squidbag

Running Hard for the News

On this crisp and beautiful Monday morning, I just  had such a wide array of options of what to write about, that I figured I should just try and cram all of it in.  Obviously, the big story is about one of the symbols of God's various covenants with mankind, known to all of us as a peace dove, attacking the Pope for some reason.  I don't know about you, but I pretty clearly hear, "Come home, John, we've got your space all picked out" being communicated here.  Of course, God would probably call the Pope 'Karol', but then God would call John Wayne 'Marion,' so I think he's a big froofy God who likes to hand out girly names.  What does HE know, anyway?

Actually, the obvious big story is about the people over at Vermont Teddy Bears pissing off a bunch of crazy people.  Apparently, they've released a straitjacketed "Crazy for You" bear named after John W. Hinckley, Jr., and it comes with a cute little heart, and committal papers, and rebukes from the Governor of the State of Vermont, (who obviously doesn't have much going on right now) and Alliances for the Mentally Ill.  Okay - yes, the bear is a little insensitive, but this seems like the same flap alliances for the blind made over the Mr. Magoo movie.  Wisely, since there is money to be made, (and because the mentally ill rarely control their own bank accounts or ballots) the company has decided not to yank the bear.  (I have always wondered if the blind community took Daredevil as an apology for Mr. Magoo.)

Wait, no - obviously the BIG story is the Iraqi vote.  In numbers that managed even to crack the cynicism of Al-Jazeera's reporting, between 60 and 75% of the country's registered voters turned out.  Yes, violence marred the day with car bombs and deaths, and yes, that kept some people home in those areas, but the people actually wanted their voices heard, and they turned out and voted, with something like 94% of registered ex-pats turning in their ballots.  After the Monkeyface administration's recent three weeks of backpedaling expectation lowering, where we went from "spreading freedom" (like butter on a biscuit) to "it'll be a success just to vote," I was expecting jack over shit for results, but I am pleasantly surprised.  The thing is, we knew all along that the country's citizens wanted self-rule and self-expression - that's what insurgent attacks are.  People who just couldn't wait to vote.  Now, when they continue - and they will - it's a clear sign to us, lettered in blood and fifty feet fucking high - THE VOTE HAD NOTHING TO DO WITH THE ATTACKS, THANK YOU FOR REMOVING SADDAM, PLEASE GO HOME NOW.  LOVE, IRAQ.  Of course, now the big challenge for any Bush administration officials over there will be counting and keeping their hands out of the till.

In personal news, I have been offered a job, a lift from unemployment, which means my entries will probably get further apart.  You're welcome.  I go for one more interview today, and we'll see if that's better in any way than what I've been offered, and we'll go from there.  Now - if I could just get someone to buy my building...apparently, it's got 289,000 miles on it...

(Click on the above link and do a search in the Pensacola market for "commercial property."  You'll see it.)

Republican Jack Offs

Dick Cheney is catching some shit for his wardrobe.  And he should.  Apparently, his dress overcoat was in an undisclosed fucking location, and too scared to come to Auschwitz with him.  Instead, he wore this dorky parka and once again made asses of the American people in front of the rest of the world.  He looks like the kid from A Christmas Story, for fuck's sake.  Now, normally, I don't place a whole lot of weight on what people decide to wear, but give me a fucking break, Dick.  Now if this were his normal cold gear, or if everyone had dressed this way, that would be one thing.  (Or is that two things?)  But no, the shit that he's getting over making his own re-Inauguration look like it mattered more to him than the 60th anniversary of a mass genocide - I'd say that's pretty justified.  I mean, he already used the event to briefly take everyone's minds off of WWII and back to Operation: Clusterfuck by saying, (in a grammatically questionable way)  "The story of the camps remind us that evil is real and must be called by its name and must be confronted."  Apparently, $20 million will make you Halliburton's bitch, but it won't buy a decent coat or a goddamn dictionary.

Additionally, I have recently heard about a vast right-wing conspiracy to purchase journalists.  Some of the rest of you may also be aware of this.  Michael McManus, the author of a syndicated column got ten grand to push a marriage initiative, Maggie Gallagher got 21 grand from Health and Human Services to write pamphlets pushing the same thing.  Armstrong Williams got $240,000 to pump up No Child Left Behind.  (He apologizes for it here.)  The President claims not to have known this was going on, and has ordered it stopped immediately.  The White House under Bush has recently paid out over 250 million dollars (which I bet would have bought some light truck armor, among other things) to PR firms to help cram its agendas down our throats.  But they have a mandate, you see.  Popular vote and all.  If you're thinking, "Well everyone does that," I would submit to you that this dollar amount, can we see that again? $250 MILLION, is double what the Clinton White House spent on PR between 1997 and 2000.

