I'm A Professional Child

by The Cranky Media Guy

If you've ever read anything I've written on this web site and suspected that I was, shall we say, learning-impaired, this will convince you you're right.

A few short weeks ago, I was a lowly book editor in Virginia; then, through the kind of series of unlikely events that have become a kind of hallmark in my life, I became part of a semi-big time morning drive radio show on a kick-ass rock station in Boise, Idaho. Other than the fact that I'm a fat load of goo and I realized today that I now have thighs that look like cottage cheese stuffed into pantyhose, life is pretty good at the moment.

Imagine for a moment that this was happening to you. You'd feel pretty good about life, too, right? How would you celebrate? You might go out and get drunk. You might go to a topless bar. Maybe you'd buy and smoke a big cigar. You might, not me, though.

See, that's all grown-up stuff. I may have a middle-aged fat guy's body, but I have the cerebellum of a ten-year-old. I don't do grown-up stuff. That's for grown-ups. Fortunately, I have a job that pays me reasonably well to be an over-annuated juvenile on the air. (Jealous yet?)

So, no drinking, no cigars, no lap dances. What did I do? Uh, well, I went to a video arcade. Two, actually. I dragged along Chris, my on-air partner. We played every stupid shoot-'em-up game in the joint like sugar-addled adolescents; then, when we wore out the entertainment possibilities of Pojo's (featuring Idaho's only indoor carousel), we went to Gameworld and started over again.

Yes, you're absolutely right--I should be wearing a hockey helmet and riding a short bus to work. I'm a total 'tard. I'm like Tom Hanks' character in the movie Big, just a stupid kid in a aging, lumpy body. I don't do grown-up stuff; that's for grown-ups. I kick ass at that Daytona 500 driving game, though.

Why miss even one pithy commentary? Check-out the Editorial section of The Crank Tank.

Send your comments to: bob@crankymediaguy.com