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Dateline: 06/17/99
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I strolled by a newsstand the other day and walked right up to the cover of a Rolling Stone.
"Whoa!" I blurted out in horror. "Cher has had one face lift too many."
"Jar Jar Binks," said the man behind the counter. "Jar Jar Binks."
"Who are you, Latka from Taxi?" My enquiring mind wanted to know.
"Jar Jar Binks," he sang out again.
"Sir," I offered in mentorship, "in my country, Cher sings that: 'I got you, babe.'"
"Jar Jar Binks."
"Babe... I got you, babe... I got you babe." I was getting down with my bad self, good God! Have mercy, y'all! Can ya dig it?
"He's the new guy in Star Wars."
"They say we're young and we don't know, We won't find -- HUH?"
"Jar Jar Binks," he said, pointing at the cover, "is a character in the Star Wars movie."
I stared at the clerk. "Thank you, Marty McFly. It is not 1977. Oh, sure, I'm still loving these flared pants --"
"Sir," he intoned -- I hate being at the wrong end of an intoned. "There is a brand new Star Wars movie.
I blinked at him in silence.
I blinked again.
Blink. Blink.
I smiled, smoothing over my faux pas. "Wow! Imagine it! There are two Star Wars movies!
And as I trucked out of sight, "DYN-O-MITE, Dude! And to all a good night."
I have a confession. I think I'm out of the loop.
A month has past since my wife and I moved from our cozy suburban cul de sac love shack of 17 years to a land far and away -- and then we go another 30 miles.
We bought a clapboard cabin in a mountain wilderness, so remote, the cable TV line ends (shudder) two driveways back.
Knowing I'm a scant 2.8 acres away from crystal clear Chimp Channel -- taunting and close, yet so oppressively distant -- well, it's enough to make me sob and mope and pace as my knuckles drag in the dirt.
Alas, this is the trade off, the steep price I paid to leave the big city, after conquering it and stomping on it and squeezing blood out of it's turnip. (I'm told there are turnips to be found in the country, fresh, brimming with flavor, without that lingering HIV aftertaste.)
To reside here in a bountifully green forest, high on a cliff, overlooking the strong, cleansed currents of a babbling creek alive in it's resplendent music is the primal attraction that brings us here. And, perhaps, you might also note those distant childhood dreams Donna and I independently harbored inside air-conditioned darknesses while Walt Disney's magic Swiss Family Robinson unspooled before our voraciously impressionable eyes. Like the Robinsons, I'm happy to report we have, in effect, achieved treehouse living.
It is incessantly splendiferous, indeed, to partake of the full tilt nature unfolding around us each day. Who needs to know about Star Wars or pop culture when a purplishy crimsony golden sunset disappears behind the breezy field of wildflowers swaying beyond our waters? Who needs to know anything of civilization back in the metropolis? We don't. We've got quite a show of our own.
Oh, yes, there is one thing we, the Big City Family Durrett, would have liked to have known about the forest before we moved here (selling everything, abandoning our previous perfectly-contented, rewarding lives -- with cable).
Um, maybe one, just one somebody could have told us about...
CRITTERS!!!
Next on The
Mike Durrett Show
Clueless in Seclusion,
Episode Two:
CRITTERS!!!
Honest mistake? You be the judge... From Rolling Stone: From TV Guide: |
Top Ten Things People
Hate More than Jar Jar Binks Jar Jar Binks Alien Dissection
Kit The Jar Jar Job Hunt Killing Jar Jar Jar Jar Sucks.com Star Wars, Nothing but Star Wars The Many Mutations of The Sonny and Cher Show The Cher Show |
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