Cha-fucking-ching.  So, I hear journalists are for sale - who wants to chip in a buy a couple?

Feeding the Gulls

I think, right now as I look back on this week, perhaps the most pleasant time that I spent in the past five or six days was twenty minutes that I sat in her parked car and fed seagulls from the open windows.  It was a clear and breezy day, Tuesday.  We sat and threw chunks of bagel and squished chocolate Moon Pie out into the parking lot while the gulls dived at the car, each other, and the pieces of food.  All week long, actually, I've been able to reach back and access that moment, and feel it again and again.  Just sitting with the one you love, quietly chatting, feeding the gulls, watching the wispy clouds blow in across the bay.  And before you ask: yes, this is just a modification of countless needlepoint exhortations to "stop and smell the flowers," but I thought you needed to hear it again, because I've been noticing you needing to slow down lately.  So - what are you waiting for?

The Devil & Brett T.

Brett, as many of you may know, is a childhood friend of my wife's, my former roomie, skilled painter, solid mechanic, former squid, and a Thinker of Great Thoughts who has more than a passing interest in the metaphysical.  Brett has this belief, (which he shares with a larger segment of the population than you'd probably care to imagine, drink with, or see naked) that everything is run, behind the scenes, by the Devil.  Now, we may or may not be talking about the Great Beast, or even a horn-noggined man in a brocade smoking jacket named Andy who happens to have a pointy tail, but we are talking about some kind of free-floating evil force that makes itself manifest now and again.  Like Debbie Gibson.  You know the kind of thing I mean.

Exhibit A -  a lotto ticket, purchased by Brett, featuring the ever-popular "666" motif found in all the best movies and the Book of the Revelation of St. Paul of the Mushrooms.  Brett brought this to my attention, and it is our shared belief that in addition to another Wild 8s lottery ticker, Brett is now also an infernally qualified Duke of Hell, sucked in once again by the presence of the Devil in this, the damned state of Florida.

Exhibit B - This link and email, sent to me by Brett, who states:   

"Finally U.S. physicans have come to an agreement with dark forces on the "satanic logo - for - power of divination and healing" bit.   I went searching for lab coats yesterday and found this.

Turns out that sly devil screwed up his own advertising contract negotiation.  The resulting loophole now allows doctors to retain their power over life and death, while having no satanic logo minimum size restriction.

Those medical bastards have sewn the required "666" into their labcoats with "nano-fiber technology", making it invisible to the naked eye.  This is a clear abuse of contract law.  I expect a new dread disease will be unleashed soon in retribution.  But, owning a labcoat infused with the power of Satan is requisite, or so I understand.  I ordered mine yesterday. The Mark of the Beast in every fiber!"

Indeed.  I don't know what my buddy Brett was doing looking for labcoats, and I don't want to know.  (Though I picture chunks of his hated enemies reassembled hastily on a slab whilst he checks the skies for rain and plays online poker.)  I am shocked at the botched contract he mentions, since I would have thought Hell would have all the best lawyers and attorneys, and I recommend all of you go out and get one of these right away, since they will protect from the Soul-Eating Virus.

Virus to be released March 15th.

DISCLAIMER: Coats may not protect against Soul-Eating Virus, promises of protection, warranties and guarantees void in this plane of existence.  Side effects of wearing patented new  Mark of the Beast nano-fiber technology may include the consumption of innocents, ocular bleeding, vomiting soup, withering, liver disease, heartache, eye shadow, listening to Marilyn Manson, headaches, dry mouth, anxiety and sterility.  Do not wear coat on holy ground.  Any subsequent combustion suffered is the responsibility of the wearer, and not the GREAT BEAST.  Shemmaforash.

Geek Forum: Kill Bill Sucks

(MAJOR SPOILER ALERT: IF YOU HAVE NOT SEEN THESE MOVIES, DO NOT READ THIS UNLESS YOU WANT THEM RUINED FOR YOU.)

Kill Bill sucks.

Go ahead, ask me why.

