Okay, so the wind is starting to whip through the streets, the leaves are well beyond merely falling down and the sky is a pale white...it's already the middle of November yet I still have this nagging feeling this winter has arrived far too quickly.
And why is it that Daylight Savings Time almost always results in me wasting the extra hour we gain in October, as well as several more hours, observing that the extra hour is such a wonderful thing, changing the clocks and trying to figure out what's actually on cable during that magical 2-3AM time slot -- besides infomercials? I'm all for new and exciting products, but Ron Popeil can kiss my ginsu-ass once I've sprayed it with his hair-replacement product and blanched it in dehydrated peach pits. And while we're talking Daylight Savings, am I the only one who detests the first month thereafter wherein the sky is pitch black at 4:30PM?
What have we come to? Late-night TV is no longer about Leave It To Beaver in spanish -- it's about Time-Life Records partnering up with Roger Daltrey -- among the oddest choices for a late-night pitchman -- to sell me hissy, outdated CD's filled with crappy music I don't want. I don't want to hear "Somebody To Love" by The Jefferson Airplane anymore. It was enjoyable the first 5,000 times I heard it, but much like masturbating with a cheese grater, the novely has, in fact, run out -- quickly. Enough. Someone's got to put his foot down, and that foot -- to quote Dean Wurmer -- is me.
It's no longer Love Boat re-runs, it's about the amazing Hand-Hammered Wok (from Newark, New Jersey) that lets me cook my chicken and veggies in record time...despite knowing full well it will take a week to get the thing ready to use again because it's not coated with a non-stick surface. Is this what we've come to? Who the hell thinks this shit up? And will infomercials destroy my brain, or just turn me into a more-loyal Republican?
About the only thing I can handle during late-night TV sessions these days is the verbatim, six-times-repeated ESPN SportsCenter broadcasts and the showings on HBO and Showtime, respectively, of a Bill Maher talk show re-run and The Usual Suspects. I must thank HBO and a very dear friend, respectively again, for a) reminding me that Bill Maher's ego far -- FAR -- outweighs his talent; and b) that The Usual Suspects gets even better with each 10 viewings ;-) Keep in mind that Bill Maher was a bit player -- not The Star -- of a fine little film called "D.C. Cab." Mr. T also participated in the filming of that movie, and he had higher billing than Mr. Maher. It might be a sign the apocalypse is upon us, but the producers of DC Cab must know something that we don't.
With respect to The Usual Suspects, as my San Francisco Treat likes to opine: "1...2...3...4...5...6...7...Oswald was a fag," is indeed the best line in the aforementioned movie.
So what if I'm not sleeping these days? I've got good reason...my trifecta is nearly complete (November 18th, tick tock tick tock), my father is almost completely out of danger, and I've got the world's coolest woman on my mind 24-7. And if that weren't enough, I've also got a fridge full of Diet Coke, beer, uneaten halloween chocolate and chicken breasts that are ready to be pan-seared along with some mushrooms, onions, lemon pepper and some fresh gaaaaahlic. So my quasi-insomnia is quite understandable, given the circumstances.
One final point: I was talking to a friend from Florida who invited me for a visit, and I actually thought back to my days racing on Long Island. As she spoke about the sunshine state (no, not New Jersey) I recalled taking tight corners at the Kings Cross Racetrack in Bellmore, dropping from 4th gear to a tight second with a heel-and-toe and coming out the fat end of a four-wheel drift, replete with Joe Satriani's "A Train of Angels" in my ears and the smell of burnt cordite in my nose. As she finished her pitch for my visit, I got the chills and smiled and politely declined, knowing that one day soon I'd be back behind the wheel, pondering life at 170, knowing the Next Big Thing was a-comin' around the next 90-degree left.
Stay tuned...
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