Thursday, August 17, 2006

Jack Paar et al

I miss Jack Paar.

I miss Dick Cavett.

I miss Johnny Carson.

It's not the men I miss. It's the conversations. Grown up talk. Not slutty. Not scatalogical. Discussions of real events in complete sentences, grammatically correct and interesting. Funny, funny skits and comments.

I yearn for bleeps and closed doors in the place of strangers' coin slots and navels. Voyeuring is not my cup of tea.

Generally, people are dumbing, no doubt about it. When I see a skit of a dog biting an anatomical protruberance and the owner of both dancing around, unlike Gene Kelly, I wanna puke. I've turned into a news junkie in order to hear sentences, mostly without humor, which saddens me.

Words have lost meaning. Several have taken away the need for descriptive sentences and for any meaningful thought process.

In the long haul, it won't matter that Paris, Tom, Jolie, Katie, Brad, Britney-burps and artificial lites are creating faux news. It won't matter that erectile dysfunction is the only treatable ailment when we can't fix electile dysfunction.

What matters is that if we don't get our minds out of the sludge, tomorrow will go missing.

Fractal created in Fractal Explorer program. Spring 2006.

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