Kill Bill is an expertly made piece of shit.  In an effort to pay homage to the films he (and I) enjoyed as kids and as young adults, Quentin Tarantino has clevered himself right into shitsville, and as usual, we eat it up with a spoon.  People loved this/these movie(s), talked about how artful it was/they were, and what a great comeback for Quentin.  It sucks.  It’s trite by design, but manages to achieve that thing you only seem to experience in bad Mad Magazine parodies: you set out to parody, and go so far in your efforts that you look directly into the abyss and become the monster you beheld, if you’ll pardon my runaway metaphor.  If I needed an example of some one, in the past couple of years, deliberately shooting a scene like an old Kung-Fu movie, I would say to people, “Check out this scene in Kill Bill, but just watch that one scene, and turn the volume down.  And wash your hands after.”  By the end of these two films, you feel uncomfortable for Quentin Tarantino & Uma Thurman.  And the snake.  Poor snake.

I am glad to see Michael Madsen working again.  He was in Die Another Day, but you really don’t see him that much anymore, and I feel he’s underrated.  Daryl Hannah, too.  Vivica was better in her role on Alias, and for that matter, so was Quentin.

I know a lot of people go to see his movies because they’re drawn to the violence.  I’m a huge fan of violence, both in life and in film, and I hate this fucking movie, mostly because I will never get that time back.  The violence doesn’t work.  For a fight scene to work, you have to care.  There needs to be a drive, a reason for fighting.  Much has been made of the first volume showing you the war being fought, the action, and the second volume being the backstory, the character development.  I have two things to say about that: if Quentin’s trying to come up with an unconventional way to tell a story, he did it better in Pulp Fiction, and I don’t think he’ll ever fucking top that.  I think he knows that, too.  Two?  Well, the reason I don’t give a shit about what happens in the first movie is because I have no impetus or drive for what it is they are doing.  You needed a whole fucking movie to explain that?  Jesus, dude, Sergio Leone used to do it with zero dialogue and a squinty-eyed close-up.  Yes, I’m jaded about movies - you have to be to appreciate this movie on any level.  You have to have a built-in reason to care about a fight scene or it just sucks.  Wesley Snipes even knows this.  Check out his commentary track on Blade.  Without that kind of thing, these movies are boring.  Volume one was mind-shatteringly boring.  Volume Two was less boring.

Yeah, I'm a fanboy. And I know about fanboys, too.  You know what I know about them?  There are varieties in the panoply of fanboy fauna.  There is the righteous fanboy, who cries when characters die, who argues passionately about events in his chosen fan realm, and who forces the media on his friends, hoping that they'll like it.  Then, there are the Dark Fanboys, who if you've got one that's good, they got one better.  (I got issue one!  Oh yeah, we’ll I got the special Zero Edition with the chrome cover where they die on every page.) They only care about being the hardest of the hardcore, and the love for the thing becomes nothing more than just lust, getting just to get, seeing just to see, absorbing the thing only just to do it, not because they love it anymore.  I think that's Quentin.  The Dark Fanboy has taken root, and he doesn’t see it.  It’s like becoming an alcoholic or a drug addict.  You watch for the signs, and quash certain kinds of behavior before they spin out of control. He's in it for the cool, not because he loves it - and that's the problem.  His settings are so cool they lack originality, shooting only for cool at the expense of everything else.  His characters are quirky, cool and strange, and about as deep as a puddle.  He's a copycat of everyone, including himself, in the worst way, and he sucks.  He didn't used to suck, but now he does, and it's only because we live in a bankrupt, ADA culture that he thrives. 

We let him - shit, “let” - we encourage him to work from formula, too.  Buck is Zed, the Pussy Wagon is the Bad Motherfucker wallet, and the personality quirks are so forced that they bore the shit out of me.  Are we not noticing this, or is it bad form to bring it up, like making fun of the handicapped?  Why does he keep retreading the same ground?  How many slo-mo scenes of people in suits walking to cool music must we endure?  How many body parts can Q remove?  Is this meant to be charming?  (in all fairness, I liked the Hannah eye-pluck - so personal.)

And also, why does he feel the need to take credit for creations that don’t belong to him?  In these stunningly “original” films, I see the homage he was trying to pay, and then I see shit he just ripped the fuck off.  The sword battle in front of lit panels that’s strangely evocative of the floodlight fight from Blade II, the trailer fight that looks like the one in Raising Arizona, down to the hole bashed in the bathroom wall.  He owes a tremendous amount to Brian DePalma.  In fact, he should just hand Brian a bag of cash.  Oh, and I Spit On Your Grave, anyone?  The speeches to victims before they die, like in True Romance.  (So sad - Q wrote that one.) And the “bullet in the head.” Cute.  Exploitation was better when it wasn’t as self-conscious.

