Inside Television 565
Publication Date: 8-12-11
By: Hubert O’Hearn
Well I just feel as primitive as a cuneiform stamping Babylonian. According to an article from something called ‘The Center for Sustainable Journalism’ - which I’m sure involves heat lamps and incubators, possibly eye-droppers plopping out shots of Canadian Club - the terms reporter and journalist are gone with the wind of Rhett Butler. Instead, those individuals identified by droopy eyelids and equally droopy underwear are to be termed (I kid you not) Headline Optimizers, Story Scientists, or Data Detectives.
Actually, didn’t Data play Sherlock Holmes in a couple of episodes of Star Trek: The Next Generation? Yellow eyes and journos can be akin, although in the latter case it usually involves liver dysfunction. In any event, the article made me wonder, What the nouvelle vogue be for columnists? I’m torn between two: Ad Interruptor, or Inch-Eater.
The article was forwarded by our friend Bambi Weavil, who is the manager of several wrestlers and bodybuilders, including Tammy Lynn Sytch, aka Sunny from her WWE days. Tammy has been working on a cookbook to which I am periodically sending harrumphing messages to Bambi asking, ‘Is it done? I want to push this cookbook!’ Answer: still in the oven.
Publication Date: 8-12-11
By: Hubert O’Hearn
Well I just feel as primitive as a cuneiform stamping Babylonian. According to an article from something called ‘The Center for Sustainable Journalism’ - which I’m sure involves heat lamps and incubators, possibly eye-droppers plopping out shots of Canadian Club - the terms reporter and journalist are gone with the wind of Rhett Butler. Instead, those individuals identified by droopy eyelids and equally droopy underwear are to be termed (I kid you not) Headline Optimizers, Story Scientists, or Data Detectives.
Actually, didn’t Data play Sherlock Holmes in a couple of episodes of Star Trek: The Next Generation? Yellow eyes and journos can be akin, although in the latter case it usually involves liver dysfunction. In any event, the article made me wonder, What the nouvelle vogue be for columnists? I’m torn between two: Ad Interruptor, or Inch-Eater.
The article was forwarded by our friend Bambi Weavil, who is the manager of several wrestlers and bodybuilders, including Tammy Lynn Sytch, aka Sunny from her WWE days. Tammy has been working on a cookbook to which I am periodically sending harrumphing messages to Bambi asking, ‘Is it done? I want to push this cookbook!’ Answer: still in the oven.
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| Kenny Dalglish...(What? It's NOT Kenny Dalglish?) er... MICKIE JAMES! |
Another friend of mine, who should go nameless but instead I’ll call ‘George Lister’ for it is he, once wrote me, ‘I used to have the hugest respect for you until you said you were a wrestling fan.’ And I understand that. I used to feel that way too, until it dawned on me that wrestlers were the greatest actors of our, or any other, age. All actors are storytellers basically, but the wrestlers must tell a story, not with words or cut/retake/cut/print but with physicality that all too often involves muscle tears, broken bones, bruises always and a life in motels 250 nights a year. You want to talk commitment to your art or craft? Now that’s commitment!
This is also why I’m pleased to fill you in on the latest project of Mickie James, whom we wrote about in an earlier column. Mickie, a former WWE champion and currently the top babyface female wrestler in TNA Impact, is ready to release a new album of her own songs. Here’s the cool part: you can be the Executive Producer of this album. You? Yes you. The album (and Mickie is a very, very good singer who I would love to see at our 2012 Blues Festival in Thunder Bay) is being partially funded by fans. Smart idea. $25 gets you a thank you in the liner notes …$2500 gets you a concert in your living room. You can find the details, and a smart, sexy and funny video at mickiejames.com
But all roads lead to Liverpool, which is a lurching transition but the best this Inch-Eater can do. Depending on the status of the UK riots, the Premier League in footie may or may not kick off this weekend, at the time of this writing. If and when it does, the title battle will likely boil down to a tilt between the Evil Mancs of Machester United or the Lovable Doofus Mancs of Manchester City. But...my heart is with Anfield where Kenny Dalglish returns for his first full season as manager of Liverpool since 1990. Dalglish, or King Kenny as he was known in his playing days, is everything a modern athlete should be and so rarely is: skilled, forceful, gracious in victory or defeat, but above all joyful. A grown man playing or managing a kids’ game should be unafraid to let the kid appear. With a classic Number 9 brute forward in Andy Carroll and the Copa Americana MVP Luis Suarez leading my Reds’ front line, we have hope. And do you know what the beauty of hope is?
You’ll Never Walk Alone. Be seeing you.
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