It is tempting for a newspaper writer to get in on the gloom and doom syndicate. There is no shortage of horror stories these days. There is no shortage of opinions about this crisis or that crisis. In that great movie, Network, Howard Beale (played by Peter Finch) the run-amuck TV anchor (and this was decades before Fox News) declaims, "Maybe I want to to be an angry prophet denouncing the hypocrisy of our time."
That's tempting, too. Maybe I want to be an angry prophet denouncing the hypocrisy of our time, as Paddy Chayevsky suggested.
Ah, but there's a hazard. It's difficult to denounce any hypocrisy without being hypocritical. So, I'll leave that to others. For now.
I hasten to add this is not a serious piece of writing. Nothing ponderous. Nothing pedantic. No punditry. So don't be scared. Don't race away. Stick around. Trust me. Honest. Can you lend me 39-billion dollars until payday? I'd like to say that I'm mad as hell and I'm not gonna take this anymore. Right. Sure. Take what? C'mon, the truth is that I'll have to take it -- whatever it is. I'll likely take it until the end of my days.
There are strange things that happen if you reside on this planet long enough until the end of your days. One part of getting older is observing that things often repeat themselves. Old jokes certainly come back. Here's one from the Great Depression. The rabblerouser is on a street corner soapbox, barking at the crowd: "Come the revolution, you'll be eating peaches and cream!" he shouts.
"But I don't like peaches and cream," a timid voice chirps up.
Fumes the firebrand: "You'll eat peaches and cream whether you like it or not!"
More personally, this memory came to me, thanks to John McCain and Sarah Palin, trying to sell their preposterous "maverick" schtick during the election season.
They reminded me of a TV show that I loved when I was a kid. It was called Maverick. I remember the great character actor, John Dehner, repeating the running gag: "If you can't trust your banker, who can you trust?"
Gee, that's got a contemporary -- and contemptible -- ring to it. Mavericks one and all.
Wait a moment. From me, I promise, no preaching, no polemics, no poking about things in which I have no business prodding about. Yes, I improperly ended a phrase with a preposition. That's about as a far as I go to provoke civil disobedience. For that, I deserve a pox on both my houses. Then again, my houses were repossessed. That reminds me that John McCain had some trouble with his campaign song. The Foo Fighters reclaimed "My Hero." I think he should have used that old tune, "You'd Be So Nice To Come Home To." If he could only recall which home that was.
It's safe to say that this election season was a bad American dream, a protracted piece of perfidy. I'm thankful that it's over in time for Thanksgiving. I've never heard so many Americans say that they're moving to Canada as a result of the presidential election, whatever the outcome would be. Do you think Canada has enough room? For all the people who moved to Canada, come back soon. Everything's going to be all right. Besides, we're going to need your help when we start picking on some truly unfortunate people.
Bruce Bellingham is also a columnist for the SF Northside. Unlike Ringo Starr, he likes mail. Mail him at bruce@northsidesf.com
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