M. Giant's
Throwing stuff at the internet to see what sticks

Friday, June 28, 2002  

I’m just going to say it: this month has sucked.

You already know about Trash’s cousin. That’s not the only thing that happened, though. During this June, various other members of Trash’s family have had run-ins with congestive heart failure, radon poisoning, a car-becue on a remote highway, kidney stones, and potentially crippling foot injuries. Furthermore, a couple of friends have terminated their relationship, another old friend lost his stepfather in a plane crash, and I lost one of my personal heroes. So I’m glad that June is almost over.

And the last entry of the month means more good news: the second installment of the Reader Mail Slot!

Oh, whatever. Like you care.

Dear M. Giant,

Deep Throat is not Jimmy James from NewsRadio. Jimmy James is a fictional character, and while some of the details about Deep Throat may have been obscured to protect his identity, he does actually exist. Deep Throat is also not Ben Stein, who is also a fictional character. As for your belief that Pat Buchanan is Deep Throat, you were being sarcastic, right? Just making sure.

Bob Woodward and Carl Bernstein

See, there’s another one of those imprudent denials. Woodward and Bernstein have always said that they would keep Deep Throat’s identity a secret until he died, which strikes me as being even more reckless. Seems like some unbalanced Watergate groupie is liable to completely jump the rails and start taking out Nixon staffers and Secret Service agents, forcing W & B to go on the chat shows and say “getting warmer…warmer…oh, no, you’re FREEZING!” every time some erstwhile wonk or retired G-man gets fished out of the Potomac.

Dear obscure Matt Drudge-wannabee:

You have no idea, you ignorant punk.

Patrick Buchanan
aka Deep Throat

Okay, this I did not expect. I can only assume that Pat figured that telling me the truth was the same as telling nobody. What Pat doesn’t know is that for a brief time, doing a Google search on the phrase “pat buchanan deep throat” brought up, as the number one result, this very blog. Right now I’m down to Google’s fifth “O,” but today’s entry ought to fix that. Pat, Pat, Pat. How very indiscreet of you. You keep your head down for three decades, and a hack like me flushes you out by sheer uninformed wise-assery. Thanks for the Pulitzer, dude.

Just to be sure: pat buchanan deep throat pat buchanan deep throat pat buchanan deep throat.

In non-Watergate-related mail, here’s this, presumably from one of the coasts:

M. Giant -

How on Earth do you get fresh fish in Minnesota? I wouldn't eat sushi more
than 20 miles inland if you paid me. Gross. Frozen Midwest fish sushi.

Nice blog though, thanks.

Observo the Omniscient

No, thank you. To answer your question: I wouldn’t know; I had the chicken.

You’d be surprised how easy it is to get fresh fish in Minnesota, unless you’re familiar with the state’s “Land of 10,000 Lakes” slogan. If there’s a spot that’s twenty miles away from a body of water in this state, I’m not aware of it.

I am, however, aware of the difference between freshwater fish and saltwater fish, so your point is well taken. I too am inclined to limit my seafood intake to places where I can see the actual sea, but then I’m not such a seafood fan to begin with.

Funny story: a few years ago, Trash and I visited some friends on the coast of South Carolina. The road they lived on was lined with Mom & Pop seafood places, two-star buildings with six-star food where you could give the waitress your order, and then look out the window to see her jump in the boat to get it for you. All of these places were doing okay, as far as we could tell, but there was one restaurant that was outdoing them all. It had a parking lot big enough to service a large mall, and it was packed all evening, every evening. The name of that place?

Red Lobster.

Yes, hundreds of people every night were forgoing food that was alive and swimming ten minutes ago, ten feet away (not counting the tank in the lobby), and for what? Sea critters trucked in from Maine, Florida, and probably across four time zones from the Pacific Ocean for all I know. Go figure.

But not you and I. You and I know better. Bon appetit, and ahoy.

posted by M. Giant 3:32 PM 0 comments


Post a Comment

Listed on BlogShares www.blogwise.com
buy my books!
professional representation
Follow me on Twitter
other stuff i