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In June 1994, I was working as a newspaper reporter in my hometown in Northeast Ohio, having granulated from the college in said hometown in Northeast Ohio, in a relationship with a lovely, funny young woman I had met at said college and then at said job, a young woman who was fond of introducing me to new cultural phenomena, including Guns ‘n’ Roses, the Micheal Stanley Band, Honey Hut ice cream, and The Howard Stern Show.

I was watching ABC News with her the day O.J. Simpson led the LAPD on the slow-motion chase, when Maurie from Brooklyn punked the hell out of Peter Jennings. We knew immediately it was a Howard Stern call. How could you not. “Now, lookie heah.” Marie of course confirmed that it was a “totally farcical call” by shouting out “bababooey to ya’ll” as he hung up. We were on the floor. Good times.

But on June 10, 1994, Howard Stern came to Cleveland to bury the one-eyed cyclops. I had to work that day but made every excuse I could to be in my car. I heard it, I heard the moment when the wires were cut, heard the profanities spewed just before, heard Stern’s graceful recovery, broadcasting on the cell phone, his declaration of “Radio D-Day.” I was a regular listener at the time. Hell. I was an addict. But that’s the day my Stern fan-dom became branded into me. Sssssssssssssssssssssss.

Since Stern got the tapes in May 2006, I have been waiting for this day, and I have just gotten to experience it. As part of the ongoing “History of Howard Stern,” I have gotten to once again hear the goings-on of the day the Buzzard cut the wire.

That was fucking awesome.

I have just got in from session two today of moving snow. I did a fair bit yesterday while it was falling, so the porch was easy to clear, and the path to my car was easier to make. However, I’ve realized that I’ve planned this a bit incorrectly.

The path to work on first would have been to the sidewalk, not to the driveway. I will consider myself lucky if I get to drive by Wednesday, when I am scheduled to travel for Christmas (though I assume a plow might drive through here before then, certainly). But I will need to get to a bus stop tomorrow to get to the coal mines.

Actually, if I’d really been thinking, I would have stashed Esther the Car in a parking garage somewhere before it hit and bused back home. Then at least I’d have a car not buried under a tundra.

But, I have to admit. It was fun watching my Atlanta-native neighbor thinking he was going to get to drive today. That’s so cute!

Ladies and gentlemen: The Persuasions.

It has kind of a holiday feel to it, doesn’t it?

I wish I could find again the cultural blog I was reading where the kid has been utterly dissatisifed with Dexter this season. He wrote that he believed the writers had gotten just plain lazy, taking wild shortcuts in story in some parts and relying too heavily on bloated exposition in others. After last evening’s season finale, I am with him.

And I think they know it sucks rocks, which is why Showtime aired a piece after where Michael C. Hall and John Lithgow got in front of a camera to gush about how intense or whatever they thought the finale had been. What a load. Sorry, friends, but with the Weeds season finale, you’ve got a lot to measure up to.

Spoilers commence here.

Questions. How in Hell did Dexter mess with Arthur’s oil cap? When did he have the opportunity? How did he track Arthur to his final resting place? Where did he finally do the deed, and was the location significant, or did I just miss that? When did Arthur have the opportunity to kill Rita? And why the hell did he bother to do it according to his ritual? And if he was going to kill her ritualistically, wouldn’t he have the mother of two kids leap off a building? And I just don’t buy that he’d be able to coerce Rita into that tub.

Which is where I would have led the season finale to go, actually. Arthur shows up and catches Rita as she shows up to collect her I.D. for the plane. He confronts her, tries to subdue her, but Rita is the one who successfully conquers the Trinity. Dexter shows up to find Rita standing over the big man’s body holding a bloody butcher knife. This would lead to an explosive fifth season, as Rita has to stand trial for murder. What questions would a trial bring out? Why was Arthur Mitchell—by then confirmed by police as Trinity—at Dexter’s house? Would Det. Batista perhaps catch some security cam footage of Arthur and Dexter’s confrontation at the police station earlier and connect a few dots? Might an inquest into Mitchell’s death eventualy expose The Dark Passenger? And how would Rita’s defeat of the Trinity Killer make Dexter feel? Would he feel envious that his wife was able to do what he could not? Emascualted that he was unable to protect his child, and that Rita was?

Sorry, there was nothing suspensful in Rita’s death. For many of us, it was simply a relief.

I have been scouring the news for it, but to no avail. I mean, I guess ordinarily a suicide isn’t news. But I’d think that a suicide in an office building adjacent to K Street would be.

It makes for a weird morning. You walk in, you punch your floor, and the button doesn’t light up. You assume the elevator’s broken and you try another, and your buttons still doesn’t light up. You ask the security about it, and she says you’ll have to go to 7 and walk down. You walk next-door to grab some breakfast, then you find that you’re building’s on lockdown. You call your office. Your boss has to come rescue ya.

They found this person at about 9 a.m. He or she had somehow hanged him or herself from some support beam in the atrium on my floor. All’s I saw was a bunch of yellow police tape. The office was obviously shaken about it. But there was nothing to do but work.

Weird.

One nice thing to do for the holy holiday of Zappadan is to put mustaches on things. So far, I’ve put a mustache on a jellyfish. Now, I’d like to put a mustache on a traitor and a fool.

That. Is so. Scary.

Stolen from Urantian Sojourn

http://thebrainpolice.blogspot.com/2009/12/redunzl.html