Spot the Difference

For your consideration, a comparison:

Exhibit A: Walter Cronkite

"Nah, I'm just shittin' ya. He's out screwing Marilyn Monroe, who is also not dead."

Veteran journalist Walter Cronkite began his esteemed career covering local sports in print and over the radio in the Midwest during the Depression. From there he was dispatched to the front lines, reporting from North Africa and Europe for the United Press.

In 1950, Edward R. Murrow added Cronkite to the staff of CBS’ nascent news division. After a decade of distinguished reportage, Cronkite became anchorman of the CBS Evening News in 1962. It is in this role he is most remembered, delivering to the baby boomers (and their parents, who, like him, are members of the Greatest Generation™) news of the Kennedy assassination and the moonshot, while holding their hands through the tragedies of Vietnam and Watergate.

Walter Cronkite probably did some stuff after this too, but I think that’s enough Wikipedia summarizing for one day. Rest assured that in retirement he has remained as respected as ever, offering scathing criticisms of the war in Iraq and voicing cartoons.

Exhibit B: CNN’s recent journalistic output

1.31.07
Cat stuck in washing machine is YouTube rage

2.2.07
Lovesick pup seeks date with first dog Barney

2.3.07
Orangutan likes the Bears
Orangutan defies experts on Super Bowl
(note: I was unable to confirm if these are two separate orangutans, or if there are two football-predicting organgutans that are worthy of CNN's interest)

2.5.07
Paris Hilton tape features 'n', loving 'f' words
(note: no fucking clue what this means)

2.7.07
'Hoohaa' monologues better than (bleep) play
(note: again, if anyone can explain what they're trying to get across with this...)

2.8.07
Funny side of an 'astro-nut' 'lust in space'
(Nice to see CNN can find the humour in a mentally ill woman's attempt at murder)
Dumb thief walks into closed door, falls down
Aunt's complaint turned 'vagina' into 'hoohaa'

2.9.07
Fat dog skateboards down Arizona streets
(see, now, if the dog hadn't been fat, would this have made the cut?)

2.11.07
Upstate New York buurrrr-ied under snowfall

2.12.07
Dolphins may protect the nation, one fin at a time
Husband-in-chief forgets Valentine's Day
Bill Cosby's dog wins title paws down
(I wasn't going to read this article about Bill Cosby's dog until I read the pun. Then I just knew I had to!)

2.15.07
Where there's smoke, there's ... Obama's cig?

3.3.07
Coulter drops f-bomb onto political battlefield
("f-bomb" has now made its way into professional journalism?)

3.7.07
Britney's antics make K-Fed look like good dad

3.15.07
Time.com: Meet Angelina's boy: Pax Thien Jolie
(CNN had to tag this one off to Time.com, so big was this story)
Scalper profits off Scouts; the problem is ...?
(Seriously, who writes this shit - some snarky yuppie?)
Anderson Cooper: I know Regis. I'm no Regis
(note: Anderson Cooper is gay. Like... literally)

3.29.07
'American Idol' says 'bye-bye, curly'
A prez walks into a journalists' dinner ...
Trump has 50 percent chance of losing hair

3.30.07
Guy with walker swings bat at naked intruder
(really, “guy”? Who is editing this stuff?)

3.31.07
Why is Sanjaya still in 'American Idol'?

4.4.07
Coyote jumps in Quiznos drink cooler

4.5.07
'Porn & Pancakes' fights X-rated addictions
Kindergarteners kept quiet -- with clothepins
Cemetery wedding is to die for, newlyweds say
Anna Nicole Smith's private diaries revealed
(not so private anymore, Nicole! Ha ha!)

4.6.07
He's dying!' wife cries, so hospital dials 911
Halle Berry to go bald for new movie
Kitten stuck in wall, so rescuers smash holes
(Stop the presses!)

4.16.07
Madonna back in Malawi to adopt?
Station airs best of Imus, plays that broadcast
Smith diaries: 'We have a buy-it-now situation'
I-Report: Gunshots captured on a cell phone

4.17.07
Edwards locks into pricey haircuts

4.19.07
You-know-who finally gets boot on 'Idol'

4.21.07
What's behind Baldwin's rant at his kid?

4.23.07
On payday, it's still a man's world
(nice way to sum up one of society's most egregious power imbalances)
YouTube phone guy didn't take CNN's 4 a.m. call
(At this point, a smart reporter would maybe not write a story about YouTube phone guy)

4.24.07
Funny Lunch: Baby Cakes Sees A Play

4.25.07
YouTube rage is piano-playing cat

4.27.07
Bush dance is catnip for late-night comedians

5.1.07
Funny Lunch: Fark is cookin' & cruisin'
Anna Nicole Smith's baby now in U.S.

5.2.07
Uh, you should expect fat in your KFC, judge says

5.4.07
Duckling follows, grooms, naps with puppy
Funny Lunch: Maria Bamford's kicked out

5.8.07
Aging cheese Web site molds following
Knut baby cuteness lost to long nose, belly sag

5.9.07
'Dancing With the Stars' boots another star

6.11.07
*&^%! You CAN say that on TV, court rules

6.19.07
Judge Judy: 'Vacant' Paris Hilton deserved jail

Overheard on Mustafar

I grew this beard for you!