Having said all of that, I liked the second one better than the first one - but I still didn’t like it.  It suffers from bad dialogue, badly mismatched and overdone music cues, (not to fault the RZA's new tunes, for the most part) and long scenes of random quirkiness done for no particular reason.  Revenge movies move, man.  Move it along!

In both films, here are some more specific things I had trouble with (or observations about):

- Rules.  There are no rules.  Sometimes the character is a superhero, sometimes not.  If the character can pull any skill from their ass at the moment of its announced necessity - well, you say deus ex machina, and I say red kryptonite (tm).  Quentin's a comic book fan, supposedly, so he should get this - back in 1986, they re-booted Superman, and gave him back the skill set we all know about - heat vision, super-breath, etc.  They took away some of the ridiculous powers he'd gained over the years - turning back time, invisibility - not because they were dumb, which they were, but because he was too powerful, and thus, not interesting.  If someone can do anything they want on command, then there's nothing they can't do - by definition.  Limitations are interesting, and fixed limitations (for an audience) is why someone goes over the rules in almost every vampire movie ever made.

- Quantity.  The same trap as the two inferior Matrix films - we need 100 guys, because that’ll up the intensity level.  Best fight in these two films is the last one betwixt Uma and Bill, ‘cause it’s harsh, quick, and over real fucking fast.  Like real fights, for the most part.  QT will probably have a chance to be in a real fight real soon.  Then he'll understand.

- Justice.  What’s the point of a revenge killing?  Vengeance, justice, balancing the scales.  So how does Budd’s death at the fangs of a snake balance the scales?  How does Buck getting crushed in a doorway balance that out?  He subjected her to possibly thousands of paid-for rapes for four years, man.  She’d have to cave in his skull and field dress him while he watched to come close to the perceived required retribution.  (You’re welcome to consult the PRR scale if you don’t believe me.)  The Daryl Hannah eye/thrashing in the bathroom thing works pretty well, though.  You know who would have been better than her in that part?  Kim Basinger.

- Music. Yes, I know that the overblown music cue, taken from the spaghetti westerns of bygone days, is something we should be expecting now, since he fucking does it all the time.  Unfortunately, like most of his retinue, this has gone beyond expectation into self-parody, so overdone is it.  The scenes now are laughable, ruining any kind of tension, and cutting into the action so as to be distracting.  A good action music cue should have move to the edge of your seat and think, “Aw, yeah,” not thinking, “Hey, is this Earth, Wind and Fire?” while people are beating the shit out of each other.  I will credit Quentin with the birth of a new martial art: Disco Fu.  Disco Fu, for use when Tae Bo fails you - in a musical attack situation.

- Tools of the trade.  A couple of observations.  Good blades don’t sing, like the swords in the movie - they whisper.  I know he’s got a thing he’s going for, I’m just saying that it’s a stupid thing.  Oh, and straight razors?  Straight razors have never been good for anything but shaving and making shallow cuts on punks in dark parking lots.  And actually, they kind of suck to shave with.

- Lucy Liu.  I can’t stand her.  She drops the IQ of anything she’s involved with by about 35 points.  Taking the abysmal Charlie’s Angels flicks, the Jackie Chan western, Ally McSingle Female Lawyer and now this, together - shit, I’m thinking the death penalty.  Now, on a good note, for all the damage Lucy does to your cred, the obligatory Sam Jack cameo (part of the aforementioned formula) repairs lots of it.  He improves almost anything he’s involved with, Shaft and Deep Blue Sea not withstanding.  Don’t believe me?  People are buying Star Wars movies again.

- Tragedy. Ultimately, every revenge movie should be a form of dramatic tragedy, and thus, a bastard child of Shakespeare.  These films have every element of a tragedy, but collapse at the most crucial point: humanity.  Hate, rage, remorse, crippling sadness, insanity - these are what drive good characters and make a story.  I will give Uma this - when she wakes up in a hospital with an empty womb, her reaction is tragic and beautiful.  Between that and the bathroom floor at the end - she embodies what these films are probably supposed to be about.  But the relationship between the Bride and Bill strains the bounds of credulity, and so too do their reactions to each other and their motivations.  Why does Daryl Hannah hate Uma so much?  Why are they rivals?  There is the thing with their sensei and her eye that’s hinted at, but is that really it?  Is it a sex thing, with Bill?  In short, what the fuck?  Maybe, just maybe, when you traded Keitel, Buscemi, Tim Roth, and those guys for Lucy and Vivica and company, you shot yourself in the foot dramatically.  (I like how that sounds.)  We are confronted with horrible atrocity one right after another, until the heart is numbed by the experience - or we’re not meant to be taking this seriously at all.  He just moves to the next setpiece and makes pretty action things.  If I really spent hours watching a revenge tale that wasn’t meant to be taken as one - well, I’m getting a sword made for Quentin..

