A Light Roast is an inescapably honest look at grief, a life lived, and the darkly humorous ways we continue laughing with the dead. After the sudden death of her father, Jen continues in conversation with him-because where else is he except in her head? Living with the soundtrack of a vulgar, whip-smart, scotch-loving bear of a baby boomer in your brain is exhausting, but it sure beats the nothingness of death. Jen talks at her dad while his ashes sit-waiting and listening-a captive man in a can. As for Bud? He talks back, continuing to "roast" his daughter and trying to control from the beyond. Bud dishes out advice on what shapes our messy existence: from good tunes to cars, from lotto tickets to the decision to have kids ("Trust me, don't," this father cautioned his own offspring.) Together, they wax lyrical about the best cover songs, air dirty family laundry, and sort out that every day shouldn't be just a series of forced marches. With endearing irreverence, they bring back Bud-isms: "The sun shines on every dog's ass, eventually." Come for the unlicensed grief-therapy, and stay for the profanity. A Light Roast reveals that to live with grief, we shouldn't make angels out of the dead. Instead, we need to keep the roast going.