Eight Feet Deep

What this country needs is more Abe Vigoda. Vigoda, 24/7. All Vigoda all the time. One iota of Vigoda. Viagra, Vigoda, let’s call the whole thing off. Okay, I’ve got Vigoda out of my system. I still think Jack Soo had the best line in the 70s sitcom “Barney Miller,” in which Vigoda also starred. In the episode in which the squad members ate hashish-laden brownies that had been baked by Wojo’s girlfriend, Soo (as Det. Nick Yemana)said:

“What do you say we guys go down to the beach, and shoot some clams?”

It still cracks me up.

If all the world’s a stage, then who are its roadies? What kind of noise do we hear when the world has a sound check? What does the world look like from the cheap seats? What would happen if everyone in the world flicked on a disposable lighter at the same time? Tell me, huh? You’re so smart!

Why is North Street blocked off by police near where I live on an otherwise quiet Wednesday afternoon? That’s what I wanted to know.

Maybe it is the fact I was once a firefighter. Maybe it is because I was a reporter. Or maybe it is just that I am a nosy sumbitch. But when I hear sirens come to a sudden stop in my neighborhood I want to find out why. It’s not like sirens aren’t a very common occurrence living only a couple of blocks from a busy hospital. But along with a couple of older ladies on the block, I stood on the street corner for a few minutes a short time ago to see why the cops and the fire department had a portion of the street blocked off. I mean, it could be a hazardous materials incident. There was a FedEx truck involved after all. Or it could be a terrorist. Or to paraphrase Shel Silverstein, it could be some nut down on the corner giving hundred-dollar bills away. But mainly we stood there because we are busy bodies. It turns out the FedEx truck clipped a power pole. So now we know.

Okay chief, remember that when Kennedy or Leahy start to ask questions you all storm in with your hoses and start spraying.

If I am going to be ill, injured, invalid or whatever other “i” word I might conjure up to explain my infirmities, I might as well be watching the Alito confirmation hearings. Something I have found useful is that, with the combination of pain pills and the hearings on C-Span, I am actually able to doze off. Slumber plus drugs plus unreality TV makes for some fascinating dialog. The problem is I can’t figure out if what I am hearing is real or if I am dreaming.

Sen. Specter: Judge Alito, do you waltz or are you more of a tango type man, you big lug?
Alito: I have never, ever, had sex with that woman.
Sen. Cornyn: What gets your whites so clean? My sheets never come out quite that white. And I’ve got many a cross to burn, er, bear.
Alito: I am Sam, Sam I am.
Sen. Hatch: Could someone please bring me my pie? Sam? Will you please bring me my pie?
Alito: Am I Sam? Sam I am?
Sen: Specter: And here comes the firemennnnn. Let’s all get wet!

And then I wake up and they’re talking about the Dred Scott decision. And you were there playing a cowardly lion and you were a winged monkey, and you were a wicked witch. Specter, Hatch and Cornyn. Oh my.

I received an e-mail from Dallas native Raine Devries asking that I pass along info from her site regarding the slaughter of horses. I don’t know much about the subject other than knowing horse meat is supposedly a big epicurean treat in Europe. And even though I am one who can feast upon all types of wild game, I do have trouble grabbing hold of thoughts on consuming the family horse. So do me a favor and read what Raine has to say.