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 Dog health noticeably better; Gnat, however, had a relapse of her cold. 101.2 fever, no appetite. Spent the morning on the sofa and seems to be making a run at spending the afternoon there as well. So she missed Valentine’s Day at school – something that would have been worse had not every other gathering and event last week featured candy and cards. It’s become like Halloween – a holiday smeared over a week with a certain hard terminus that must feel arbitrary. Why is it over? It was never over before. So no school, no office, no precious 90 minutes of pure work time in the afternoon. We’ll have to fall back on our old Tuesday favorite: Film Noir photos. Today it’s a quiz: recognize this guy? In a way he looks like pictures of my dad from that era, but lots of men did. My dad also looked like Robert Crane, although thankfully the resemblace stopped there. Anyway:  How about now?  I love that shot – it would make a fine desktop picture if it didn’t come from a public domain movie that had spent the last 30 years at the bottom of an outhouse pit frequented by hillbillies whose main dietary ingredient consisted of grit and lye. And the soundtrack’s worse, too. While you figure it out, I’m going to take her temp again; she was 102 an hour ago before the Tylenol. Down to 100.5. Good. And she’s cheerful. Now?  How about . . . now?  Of course, it's him. "Fear in the Night," his first movie. And no, he doesn't say it, or any variant. Someone is dead, someone might be named Jim, but it doesn't come together as you pray it might. Just did a pretape for the Hewitt show. Asked if Easongate was over, I thought it was, possibly because A) what else can be done to the man? Send nasty mails to the Waterloo, IA TV station that hires him to revamp thier high school sports coverage? And also because B) Gnat was downstairs yelling I HAVE TO GO POOPY so my attention span was somewhat fractured. But then I did think of something else I'm sure is glaringly obvious to all. I think the Eason Jordon case is less important than the Dan Rather case, for obvious reasons. But it seems to have produced the same amount of enthusiasm. At some point this amount of glee is going to be applied towards someone who might actually turn out to be innocent. What then? Well, it'll kill the credibilty of those who led the charge, and help the reps of those who turn it away. It'll be a big self-correcting moment, but the self-correcting won't be the story; the story will be the mistake. Ah HAH! And so forth, until open war is declared and the New York Times deploys its hunter-killer bots to go back in time and terminate the guy who invents the WWW. I'm beginning to think they would if they could. Later. Well, that was a productive evening: wrote a Newhouse column on intelligent design, a Strib column on Jimmy Dean Sausage, and a Joe Ohio on having lunch with one’s mother. Didn’t have much time to improve the last one – 30 minute rule has to apply tonight. Last night when I opened up the folder and got ANOTHER Clover Coffee matchbook, I groaned; not again. But at the end of the session I knew I’d set up the next day, which made things easier. Unless the next matchbook threw me a curve. Of course they all do, which is part of the fun. I’m finally in a better mood. God knows I was grim death last night, and when I finished I sat down to watch TV. SEARCHING FOR SIGNAL ON SATELLITE 1 Too much snow. Too tired to care. Well, it’s back up now, and I’m going to relax. Gnat’s better, but still subpar; Jasper’s better but still hestitates when it comes to flights of stairs. I could continue on, and excerpt an amusing angry email that took me to task for a positive mention of the GoDaddy.com Superbowl ad on the air (before the Hewitt / Beinhart debate I’d said I didn’t care who won, as long as they ran a GoDaddy.com commercial between plays.) How could I endorse such trash? Oh, I don’t know, because I like to get in touch with my inner Tex Avery Wolf, complete with ahh-OOOH-gagh eyeballs. This is why I noted with horror and amusement a comment-section posting that nominated me for FCC chairman; I could only disappoint everyone. As I think I said a year ago, my objection to the wardrobe malfunction wasn’t the (shock!) sight of a unholstered bosom on (gasp!) TV, it was A) the dank crude stupid nature of the routine coupled withB) teat-deployment where no teat-deployment had been expected. Save it for cable, that’s my motto. Is that such a horribly confining request? This is why I would disappoint some as FCC chairman. Yes, you can show that on Carnivale. No, you cannot show Carnivale on broadcast. Yes, I watch it. No, it’s not hypocritical, for the same reason that one can unroll the effenheimer in all its glorious manifestations when you’re at a bar with buddies, and dasn’t blue the air with shiesty oaths when the kids are present. Context counts. But as usual, I’m repeating myself. To the couch! |
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