Kit Rivers is a stand-up comedian and writer in Chicago, IL- she is currently eating a donut and continuing to be neurotic.

We get it. We are on our phones all the time. It’s annoying, self-indulgent-basically millennials are the worst! But don’t worry we are fucked anyways because the world is melting around us (seriously California is on fire like every day). And yet we are the only animal on earth whose survivor instinct doesn’t seem to want to kick in. So instead of doing anything to save ourselves we are actually going to speed up the process by continuing to pillage the earth and waste time looking at dumb validating articles like this. I mean don’t get me wrong I’m not doing anything useful either…I’m just saying.

But, I bring all this up not to bore you with the same introduction about our addictions to phones we already have memorized, (I mean we are addicted to them but that isn’t the point) but rather to offer a different explanation of why we are addicted. My story begins when I found myself one day without my phone- I know I have a tough life. Between my schedule and my location there was also no way to get to my phone until about ten hours later.
Now I should note I actually have always prided myself around friends about not using my phone that much. You would catch me saying things like “I’m not saying I don’t use my phone I’m just saying I’m a lot better than most people I know.” Seriously, it was like a point of pride for me, ask my friends- ASK THEM!

For example, I won’t get it out at a meal with friends, family or otherwise (unless of course you know I need to look up the name of …oo you know…that girl….that woman…sorry…that woman from that show…you know the show with that guy from…about the funerals). So unless it’s really important I don’t use it. Admittedly that is better than you or definitely people you know (because the bad parts of this article certainly don’t relate to you, just the parts where I validate that you ARE brave, and fierce BUT also sensitive and have a perfect pussy/dick and knack for whiskey).

Additionally, I never just get my phone out because I think I might have to look at someone. I prefer books anyways (See! I’m the hot, and smart one). I have plenty of friends who don’t actually get OFF the phone unless reality jukes its way into their line of vision and they are forced (eye roll) to deal with another human being.

I am connected though. I think I like Facebook the best because I am a Midwest (hip) mother of three- obviously. And I have Twitter but I never use it (unless I am particularly clever …) and at one point my brother made me get Instagram but I repeat I NEVER use it! Ok that statement wasn’t to be cool or interesting I just seriously NEVER use it and I’m tired of my friends thinking I’m ignoring them on there, I should delete it but I don’t know how because remember… I NEVER use it!!

All this is to say that when I left the house that day and almost defiantly said “Yea! Fuck you phone! I’m a down to earth (but not a hippie, you know just the right kind of sexy) gal! I can conquer this day without you!”

Seriously, just leaving my phone behind made me feel like my whole day might turn around. I seemed to think I might suddenly not have a desperate and horrifying fear of genuine interaction (because it wouldn’t be exactly how I wanted it to be, catered to my every like and dislike). I would just be able to go up to a homeless person and learn all about their life and struggles which would put everything into wonderful perspective. I would be able to see an old man crossing the street and help him to his final destination- I would actually talk to people with different lives and backgrounds and histories instead of taking a selfie with them and pretending I did!

Ok, maybe not like that but I did have a good feeling about the day. This feeling quickly went away when I realized the reality of my situation. I was not, in fact, the cool, in-touch girl. Every time I phantom reached for my pocket I realized I was as disgusting as the rest of you monsters! I needed it! I needed to check my mail- who knows maybe I would get THE BIG CALL today (whatever the fuck that was)! I was as simple and basic as the rest of you bitches.

This desperation I was feeling led me to ask the question well why do I want to check? I don’t really like reading statuses, most are ignorant or cute (so they distract me and that is wrong, I’m looking at you sister, with your cute damn baby)! I really don’t care to know what my best friend’s racist little brother’s snapchat story has to offer, so WHY?! I like nature, I like people watching so why must I check! Are we really just addicted?

I don’t think so. I mean we are addicted in the scientific sense of the word, but this isn’t a science article now is it? It’s the blog of a privileged millennial. This is about feelings. So I think we aren’t addicted in the sense that society talks about i.e. needing the likes, the approval, the sense of community and belonging, the constant validation. I think it is something different, something harder even to face than our own egos- of which we can accept being victims of.

