I’m an NPR person pretty much all day, but especially in the morning. Not because the reports confirm all my liberal biases, either, but because I’m pretty much constitutionally incapable of tolerating snappy radio banter before I’ve been sufficiently caffienated. I need Carl Kasell. In a pinch, I can handle Don Imus. He always sounds grumpy; suits me fine.
That said, there is some news that just cries out for snappy banter. Moments ago, the local NPR news mentioned how pleased the residents of Holland, Mich., were over a line on “The Simpsons” recently, in which, the newscaster said, “Homer looks at a fully equipped recreational vehicle and says, ‘Wow, I’d like to drive that to the Tulip Festival in Holland, Michigan.'” The episode, he added, has been “the talk of the town.”
Met Ron downtown for lunch yesterday. He said we’d walk someplace. I needed cash, but figured hell, we’ll be walking through downtown — I’ll just hit an ATM. I’m still getting familiar with the strange, open, brownfield-prairie landscape of downtown Detroit, which in many places resembles the set of a movie about the post-apocalyptic future. Which is to say, we didn’t pass an ATM. We arrived in Corktown and found a perfectly nice, funky place to eat that…didn’t take plastic. And Ron had $11 to his name.
“Will you accept a personal check?” I asked with some desperation. It was a nice day, but I didn’t want to go back out there and look for an ATM, which could easily be a mile away. The waiter said yes. With some evident exasperation.
So we ate our sandwiches and drank our diet Coke, and I wrote my check. The waiter peeked over my shoulder. “I knew it!” he exulted. “I knew you were from Grosse Pointe. People from Grosse Pointe never carry money.”
That’s because restaurants in Grosse Pointe generally take plastic.
I thought of Carol Kane in “Annie Hall,” telling Woody Allen, “That’s OK, I enjoy being reduced to a cultural stereotype.” I wonder how long this is going to bug me. And to think, all I wanted was a functional school system, a manageable commute and proximity to a large body of water.
Sarah Jessica Parker turns 40, gets dropped by The Gap in favor of a 17-year-old. The WashPost’s advice: Look on the bright side, S.J. — one year of work grossed you $38 million.
Why some stories, like snappy banter, are just made for new media — Slate’s stories on the Jackson trial, with this pithy headline: How scuzzy is the accuser’s family? Answer: Pretty durn scuzzy.
And is that all? It is, for now.