The guilty pleasure of the gong
Reading that Chuck Barris had died this week reminded me that life used to be simpler. We learned about how to start relationships via the Dating Game. If things went as far as marriage, we set our expectations based on the Newlywed Game. And when things spiraled out of control, we could go for the conclusion by following the Gong Show. Now, all we have to fall back on are “alt facts”. How I miss life as it used to be.
I mean, I’m not ready to find a time machine and go back to that era; the jokes are now rather stale. But having hit a gong a few times (percussion has its own guilty pleasures), I can relate to the sound of judgement. Again, a pity that we can’t use the mallet to send our current gang of goons off to the wings.
We had a quick trip to the city, this afternoon. The dog and I spent quality time listening to the radio, although the man who thinks trees are sentient beings deserved (you guessed it) a swipe at the gong. Ditto for some of those who phoned in to the program; a woman who loved the trees in front of her house, although she didn’t know “what kind” they were added support to the premise that the loonies are among us.
I’m not sure how this will play out, but the wife found a card of curved needles. Supposed to be for upholstery, but I bet I could learn the basics of sewing holes on a battlefield.