- Ham. Finally, much has been made of Quentin’s maverick status as a director, and I say this about some of the things he attempts - no.  Just no.  This hackneyed “voyage of discovery” that Uma undertakes?  The change of heart Bill had after shooting her?  The chaos of battle against the backdrop of a Japanese garden? How easy, how boring, how forgettable.  How very film school.  Wait, you never went to film school did you, Quentin?

Maybe it’s time.

(For those of you keeping score at home, this is the longest post thus far.  Told you I was a fanboy.)

Condiferousness

Today Condi Rice was confirmed - as we all knew she would be - as the newest Secretary of State.  She had a huge margin for her confirmation - 85 for and only 13 against, which makes her more unpopular than Kissinger or Alexander Haig.  That's pretty impressive - way to go, Condi!  That's condiferous!  The only person who was ever less popular for the SOS position was Henry Clay, who has a damn fine cigar named after him.  I don't suppose Condi will have a cigar named after her.  If any politico in the modern era does, it'll likely be Clinton, I suppose.  (Y'know, it's been a while since I read the Starr Report, but I'll bet it was a cigar tube up Monica, not a cigar.  I've heard of that - the tube filled with hot water, sans cedar?  But, I seriously digress...)

85 for and 13 against.  How condiferous!  I must admit, I'm a little confused by the numbers on this vote.  I knew she was going to be confirmed, (a fact which is no longer a given in the case of Sr. Gonzales) and as soon as I heard that tool Joe Lieberman telling everyone that "dissent should stop at our shores in time of war..." I knew it would be a condiferous margin.  (Look again, Joe - the Senate, arguing in chambers is within our shores.)  But 85 and 13 means that a couple of people took the day off.  And the list of dissenters is a little surprising, too.  Not the number or the membership - no, I was a little taken aback by who's not on there.  No Feingold.  No Obama.  No Clinton.  No Harry Reid.  What the hell, guys?  Not willing to sacrifice a little political oomph by taking a stand?  I know it was a given, but don't rubber stamp shit the monkey sends you!  I'm appalled by your condiferousness!

Equally condiferous today were Frist and Lugar, but we knew about them - and McCain, come on, son, what kind of maverick goes along with what the President says?  Did you forget when he beat your ass?  Or do you remember it too well?  I can't believe you campaigned for him, you condiferous fuck, you.

I do think we should (and I have done so) extend our condiferous thanks to those who did not vote to unjustly promote Condi.  Think about this: you go to the Board of Directors at your company, (Faculty, project managers, whatever) with a committed group, and ask for a lot of fucking money to launch a project that you promise you will justify down the road.  After its implementation, it goes horribly wrong, you don't do what you promised, you ask for three times the money, and a bunch of people get killed.  Now, you will turn on the spin machine and try to make this look like a success, ("No, I don't see that.  I mean, they're having elections this weekend, that's good, right?  I might even use the word, 'grand.'") seizing on the most miniscule of things that do go right, but do you think you'll get a promotion?  Oh, hell no.  And she doesn't deserve one.  Here are the folks who realized that:

James Jeffords, I-VT

Edward Kennedy, D-MA

John Kerry D-MA

Jack Reed D-RI

Mark Dayton D-MN

Barbara Boxer D-CA

Evan Bayh, D-IN

Tom Harkin, D-IA

Frank Lautenberg, D-NJ

Carl Levin, D-MI

Robert Byrd, D-WV

Richard Durbin, D-IL

Daniel Akaka, D-HI

Now, I encourage you to take what remains of your day and be condiferous to someone!  And say my name when you do.

Yesterday, January 25th

Yesterday was my buddy EP's birthday.  (He is pictured here with Matt because this picture makes me happy.)  I always am a little late with his birthday, despite the fact that it's written in on the appropriate day on my calendar, because of this one year that he was in South America (Sao Paulo, I think) on his birthday, and we did a kind of "EP's birthday observed" thing when he returned, in early February.  He thinks he got his birthday present from me already, as he mentions, but he should know better.  REAL birthday presents always arrive like, six days after your birthday.  Duh.  Anyway, it sounds like you had a good one, which was all I would have said anyway.