Obi-Wan: You were the Chosen One! You were supposed to bring balance to the Force, not destroy it! I loved you like a brother!

(Obi-Wan walks away, leaving a dismembered Anakin to die)

Obi-Wan: Alright Threepio, let’s get out of here.

C-3P0: So I guess you took care of Anakin. Cut his head off with your lightsaber?

Obi-Wan: Well, not exactly…

Threepio: Oh, you son of a bitch! Sliced him clean in two, eh?!

Obi-Wan: I just kinda left him there at the edge of a river of lava. But he was on fire when I was taking off!

Threepio: On fire?

Obi-Wan: Right, and I cut off all his limbs.

Threepio: Alright, no prob. You left his dead body to burn.

Obi-Wan: Well, alright. He wasn’t dead dead. He was dying.

Threepio: Okay, okay… you sure you don’t wanna go back there and just finish the job?

Obi-Wan: Well, we really should get going…

Threepio: No, seriously. Just gimme a blaster or something, I’ll just shoot him in the head. Just go right over there and get it done. I mean, Christ, he has no limbs. It’s not rocket science.

Obi-Wan: I’m really more eager to get outta here…

Threepio: You sure now? Because, I mean, he ended up being one evil son of a bitch and I think we really could save ourselves a lot of trouble if we just took five minutes to go back there and make sure he’s dead. Again, I’d like to point out that he has no limbs.

Obi-Wan: Don’t do this…

Threepio: Five minutes of our time, man.

Obi-Wan: Didn’t he build you?

Threepio: Okay, you’re way out of line.

How the Mighty Have Fallen

A number of years ago, Rory discovered that one could get on a “guest list” at GT’s and skip the line. I really only have vague recollections of this, so it probably had something to do with his birthday. Not “vague” because we got snarbuckled, but because Rory’s birthday parties usually have us folding old refrigerator boxes and taking them to the recycling plant. Just really dreary, unmemorable stuff. Not unlike Rory, I hasten to point out.

In our first installment of People Who Are Having Less Sex Than You: Guy in the middle there

Anyway, to get on this guest list one had to give up an email address. Thus, as a consequence, I’ve been getting various promotional emails from GT’s for the past 3 years. Somewhat annoying. The other morning, however, I got an electronic communiqué that brought a tear to my eye, so depressing a picture did it paint of a once-glorious drinking spot/site of almost thirty Smith shoot-downs over a five-year period (in that they were shooting me down).*

GT’s is now enforcing a dress code. This on its face is pretty lame, but wait till you get a load of the stuff they’re codifying out of the place:

- No hoodies up in the bar
- No angled hats
- No gang coulours/tattoos
- No medallions/chains worn over clothes
- No grills
- Lugz must be tied up
- No baggies

See people, this is what happens when you open your bar to Fanshawe students. Ha, no, I kid (no, seriously). And, all good things to guard against to be sure, but – my god – why do these have to be prevented in the first place? Has the vaunted GT’s – once a place to spend a solid evening any night between Thursday and Saturday, inclusive – sunk to the point where they have to ask patrons to keep their grills at home? Dress code or no dress code this is a bad sign, for, as the old adage goes, “if she says you don’t need a condom, you probably do.”

Or maybe it’s that the old Spikester has entered his Carlsberg years, hmm? I must admit, the siren song of the dance floor is less alluring than it once was. And a lanky, balding, creepy, (comparatively) old school teacher is probably not the hottest ticket going.

Yep, reckon I ought to start packing it in. Start tucking in my shirts outside of work, brush my hair forward over my forehead, put the Nintendo in the closet and start saving for that widescreen plasma today. While I’m at it, better start paying attention to interest rates, figure out just what a GIC is and start putting a little something away for Maximus’ education (he’ll be my son). And, heck, why stop there? Now that I’m about to become a reputable member of society, what use have I for 6.0 Schlitz tall boys? No, it’s Moosehead, Rickard’s or Keith’s for me, or Stella if the wife’s calendar is right.

Ahh, and that pesky wife! Without a dance floor on which to snag one, to where will I turn to get a woman? I’ve been trying in vain for years to get my name out there with graffito tagging, sky-writing and hobos wearing sandwich boards. None of these (particularly the last one) has yielded results. Efforts must be redoubled upon my glorious return to civilization. Right after I get Anarchos to level 70, that is (note Cameron's amusing pun).

Ahh, alcohol and the objectifcation of women. How I'll miss you.

* How did I arrive at this figure? In a typical school year, we get (or “got”, if you want to ruin things) roughly 30 weekends. Many times we went out multiple times per week. However, I guess that there were an equal amount of times where – again, due to Rory – we stayed in. Thus, I estimate my chums and I went out an average of 30 nights in a year. You multiply that by 4 (owing to the year I was “off the market”, as the kids say) and get a solid 120 nights out during which I was available. You have to figure we spent a quarter of those at GT’s, bringing us to 30 evenings once more. Accounting for the 2 instances at GT’s during which the odds somehow went in my favour, and you’ve got yourself 28 sad, lonely cab rides home.

Interesting bonus fact: The chimpanzee from the Tarzan movies from the 1930s is still alive.