinda lost the actual thesis of a lot of them and so there doesn't feel like much of a point to end on other than the fact that she found a specific part of her life Sensible Chuckle-level funny.
I don't know. I feel like I'm being too harsh. The book is fine! It has a good voice, and it's obvious to me that a lot of my issues are issues I'd have with any writer who's a little new and shaky on their feet. I probably won't read this again, but it was a nice way to pass the time and I got a few laughs from it. If you like Samantha Bee, you will probably like this book.
ADDENDUM: I did not mention this because I wrote this review at 1 AM after powering through the last of it, but this was definitely written by a cishet comedian in the Year of Our Lord AD 2010 and boy howdy does it show. There is a lot of weird vague misogyny and an instance of the T-slur. Not great! Just saying!
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