A friend told me that she remembered the day when she began ranting at the television. It was her 42nd birthday. One day she was 41 years old and not ranting. The next ...
I don't rant at the television. But in the past week, I've developed a variation on this theme. I've had to stop myself writing letters to the newspaper*. One day — possibly quite soon — I'm going to lose the struggle. I'll no longer be known as Snail but as Disgusted of Maribyrnong. Well, it does have a certain ring to it.
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* The most recent letter I didn't write was in response to an op-ed piece about Paris Hilton, for cryin' out loud. The author was banging on and on about how we all should be ashamed of ourselves for showing so much interest in her. Fortunately, my irony meter overloaded. I might leave it in pieces.
