Remember Andy Rooney? I think he died. Not sure. After I write this I’ll go to Wikipiedia and link his name. But by then I’ll have written this, and I don’t feel much like editing. Which might be more introspection than is readable, but then that’s the point of this post.
I saw Andy Rooney on Sixty Minutes a few times, and my point of view on him is the one of the popular and uninformed, the PoV fit for creating parody: that he was a rambling bafoon. Part of that is a reactionary disposition, one that rebels against good old fashioned Americana. You know, the same PoV that makes fun of Norman Rockwell and members of the VFW who wear suspenders. We’re such (young) curmudgeons (we’ll be fun to make fun of when we’re old (if we don’t all die of heroin overdoses first (or limp bizkit overdoses (because it is now ironic to listen to limp bizkit (good god time is getting compressed, innit))))).
My transistor radio, which I bought just to listen to AM stations, doesn’t get the best reception all of the time. Or any of the time, now that I think about it. Sometimes, the only place where it doesn’t whine and click is sitting right in front of me, between me and the keyboard. Which is fine if I’m just surfing. But if I want to type (crap) like right now.
“So turn it off!” I can hear you say (and here “you” is a fake person, since no one reads this blog, and if someone does, that person is a crazy person, who understands a little well why the radio can’t be turned off). Well, that’s not going to happen. I abhor silences. One of the (many) reasons I talk all the time.
The point of all of this of course is that I need to write more, a common lament that comes from me, a chronic dirge that comes after a derth of blogging. Blogging… that’s just extemporaneous writing that I’m not ashamed enough to not share in a publically accessible way. And yes, whining that I whine too much has become de rigueur of late as well. So what. Would that have stopped Andy Rooney? A veteran of opinion writing, a professional, a man with a storied career and thousands of fans possessed of and respectful of his intelligence?
I have no idea; I have not read that Wikipedia article yet (and this one-line Dave Barry wannabe end of article zinger is hereby ruined by my pointing out that it’s a failed Dave Barry-esque zinger, if only to say next time: instead of not writing anything like Andy Rooney I’ll try and I’ll fail at emulating Dave Barry).