SO I APPROACHED my nattily-attired editor the other day and said: "I can't get enough of Deep Throat, boss. That’s gonna be the next column."
|One of many followers of Rambaldi....|
"Old news," he said. "Write about Brad and Angelina – they’re the hot ticket today."
"They can rot," said I, and returned to my cubicle.
I've wanted to know who the mysterious whistleblower in the Watergate case since watching All the President's Men in high school - I must have been a sophomore, or 16, at the time (over ten years ago now). Digging into the Watergate case once again, since the revelations earlier this month, has stirred all my old fascination about that period of U.S. history. It also brought to mind a question I haven't ever heard anybody ask. How many covert burglaries occurred before the gang messed up at the Watergate? I don't see them as a bunch of amateurs but a team of operators who became lazy and stopped paying attention to detail because so many past operations had been successfully covered up. Whether Mark Felt, aka Deep Throat, spoke to Woodward because of moral outrage or because Nixon picked somebody other than him to lead the FBI is an argument for another time. But the United States has still not recovered from the Watergate scandal. Disrespect for authority, mistrust of government, and rampant cynicism permeate our culture. It was probably unavoidable after the uprisings of the '60s, but Nixon certainly didn't help, and every president since has had some sort of black eye on his administration that has continued the cycle. The U.S. may be a strong nation, but this ailment will remain the thorn in our proverbial side until - well, who knows. It's a shame the events of '72-'74 had to happen.
EVER LISTEN TO Nancy Sinatra? Yes, Frank's daughter. As in, "These Boots Are Made for Walking." She turned 65 last week and still looks like a million bucks. That's probably how much it cost, too (sorry, sweetie - please don't have your father's old mob buddies come over and whack me). One of her hits compilations is known to be stashed somewhere in the house. I like her stuff. She was always the tough pouting vixen that could belt you into next Tuesday and that attitude even came through on her softer songs. The duets she sang with Lee Hazlewood? Some of the best songs ever recorded. "Some Velvet Morning" stands out the most, with its haunting lyrics, but the song tells a story - about a man who meets a girl and Something Bad Happens - that's never developed and lingers only because of the questions it raises, like: "What the heck is it about?" Good song anyway. I'd rather listen to Nancy's stuff than half the junk passing for music today.
A FEW WEEKS AGO at church I met a nice girl. Her name is Steffi. She's from Germany, and does nothing to dispell my belief that all German women look like men. She has a nice enough figure with all the right stuff in all the right places and just enough stuff in aforementioned places, but the high cheekbones of her face combined with little or no makeup give her the rough Teutonic look I guess those people prefer. I'm currently writing a spy novel that takes place in Berlin, post-Cold War, and we chatted about the city and what it was like before the wall came down. Soon enough, however, another gal passed by, whom Steffi identified as her "silly roommate". Which was my cue to mention that I have a similar silly roommate - who's a neat freak, and drives me up the wall.
Cue the thunder and lightning. For you PhDs out there, that means I should have kept my mouth shut.
She said: "Wait! I'm a neat freak too."
At least she was cool enough to admit she had a problem.
I said: "But do you have to have your garbage cans and even your multiple remote controls for your variety of gadgets arranged according to size? Must everything be in its proper place at all times?"
Hands on hips, body bent forward in that bobbing-chicken-head pose women are so good at (I've seen it enough times to know it's genetically programmed), she snapped: "Do you have a problem with being orderly?"
And I laughed at her. I mean, I had a really good laugh at that. She turned up the volumn at that point and said: "Stop laughing at me!" which made me laugh even more, and then she stormed off.
I may not have made a friend, and she may or may not have been fooling around, but it sure was funny.
I can't wait to see her this week. Hee hee hee ...