Things in the Corner

 "Smile"

So some things have happened in the world of public radio since we last spoke, scholars (also, in the actual world). I took a little time off (it was my birthday (happy birthday)). NPR: fired Juan Williams, became target, resumed NPR. Since the inception of this blog, I've been careful not to bandy those three letters about willy-nilly ('N'; 'P'; 'R'), because NPR is a very specific thing, and public radio is a hydra––a golden-toned, cautiously dynamic hydra––with many fun and interesting heads, and only one of those heads can rightly be called NPR. Maybe it's more of a chandelier, public radio is. (Research on most appropriate metaphor forthcoming.)

We didn't feel as though we had much to add to the Juan Williams "thing" (journalism is dead, yada yada yada) and I had a hunch that it might not really matter in a few weeks. It didn't. But here's what it did, you guys:

It got me thinking I'd sure miss NPR (public radio by proxy) if it were gone, if Hercules (FNN (The Republican Party (woo, party!))), in some dystopian future had actually managed to cauterize its necks (pass legislation to end funding). (I'm not sure how this would have panned out if I had gone with the chandelier analogy, but I realize I've just made FNN Hercules and public radio a hyrda. I trust you to sort it out.) But here's what that did, you guys:

It got me thinking who the @#$% am I and what the @#$% am I doing? (Pardon my SHIFT+NUM). What business is it of mine to use this institution (an institution, scholars, it turns out, is actually people) as fodder for my self-indulgent blog? To be fair to us, we've had some pretty sharp insights, but largely the theme of this institution (which, if you'll remember, is us (people (people))) has devolved into, "I wonder if we can stay on topic?" Which is fine. To a point. I love folly as much as the next I, as you're sure you'll agree, but why, oh why, on 20 October, did I decide to write an editorial on pledge week that, quite frankly, could have been written by Dave Barry? (Nothing against Dave Barry, American Hero.)

Do you see that rug over there in the corner? That's the one I just pulled out. I'm sorry. But here's the thing about corners (other than the "thing about corners" that illuminates that four of them occupy a year):

Corners are easily accessible. Take a deep breath. The rug is just fine. Barry Bonds, ravens, et al. are nestled quite securely, and you may join them for the time being if you like. Sometimes Daddy needs to just sit for a goddamn minute and open a beer and read the goddamn paper without you goddamn kids goddamning all over the place isn't there something you can help your goddamn mother with?

We can put the rug back, is what I'm saying. We probably will in the very next post. We have short attention spans (see: informations), and we prefer to laugh while we cry and cajole our souls with glad tidings (Christmas is just around the corner). But let's talk about me for just a hot second in order to make our endeavors less about me.

I was in my car (go figure) and, lo, All Thing Considered––the veritable genesis of our primary purpose here in The Land of Blog––was surrounding me with informations (go figure).

There were no bees. Barry Bonds was elsewhere. Carl Sagan was still dead and Ken Burns was still alive, though Robert Siegel failed to mention either. There was, however, news:

Afghanistan: Still a war (an institution (actually people)).

Mysterious Missile: Spotted off the California coast, explanation yet to be uncovered.

Black American Males: Graduate high school with 50% less frequency than White American Males.

The New, Republican-Majority House of Representatives: Already behaving as expected.

President Obama: Traveling.

Volcano: Erupting.

The Economy: The Economy.

When the bare facts of our situation send a chill down my spine, I think, "Thank God for the bare facts of our situation." And then:

Robert Siegel reported on the Little Kid Reciting Billy Collins meme (remember that meme?) and not just in a "remember that meme?" kind of way. It turns out Billy Collins had a chance to meet Samuel Chelpka (Little Kid Reciting), and I'll try to frame the following in my most big boy journalist words:

My heart climbed out of my chest, sat on my dashboard, and sang Chaplin's "Smile" (and did a little softshoe (and I cried)).

So, thank you, public radio.

Do you see that tongue over there in the corner? It's not in my cheek.