So what the hell is going on here? I’m speaking to you, Rolf Funch, president of RJ Fletcher Communications. What kind of world makes us sit through Dick Clark’s loathsome post-stroke aphasia during every New Year’s Eve special from now until the End Time, out of some misguided notion of tradition? I recall the first time I had to see it. Nearly put me off my lunch. It was one of those horrific and intolerable moments where I was forced to feel embarrassment for another human being. But it was Dick Clark. And that’s a tradition. An American tradition.
You know what else is a tradition? An American tradition? “The Horn Blows at Midnight.” Surely you remember? Jack Benny? Alexis Smith? Made in the year of your lord Nineteen Hundred and Forty-Five?
Benny is a bandsman who falls asleep and dreams that he is Athanael, an angel appointed with the task of blowing the trumpet that will end the world at midnight on New Year’s Eve. There’s a really funny bit throughout about “Paradise Coffee.” But you wouldn’t know that, would you? You’re busy trying to pair up some new androgynous victims for Kathy Griffin and Ryan Seacrest to suckle.
The movie is a freakin’ tradition. And no station is showing it this New Year’s Eve. As the leading (read: ONLY) cable provider in the county, I put it to you. Why the eradication of a holiday classic? Will Rudolph and friends go next year? And after that, maybe replace “A Christmas Story” with some re-runs of “Davy and Goliath?” How about “White Christmas” with Lady Gaga and Justin Bieber? That’s pretty damn white, if you know what I mean.
The Horn – for this tradition – has Blown, apparently. I can't find the film anywhere. It's like Christmas without “It's a Wonderful Life.” It's like Hanukkah without guilt. It's damn near like coffee without cocaine and LSD. And that's just wrong.
You all suck, you T.V. people. I hope you have an abysmal New Year. Screw you. Yes, sirs and madams of television programming, screw you all. I’ll have to watch Dick Clark drool all over himself and spasm and babble ineffably like the offspring of Kate Hepburn and Newt Gingrich. It’s just too much.
But what I’m really going to miss…Robert “Bobby” Blake as Junior Pulpinsky.
It’s ironic, isn’t it, that our right-wing, family values, warriors for Christmas, and fair and balanced free marketeers do their level best to bring about the apocalypse, but their media can’t show a cute holiday movie about it? Yes, it is.
If you readers, like me, refuse to support RJ Fletcher Communications this New Year’s Eve, tune in to to KCUF on the 31st. The Tank Players will be performing a live radio play of “When Harry Met Sally,” told from the perspective of Guantanamo detainees and a group of Somali pirates.