We are bored. With ourselves. Our own existence. Our own thoughts. Our selfish endless monologue. If our lives are good we feel this compulsion to make up shit to be sad and mad about. And why are we bored? Because we have stopped doing anything for anybody else. We have stopped learning about each other in a real way, we would rather learn from the projections that people display of themselves (because those are always accurate right? We know you haven’t always been a Hawks fan Mike even though your status says “fuck bandwagon-ers!”)

Social media has put us all at arm’s length and now we only really have ourselves and what we are going to tell others about ourselves to deal with- and it’s fucking boring!!!! I’m TOO in tune with myself- I need a break – I need something, anything to let me know that I can think about someone or something else for just a second- and then I reach for my phone. It seems to be the only way we’ve learned to reach out to others. The only problem is we don’t realize that this false form of socialization might be precisely why it is so difficult to actually be social. To truly allow yourself to be a social human being you have to give up control of the situation. Facebook doesn’t make you do that, but humans do.

So, why don’t we try instead to get to know other people, to find ourselves without a phone for the day? Ask a stranger to help you with directions, or an employee about sizing charts (they might actually know more than Google). A day where you need to go inside a bank, talk to a teller, to look up at a barista as they do their job, where they constantly think “hey wouldn’t it be nice if someone treated me like a FUCKING PERSON IS IN FRONT OF THEM ( seriously, they aren’t robots, its rude, say hello)!

Put the phones down kids, it might actually change your life ;)


Extra, Extra! After a long (suspicious) silence from the patriarch we received word that our family does in fact have strong ancestral French roots. For generations we have thought our father’s family to be almost entirely Irish. Upon receiving word of about this shift in our perceived background our father sent us some updates about our new heritage.

SUBJECT: Consequences of Being French

1.Big Guy (older brother) is no longer to be called the crown prince. He is the dauphin.

2. We will all have to learn the names of the several French who did not collaborate with the Nazis.

3. As much as possible we will wear berets for formal occasions.

4. Cheese—lots of cheese for snacks. And Wine.

5. Mom and I will promote more bell ringing as I coo in French. All of you will need to have bells installed by the end of the year.

6. Everyone will be given increased clothing allowance.

7. We no longer have to celebrate Anglo-Irish cooking such that it is.

8. You will no longer need to drive sanely.

9. Soon you will receive portraits of Napoleon (not as short as you think) and Charles De Gaulle to be hung in the “French” room.

10. You are free to bypass Quebec and say your ancestors are French. Kit, this is major.

11. Nancy is knitting you all a scarf that has all the key events of the French revolution on it and bracelets with Liberté, Égalité, Fraternité

12. All will receive small brass guillotines as stocking stuffers with realistic heads.

Autres temps, autres mœurs.
Times change.

Until next time…
The Dauhpine?

In case you missed it…

Here is the video link to the final St. Michael’s P-Day video I made.  As my former classmates start classes I hope this serves a reminder to enjoy every last moment!  Check the site tomorrow for a new post about my adventures in Chicago!




September 7—Pop-up Comedy @Art Hop—Show @ 8:30

September 13—Johnson State Show @8pm

September 14—Showcase @Champlain Lanes—Show @ 9:00pm

September 25—Showcase @Radio Bean —Show @ 11pm

September 28—Showcase in Barre, VT—Show @ 8pm



While not theatre realted I withold the right to shamelessly plug my upcoming show! THE WITCHES running May 9-12 and May 16-19. Click the link below for tickets and more info!


I have no words this week…enjoy.