Yesterday I went back for a third interview on one of the jobs I've applied for, and this one was to see if I really had any ideas, or if I was just faking it.  No, really.  We walked around the place (I'm being curiously vague, because JRH has injected paranoia into my head bones and because I don't want to get Dooced by this place before they even hire me.) and I was asked to apply my dual backgrounds in layout and customer service, then to state out loud what I would change.  Some people would say "brainstorm," but they'd be wrong, because this was more of a gut than a brain kind of thing.  I think it went reasonably well.

My favorite part of yesterday was following my kid up and down our street while he rode the Spider-Man trike my mom got him for Xmas.  He hasn't really mastered steering and pedaling at the same time just yet, but give him a straight line and he'll run off and leave your ass.  My second favorite part was listening to the President try and explain how he's going to cut the deficit while asking Congress for another $80 billion to funnel into the Iraqi shitstorm, (okay - some of this is for  Afghanistan, tsunami relief, and planning to invade Iran) and continuing to lie to us about Social Security being in crisis, which is going to cost us $28 trillion before it's all over, to correct minor shortcomings that we have about 50 years to adjust for.

So - a state of flux: waiting to sell a building, which I showed again yesterday, waiting to get a job.  Trying to enjoy myself in the meantime.

I leave you with this - courtesy (I guess) Ms. McIntosh at Melting Dolls.

Monkey Envy

Man, sometimes I'm jealous of that monkey.

The pictured monkey is the one that Jon & Colleen gave my son, Max, on the day he was born.  It lost the band around its neck almost immediately, has been dragged around quite a bit by one ear over the last three years, and is named "Monkey."  Monkey is also one of the top three choices for things Max would like to go to sleep with, the other two being a stuffed elephant, or whatever books we've been reading.  Until you've awakened with a copy of Harold and the Purple Crayon in your neck, you haven't lived.  Many mornings, when I drag my body out of bed (at 6:15 or so these days) I haven't fully roused, and my eyes are half-closed, and I want nothing in the world than to fall gracelessly back into bed and sleep for say, another five minutes or four hours or so.  But no, we have to be productive members of society, and go out into the world, contibute to commerce, and increase the public good.  But I'm tired.  And more importantly, I'm sleepy.  I want to curl up with the blankets and pillows and spend the day in bed.

You will notice from the above photo that this is what Monkey does.  Every day.

Damn him.

Wisdom & 18th Century Cock Jokes

I was reading tonight to take the edge off of having just seen House of Sand and Fog, and stumbled upon a bit of wisdom from the Constitutional Convention that seemed particularly poignant and relevant to the current way of things.  It seems as though many at the Convention were suspicious of the very idea of a standing army.  I was aware of this, and have often regarded it as a healthy suspicion, and one that was too quickly cast aside.  Convention attendee Elbridge Gerry, however, went so far as to compare one to an erect penis, saying that a standing army was: "Like a man's engorged member, an excellent assurance of domestic tranquility, but a dangerous temptation to foreign adventure."

Heh.  Be funny if it weren't so true, Elbridge.

Johnny Carson 1926-2005

Tonight Show Theme

Johhny Carson, the as-yet-undefeated (IMHO) King of Late Night (despite my previous views on royals) has died of emphysema at the age of 79.  Carson, who was a master entertainer who took over The Tonight Show from one of the few other talk show hosts not to annoy me in cloying banter, Jack Paar, bowed out in 1992 when the show was at its peak.  (No, I'm not old enough to remember Jack Paar, but but I've seen tape.)  When he retired in '92, I remember being disgusted at the choice of Leno, and soon stopped watching late-night shows altogether, even though they had been an occasional guilty pleasure TV item for me on and off through high school.  When I occasionally watch them now, it's Letterman.

For those of you who stand in the camp that David Letterman was the actual successor to Johnny's TV legacy, I would recommend that you read this, which will only cement that opinion.

And while I don't think he could actually juggle a Buick Skylark, he was one of the most entertaining guys on television.  I would say that we'll miss him, but we've been missing him for 15 years already.  Now - I want you to get up from your computer, do the golf swing, and let's salute Johnny properly and send him on his way.

Good night, Johnny.