Betrayal

Harold Pinter died on Christmas Eve.

No great irony or significance there - the man was a secular Jew - but, considering he was also a nobel laureate, legion d'honneur recipient, Tony award winner and Oscar nominee, his passing is definitely newsworthy. In fact, since the guy was 82 and battling cancer, you'd expect a major news network like NBC to have a slickly produced obit on file. But Nooooooooh. It appears they got some intern to google the guy.

So what did they list as his most important credits? A few of his 29 plays,such as The Birthday Party, Betrayal, and The Homecoming?

Nope. His screenplay adaptation of John Fowles' novel, The French Lieutenant's Woman. Probably the only Pinter piece the intern had ever heard of.

NBC wants us to remember one of the twentieth century's most important playwrights for his screenplay adaptation of someone else's work.

No twit I.

They say the birds descend from the dinosaurs. Call me brontosaurus, stuck in the twentieth century where I was born. I may be addicted to google, but I continue to use my computer as a glorified typewriter. Don't expect me to don my reading glasses just so I can watch your podcast on that itty-bitty screen. I'd have to locate the ipod I got three Christmases ago and actually figure out how to use it. Don't invite me to join your new social networking site. Linked In will do me just fine for the rest of my natural life. And for God's Sake, don't look for me on twitter. Because any forum that requires me to limit my blathering to 140 characters is strictly for the birds.

Play it again, George.

Excuse me while I go on you tube yet again and play the video of the Iraqi journalist throwing his shoes at Bush. What a pitching arm! What an aim! And how can I curb my compulsion to play the clip over and over? Hit play! See Dubya duck! Hit play! See Dubya duck again! I feel like one of those coke-addicted lab rats, compelled to push the lever over and over for just one more hit.

No thanks.

What ever happened to you're welcome?

A gracious response to a thank you that implies that you're happy to help and would do so again.

Now, if you thank someone, you get back "no problem" or "no worries", responses that turn "you're welcome" on it's head. They're no longer about the person doing the thanking, but about the person being thanked. It's "no problem" you did not disturb me too much when I put myself out and did you a favor, but if it's a problem in the future, you're on your own. It's "no worries" I am not annoyed that you asked me to help you out, but if you push it, I just might get annoyed.

And since when did "waiting on" and "waiting for" become interchangeable? The guy with the order pad is supposed to wait ON me, and if I have to wait FOR him, I end up polishing off the bread basket. These days, we're "waiting on" the waiter, which could be why it doesn't occur to him to wait on us.

Think I'm being a word priss? Whatever you do, don't tell me "it's all good." There's a worldwide recession. The polar ice caps are melting. India and Pakistan are on high alert. China owns us, and it appears they're trying to poison us. Antibiotic-resistant TB is on the rise. Nicole Kidman can no longer move her face. They now make so many different kinds of Crest, you can get analysis paralysis in the toothpaste aisle. If you still want to tell me it's all good, I suggest you go read Candide.

Relax...God is in charge.

That's what the bumper sticker on the car in front of me said.  

I find nothing relaxing about the notion that God is in charge. I live in Northern California, where God's handiwork includes earthquakes, mudslides, fire storms and, depending where the big one hits, the potential for our very own tsunami. And if that's all too macro for you, there's always cancer and heart disease.