This is rich: Wolcott is on the alert for new rhetoric that portrays Hezbollah as a threat to America. Apparently these magic words will whip all the Fox-clouded lummoxes to support the neo-con plan to spasmodically attack irrelevant social organizations for the mere joy of watching rubble bounce and limbs fly. As if Hezbollah was formed a few weeks ago as a ladies’ auxiliary to the Lebanese Orchid Enthusiast’s Society. Well, their leaders have an interesting applause line: DEATH TO AMERICA. Granted, it’s boilerplate, but after 9/11 I’m inclined to take them at their word.

Yes, yes, I know: again with the 9/11, as if that gave the United States license to attack any Islamic militant organization that spent the last two decades killing Jews, Marines and other infidels. I’m sorry I brought it up. I should realize how I’m being played; isn’t it CURIOUS how people are talking now about the links between Syria, Iran, and various terrorist organizations. How very CONVENIENT. Will they never stop making stuff up to justify their private promises to ancient Lovecraftian blood-gods? Who’s next, the United Way?

The latest version of the Diner won’t be to everyone’s liking. In retrospect, it requires a very particular & nerdy piece of knowledge: you have to know the music that indicated a Terminator robot was coming. Very typical of the old Diner, and I suppose the reason the show would only work late at night with a smallish audience inclined to know or care about such things. I banged this thing together quickly, the levels are all over the place, I don’t have the new mike yet, and yes you may sue me. I will countersue for the mental anguish suffered by knowing there are people willing to bring legal actions over such matters.
I did give it a quick listen, wincing, and was surprised to remember that this was how the Diner usually worked out: something always went horribly wrong. Usually it was my producer, Jeremy who supplied the gunfire and explosions, but here I’m on my own. This is all terribly self-indulgent, but it’s fun for me. And no, it’s not scripted. It just all . . . happened. The only thing I planned to do was fire a pistol to stop a certain piece of music. Back when I was considering doing the show over the radio again, I wanted to have weekly shoot-the-jukebox feature, where I’d play a minute of some truly awful or annoying song, then do an Elvis with the old Rockola. This is that. Note: when you hear a certain ominous moaning note, it usually meant the Terminator was en route or down the hall. That’s all you need to know. Except that it was done quickly, the levels are wrong, the mike sucks, and that’s my Krusty the Klown impersonation. He’s the easiest one to do. Everyone can do a Krusty, just like everyone can do Donald Duck getting mad.

If you don’t like it, there’s a Joe. And as long as I’m explaining things, this one was interesting. When it was done I allowed myself a peek at the next match, to see what I’d set myself up to do. And I had to grin. But that’s Monday’s installment.

Tomorrow – which is today for you, I suppose – I have to do a shift at the morning Play Room, entertaining three year olds. (There you go, Jim! An opening as wide as the Bekaah Valley!) After that, piano lessons. After that, sweet wonderful release, and the high holy Friday night. But now I have to finish a column, since I won’t be able to file tomorrow morning. Have a good weekend; see you Monday.



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