Dear Progeny: Hide the button! That’s right. This is the kind of game that real kids need to play. At mamaw’s birthday we introduced a weak version of it to keep the little ones occupied.  It was “hide the scarf” and an idiot could have found it but the kids still had to be taken practically on top of it. And it dawned on me right there—a real epiphany, a Eureka moment. What kids need is a reintroduction to the game of my childhood. Hide the button. Not a scarf or a loaf of bread but a button, the tiniest possible, that could be concealed anywhere.  Every nook and cranny becomes a potential hiding place—my favorite was inside a light bulb socket until my youngest brother got partially fried. You cannot imagine the search skills entailed (Google is fascinating but we are taking about real search techniques the kind that will come in handy as an adult and you can’t find anything anymore). Both the hider and the seeker benefit from this. To hide requires insight the match of Poe’s protagonist in The Purloined Letter. Hide and Seek.  We use to hide marbles until one of my siblings had the bright idea of swallowing the marble. Now that adds another dimension to SEEK  but eventually with patience and a small butter knife my mother was able to find it a couple of days later. 
I hope you have enjoyed this walk down memory lane, but more importantly heed my advice. Hide the Button a game whose virtues have not been fully discovered. Dad  NB: Kids will play this game literally forever.
PS There is a downside. A good chance that things will be broken, no longer function like they use to, stuff found that no one wanted found.

“I’m Kit Rivers”

Brought to us by the lovely and talented booking manger at Levity comedy club, Carmen Lagala.


This week brought my siblings and I a particurlarly interesting email from father.  In my parents new found adoration of Downton Abbey my father wanted us to place bids for the renaming of the rooms in the house.  Mr. H (as stated in previous emails is our family’s ficticious “wealth” advisor) also has a stake in this weeks email.  Below is of course my father’s email but also my brother’s (kiss-ass) response.  Needless to say I will save your from the next 48 emails which were all pretty heated in light of a fake competition where no prize will ever be given.

NOTE: Molly is my sister and Matt her husband.  During construction of their new home they lived in my parents basement for 6 weeks.

Dear Offspring: Since your mother and I are now hooked on Downton Abbey (H watches with us –loves Kettle Corn) our house seems rather dull so we are thinking of some renaming (when we leased to Matt and Molly they kept calling it the basement to get rent control rates; but we have upgraded.)  We are looking to call the Sunroom either the Conservatory or the Solarium—all I think it needs to pull this off is a nude statue of some kind.  The room in the lower level of the house has a few options (other than lower level or basement or even family room). We are looking at Drawing Room (basically a large private room where people went to be withdrawn—get it).  Also Den given its privacy (somewhat large for a den and it does have some windows).  In any case join the Downton Abbey Naming Contest and winning entry (with no more than 200 word defense) will receive a quality item selected by Mr. H.
Affectionately yours,  his lordship.
PS Her ladyship and I call our bedroom the boudoir.
Here are my nominations. I attach no defense. The defense, simply put, is that
these are the proper names for such rooms.

1. “Mud Room” (you peasants
disgust me): Anteroom
2. “Vermont Room” (simply adorable): Conservatory
“Garage” (do we provide oil changes?): Stables
4. “Fireplace” (are we
pioneers?): Hearth
5. “Front door” (because we are apparently prostitutes):
Foyer (and if I hear you pronounce the “r” so help me)
6. “Living Room”
(adjacent to the dining room, because, like typical Americans, you live where
you eat): Parlor
7. “Dining Room” (you got this one right): Dining Room
“Dad’s Office” (this is 1900 not 1950, and it is “Lord” not “Ward”): Study (or
Library now that sir is retired)
9. “The Basement” (my instinct is to leave
it unnamed as respectable persons have no business downstairs, but, if you
insist): Lower Drawing Room
10. “Living Room” (adjacent to the kitchen–see
#6): Upper Drawing Room

Emails from my Father

The long awaited return of the my father’s “important” emails.  This week we feature his brief welcome home email.  This includes his fictional character of “Mr. H” (it is consequently himself) the family’s accountant, who is additionally having an affair with  my  mother.

Welcome Home Kit. When you get to SMC get a FLU SHOT if you haven’t already done so. Best New Year’s gift you can give yourself. Also H said to tell you he missed you and he is glad he doesn’t have to do anymore Pds and Euro conversion shit.  Love, Dad



Goodbye London, Hello BTV!

ian stuart john tole







My first show back on a Burlington stage this Wednesday! Featuring Ian Stuart and John Tole!  For tickets!


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