Monday, November 03, 2003

The Jewelry-Store-In-The-Mall Network

Feelings upon watching CBS's diamond anniversary bash: achiness, slight horror, unintentional amusement, high depression.

Ohhhhhhhhhh, how to pick a favorite part? Was it staring at Meathead's big fat yap wide open to sing along with "Those Were The Days?" Andy Rooney looking like he just fell out of an assisted living complex? Along with his roommate, Bob Barker? Smiling delightedly at the Smothers Brothers for 4.5 seconds until they got obnoxious? Bob Newhart looking like he'd just been beaten and left for dead? When did he get old? (Nice homage to Newhart's Best Sitcom Ending Ever, btw: "Emily, I had the strangest dream." Bob Newhart kicks copious amounts of ass. I still refer to men in groups of three as Larry, Darryl, and Darryl. Also, all-grown-up Ron Howard is sexy. Sexy.)

What made me drop the remote and reach for the glass of Clorox, though, was the sight of Bo and Luke Duke trotting onstage, which, when they were announced, gave me an initial tingle. Luke Duke made a woman out of me, my friends. All the mad heaving lust in my heart? I formed it all at the age of five the first time I beheld Luke Duke. That poster where he and Bo are leaning against the General Lee? I had that. My sister and I, we each had our own copies. Julie went more for Bo, for whom I for some reason felt faint contempt, a general “Naaaaaaaaahhhhhhhh,” both of which became justified when I as an adult came across the following Schneiderlicious quote: "Tom and I have a lot of fun messin' around with the 'General Lee,' the car in the show, even when the cameras aren't turning. We both drive all the stunts you see us drive, except stuff that's off the ground, or where we'd have to roll over." Well, really, John, what else did the General Lee do? What other stunts were there? The one where they ran towards the car?

Speaking of: The General Lee was a total booty rider, baby. I have, in my possession, a vintage General Lee Matchbox car, right down to the welded-shut doors. This is no eBay purchase, my friends. Oh no. I recognized a finely-tuned machine even at that tender age. I also had Daisy's Jeep, which most certainly did not earn an honored position in the top drawer of my desk as did the tiny General Lee. That slutmoblie got tossed the second I hit puberty. I hated Daisy, who trolled about Hazzard County in the perfectly sensible combination of cutoffs and high heels. I think we can thank Daisy for sparking my utter hatred of Miss America contestants, cheerleaders, midriff-bearers, and Hooter's waitresses across the fruted plain. She made me nervous when she was in scenes with my Luke. Granted, they were cousins, but still... this was Georgia.

Last night when dem Duke boys were announced, John Schneider rounded the corner and, hey, he’s still pretty much a hottie and OH OH LOOK AT TOM WOPAT HE’S FAT AND OLD AND HE’S HOLDING A MICROPHONE AND OH SWEET MOSES HE’S GOING TO SING.

Seriously. When the Duke boys start prancing across a New York stage singing the theme song from The Jeffersons and—I wish I were making this up—Mission Impossible, and they aren’t immediately torn apart with the crowd’s bare hands, the Fourth Horse is bearing down upon us, and his name ain’t Seabiscuit.

Also, can I get a woot-woot for throwing Dan Rather and Walter Cronkite out of a high-altitude weather balloon? Dan, the hair alone makes me want to end you. Walter, the only thing saving you from being a Frequent Flier on my Celebrity Charter Jet With One Flaming Engine is the fact that you’re a fan of the space program. (Uncle Walt on why journalists tend to be liberal: “Reporters start out on the streets and they see poor people and people who just can’t get a break, and so they develop a more caring attitude than other Americans.” Shut up, Walter.)

And when did Everybody Loves Raymond's Patricia Heaton start going to the lingerie department of Wal-Mart for her evening gowns? If you missed it, she was wearing this sheer black… thing… with this, like, bra and—it was hideous.

Oh, and I really enjoyed the parallel universe I was plunged into during the “Salute To Comedy Classics”: All In the Family, yeah. Newhart, God yes. Mary Tyler Moore, yeah. The Honeymooners, definitely. But... Becker? Becker?! BECKER?!?! Oh, I can’t wait until Taufling is born so I can tell him/her all about that one episode where Becker… where he—um…

Things that prevented me from killing myself:

-Identifying a brown-haired Steve Martin playing a CBS censor on a Smothers Brothers clip

-Perry Como with a gesture in one hand and a burning cigarette in the other (“So he would just stand there singing with smoke still coming from the cigarette?” I asked my mother. “It was called The Chesterton Show,” she said.) Cig or no cig, may the Lord keep The Comb.

-Julie Andrews and Carol Burnett singing a duet: Do I really have to explain Julie Andrews to you? And Carol Burnett, well, my first contact with Carol Burnett was when she played Miss Hannigan in Annie, in which she scared the living shit out of me. I’m so glad I now know her as Scarlett coming down the stairs with the curtain rod still attached. You know, come to think of it, how many people go around saying, Man, that Julie Andrews, that Carol Burnett, I can't stand that witch.

-Mr. Ed sliding into home

You are my wife! Goodbye, city life! Oh, tis a sad, sad day in America when Candice Bergen gets more applause than Arnold the Pig.

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