1/19/05: Quick-Hittin'

I'm in one of those moods where I want to shake things up here on the ol' website. It'll pass in a day, when I remember how lazy I am.  But I was really disappointed in yesterday's post, especially my trite intro about MLK.  I just felt like saying something, and I didn't have the energy to type something meaningful or original.  Oh well.  That's why we get to post new stuff every day.  Out with that old crap, and on to the new strategy: we're going to keep things nice and simple for awhile. I'ma hit you quick like the 46 Defense.  Your quarterback will panic, creating multiple turnovers, and before you know it, I'll be sending in the Fridge for a goal-line plunge.

***

I was reading about Les Moonves' attempt to put a positive spin on the Rather departure, and who knows, maybe he's onto something good with the multiple-anchor solution.  But I daresay I have a better idea for choosing a replacement: American Anchor. What better way to ensure long-term ratings supremacy than to let America itself choose Rather's replacement? Start with the ten or twenty most qualified available candidates.  Give each candidate one or two nights in the anchor chair. Send Morley Safer and Mike Wallace -- I don't care, send Geraldo -- and do a full-scale investigative background check on each candidate, to be presented at the end of their mini-stint as anchor.  Then open up the phone lines and let the people pick the nation's new father figure. Narrow it down to five, then three, and then two, with the final vote to pick a winner based on the job they did guest-hosting and a few other tests, such as current events, history, geography, and hair.  You come out of the (approximately) six week period with two gigantic benefits:

1) a huge ratings bonanza, complete with the kind of buzz that hasn't been associated with the news game since Ernie Anastos returned to WCBS.
2) a new anchor whose popularity with the American public is already certified.  He'll probably also skew younger, bringing in the much-coveted 18-34 demographic that up to this point hasn't given a damn about network news.

Les, you owe me for this. Big time.

***

Since I'm already giving out free advice today, I have some for all of you, dear readers. The next time you arrive early to something and have a few minutes to kill, do yourself a favor and sneak into the nearest Barnes and Noble/Border's/Megabooks and locate a copy of Tommyland, Tommy Lee's latest autobiography.  Never mind that the Motley Crue autobiography only came out a couple of years ago and should more than adequately cover any lingering questions you may have had about the Crue.  Put that aside and assume there is some plausible audience for a book by Tommy Lee about Tommy Lee. Pick the book up off the shelf and just read the foreword.*  It's worth a look, mostly because it's written by HIS DICK.  I ain't shitting you.

What a tool.

***

Today I was rubbing my red eyes on the way to work, wedged onto the #2 train with all the other shit-sacking zombies, and I wondered to myself: at what point in life did I decide that money wasn't important to me, and on what idiotic basis was I making this decision?  A great deal of money -- less than 10 million but more than $750,000 -- would radically improve my life in innumerable ways. Why didn't I see this when I was young and had the opportunity to choose a wealth-generating career path?

I guess maybe I was misled by all those stupid songs, like "Can't Buy Me Love." But even the Beatles knew better: they also covered "Money (That's What I Want)," a sentiment that, judging from their career earnings,  proved to be closer to their hearts.  I should have learned how valuable money could be. Even Run-DMC were there to wonder, "Won't ya tell me last time that love bought your clothes?" And our old friend Alex Chilton, whose legend was based on thumbing his nose at success, still had the good sense to record this cute little ditty for his pre-Big Star solo album, 1970: "All I really want is money."

Maybe it was all those corny movies and ridiculous fairy tales, which constantly tried to show you that even without a dime to your name, you can lead a rich and fulfilling life. Too bad that isn't true.

I need me some money. Maybe 80 grand to start.

***

One more wheredat, above right.

***

Finally, I want to send out a get-well-soon to another wounded buddy, my man Brady in Chicago, who recently suffered a quite-serious arm wound courtesy of a mitre saw. Tough old-fashioned bastard that he is, he didn't even let out a yell. And he's been driving his stick shift with one good arm. I hope you get better soon and are ready for this summer's arm-wrestling season.

* If you can stomach the high-grade stupidity long enough to make it that far.