You think you know what to expect from people, but damned if they don't always surprise you. Now, I'm well aware by this time that if I write another word about the fetid swamp that is KCTS programming, some poor cluck will drop me a line with the revelation that Channel 9 is the home of Masterpiece Theatre and that I should just keep my big, mean mouth away from it. (People in denial always like to portray the station as Jane Austen's home away from home, neglecting the fact that you're more likely to run into the 256th airing of One Stroke Painting With Donna Dewberry.) I've accepted this and now feel a sort of inner peace comparable to what Richard Chamberlain must be experiencing now that he can rent Auntie Mame without fear of recrimination. I was not, however, prepared to encounter the astounding amount of free time readers had on their hands to rally behind the divinely fetid swamp that is American pop culture.
A couple of weeks ago, in a few minutes of deep introspection between my last Snickers and contemplating how I could get on elimiDATE, I sat down and typed my fingers to the bone uncovering some of the biggest lies since Watergate. The result was a hard-hitting piece of national importance: a list fearlessly announcing that, among other truths, no one on American Idol can sing and that, in fact, Alias' Jennifer Garner is more fit to be a waitress at T.G.I. Friday's (and, I'm telling you, that woman is dying to recommend the potato skins). Well, citizens, I'm here to say that I may as well have detailed my plan to overthrow the government; such was the response to my brave anarchy.
One sprite from out in the online world sent me a terse missive that the column "shows that you dont know anything"; since "don't" usually comes complete with an apostrophe, I began to worry that this little whiz kid was a leader of some sort.
Indeed she was. She was quickly followed into the breach by someone named Melanie, who wrote all the way from Oregon to defend her favorite American Idol finalist, saying that she "unabashedly and unapologetically love[s] Clay Aiken's voice." Furthermore, Miss Melly says that she will "happily listen to Aiken's powerful [voice] with its perfect pitch hour after hour and [has] already preordered the single," adding daringly, "I can't wait to preorder his full CD." Melanie, you are a troubled person. While Richard Chamberlain may appreciate your bold admission, I recommend time away from your kitty cat posters.
Most volatile yet was the enraged soul who asked our webmaster, "Do you actually give this guy a paycheck for what is printed under his byline?" (No worries there, fellaI had ramen for lunch today.) After suggesting that I don't even "halfway" like television, movies, or music, said reader went on to claim that my world was "dreary and hateful," that I was suicidal and needed therapy, and that I was "someone who obviously blames everyone else for his own shortcomings in life." What I want to know is, which one of my friends wrote this?