...I knew from nothing about Howard Stern except what I'd heard about him and read from time to time in a variety of newspapers and I have to say I wasn't impressed, thought he was a nothing, a major ought among many ciphers, and once went so far as to call him a moron in "...NOTES..."
I apologize Howard, publicly and sincerely. You're not a moron at all
and your autobiographical 'Private Parts' is one of the funniest fuckin' books I ever read. I was howling late into the night and up this morning at 4:38 to polish it off. It was brilliant and for me elevates you to Doug Holland-status, Doug Holland whose 'Pathetic Life, Diary Of A Fat Slob', is kith and kin to your 'Private Parts'...and, as is said of NFTD, 'hilarious & poignant'.
It is true that for an aging, prudishly-inclined old puritan like me I also found it (them, Pathetic Life too...) disgusting sometimes but not to the exclusion of my laughter...it was my understanding you were homophobic, racist, sexist and a general all-around creep Howard, but I don't see it like that. You're no more a creep than Lenny Bruce was a creep and he wasn't either. You're none of these things in my mind although some will never see you as anything but. Too bad, they're missing the point.
On the other hand, maybe I am...
ALRIGHT, THERE'S MY MANDATORY TAKE ON HOWARD STERN...
...now about Bill Clinton auctioning off the Lincoln Bedroom to the highest bidders and then having the audacity to say the Lincoln Bedroom was never sold...so what's new?
There were SOME things you just didn't mess with Mr. President and Abe Lincoln and anything about him was one of them. You can have all the girl friends you want for all I care, if you can't control your libido I don't know what to tell you...why is a 50-year-old man so sex-crazed anyway? You do know there's something out there called HIV don't you? What kind of an example are you setting? Then again it may all be media hyperbole to hike the ratings.
What if someone treated your daughter the way pundits, wags and rumor-mongers (ahem...) claim you treated Gennifer Flowers or Paula Jones? How wouldyoulike some randy old goat wagging his 'fireman's cap'at Chelsea?
And get your creepy-ass friends out of Abraham Lincoln's room and out of that bed! Incidentally, are your friends jismating all over the same bed Lincoln died in? You're not that much of a creep are you that you would allow all your 938 friends to boff one another in the same bed he died in...are you?
I used to like you, supported you against the wacky fringe right but all
in all, I give up...publicly selling The White House!? For shame; covertly, Mr. C - covertly, or not at all, plus if you've got spare rooms, well, drag some of those homeless off the dirty streets and grates of Washington and give THEM a bed to sleep in, never mind Barbra Streisand, Barbra Streisand for Cris'sake's has got ten fucking beds to sleep in in each of her many homes.
I give up on you Bill, don't send me anymore post cards. And I don't
appreciate Al Gore sitting around with a bunch of Chinese Nationalists
decidinghowmuch money those monkeys will donate to theDemocraticParty.
Both of you are huge disappointments to a country which figured we were
done with business as usual but o no it's still business as usual! You're a
disgrace, I'm no longer proud of having voted for you. I'm through voting.
LOST IN REVERIE...OBLIVIOUS TO MY SURROUNDINGS...
...I only with great effort am able to return to the present, in my kitchen, glad to be back I don't mind telling you. You have to keep focused on the here and now. You can only be 'lost in reverie' under certain
conditions, at least safely lost.
If you're cruising along I-495 at 85 m.p.h. - naughty you! - in the fast
lane your mind has to be there too, it - your mind - can't be re-living the
beach at Nea Makri while your present-day body is hurtling through space in a
two-ton dart out of control on the highway; lost in reverie behind the wheel
is no place to be.
Ideally, to be spaced-out, (which is what it is, you can call it TM or Zen or whatever you want to call this metaphysical temporary escape from the harsh realities, but it's still 'spaced-out' and to some degree we are all space cadets) is best when you're home comfortable with the wood stove and sated from your maple-flavored sausage and crisp-fried today's eggs, there to repose in satiated bliss. Now this type of reverie can be downright Nirvana-ish and unlike the spaced-out dude in the passing lane - and watch out because they are everywhere, why, I've even seen - so have you I'm sure - people driving and reading too, o my heart...where was I? O yes...
...lost in reverie.
IT USED TO BE MY CONTENTION...
(...mine& Rene Descartes') that '...salvation lies in fidelity to one's
own genius...' but over the years I have learned that in truth salvation lies in the mailbox where a half-inch thick stack of crisp new 20s and a dozen or so bank drafts (could be) are awaiting my signature before I embark on a world tour and the machinations of NFTD come to you from the far-flung pleasure capitals of the world.
Actually now that I think of it what does salvation really mean, does one need to be, ah, salved? Salvated? Salvationized? Let us see what Brother Noah has to say about it: Hmmm...aha! 'Redemption. Spiritual rescue from sin and death.'
Well yes, by all means then, please salivate me in order that I may be forthrightly redeemed and mine life become salubrious once again, meanwhile...