Maybe this is only relevant to Pennsylvania, but if any group of Americans ever needed cable, it is the Amish.
I remember thinking Grizzly Adams was the coolest.
Nostalgic, but strange. I remember my mother and grandmother both filled with anticipation for the annual Andy Williams Christmas Special variety show.
Stupid Headlines that show up in my news aggregator, and maybe even other Stupid Stuff that I find–a new tradition I talked about here. Who knows? No one knows–it’s a big, damn mystery. But the world is brimming with Stupid, and I’m setting out to document it and share it with you on days that I can’t think of anything worthwhile or positive to write about.
Today’s choice verges on the political–one of them thar one percenter rants.
“CBS Says CEO Moonves’s Pay Fell 14% to $57.2 Million Last Year”
—No human being in the world is worth $57.2 Million/year, not even those dearest of human treasures: bikini models. Especially the guy who brings us shows like “Two Racist Scatological Sex-Obsessed Bimbos and A Cupcake” and twelves hours a week of NCIS. Next up: NCIS: Nebraska. It is shows like his–let’s double down and mention Two And A Half Men while we’re at it–that should make us embarrassed to be Americans in a way we haven’t been embarrassed since the great cultural morass that was the 1980s–yes, Les Moonves is worse than the guys who brought us both the Chevrolet Citation and these guys on the right.
A quick word about Sally Wiggin day. Sally is the queen of Pittsburgh media, a rabid Steeler fan, and an accomplished journalist adored by all. I can’t believe that I missed it when the city of Pittsburgh City Council declared last Tuesday as “Sally Wiggin Day.”
From a dream I had…I’m with some cool government white-hat cats in this purple old Ford panel van, something out of The Waltons via American Graffitti with slick modern Goodyears and the lush power rumble of a primo big block Chevy engine under the hood. The Feds are dressed to the nines: sharp suits and fedoras, vests, pointed shoes, but not effete: we’re talking button sleeves and half windsors, none of that Kevin Costner Armani crap–we’re going full bore Robert Stack.
We are moving in on the bad guys, who we know are staked out in a reservoir dog warehouse down a narrow alley, mostly shaded but for the weak glow of a single street light. I’m in the back. A man who would be Elliot Ness is driving with a beautiful woman from a soap opera riding shotgun–and Elliot, he drives that gaudy machine right down the alley and parks it so close to a black limo we’ve been shadowing, I say “They’ll spot this car in a heartbeat, it will stand out too much.”
And Elliot says, “we’re counting on it.”
Then, as soon as he said it, a wedge of gangsters appears from a building, moving towards us.
“Just stay cool kid, this is all part of the show.”
So it’s a setup, a sting. Elliot and the soap opera shotgun queen step out to greet the gangsters–but I don’t know the plan. Stay cool, kid, she stage whispers.
I sit there, arms crossed, try to look tough but ready for action–the body guard waiting in the car as a sign of good faith to the gangsters. I hear Elliot saying, “Just to show you my respect, Louie, I left my muscle in the car.” Gangster eyes peer in through the windows at me, the enemy muscle. I nod, try to make like a volcano: cool on the outside, ready to blow.
It is all about good will, and the gangsters ask me out of the car–they need to check me for weapons. I’m unarmed. They want to x-ray the packages.
There are packages in the back of the panel van, three of them. I should know which to give them but I don’t.
And then the x-ray.
And then they find the gun….