I’m madder than a mouse who is obsessed with his figure but works at a laboratory where they force-feed him sugar cubes and saccharine all day over the fact that I can’t watch the woman of my dreams perform on Brooklyn’s biggest stage without PBS asking me to pay for it — in more ways than one!
Look, you all know that the ol’Screecher fell in love with Brooklyn’s own Barbra Streisand just like every other red-blooded Brooklynite of a certain age since way before she played a boy in “Yentah,” so it should be no surprise to youse that I couldn’t wait to see her “Back to Brooklyn” concert on public television this week. In fact, I marked it on the calendar and made sure I cleared the schedule so me and the missus could sit down and enjoy a night of music and memories courtesy of Babs and a giant bucket of popcorn.
So me and my lovely wife Sharon tuned to channel 13 and parked in front of the Zenith in the living room, all excited about finally getting to see the show they somehow forgot to offer me free tickets to the Barclays Center to see in person in what can only be described as one of the biggest oversights in music and Carmine history.
Now, I don’t know if it had something to do with the age of my 27-inch tube, but it appeared to me that Barbra has plumped up a bit sometime in the last 50 years, but that didn’t bother me so much (I’ve famously added a pound or 200 since my days doing my appointed rounds for the post office) because I was so pig-biting mad about all the commercials they started putting on free public television!
Folks, for years channel 13 has been my favorite channel because I never have to ride over to it atop Tornado to spin the dial when the commercials came on like they do on every other channel on the dial.
So you could understand how upset I was when, after what seemed like every song, they’d point the cameras on some guys that were not Barbra sitting behind a desk and asking for money! It seemed to me that Bab’s three-hour special featured about two hours of these non-Streisand talking heads.
Now, don’t get me wrong — at first it was a pleasure, as each time my favorite singer took a bow and the scene changed to the two beggars, it allowed me to replenish my inadequate stock of noshes — and even let me take the calls from Mother Nature I inevitably hear whenever I eat pickles and suck down Mello Yellos. Talk about a vicious cycle!
In fact, I think I spent more time on the throne than I did on the couch, but I didn’t miss a beat — thanks to the mirrors I’ve ingeniously situated throughout my castle that allow me to watch the boob tube while I’m atop my favorite seat that is not named Tornado. And, yes, I have the same set-up for both bathrooms!
By the time it was all over, I almost caved in and made a donation to PBS, which has some of the greatest artistic, educational, and cultural shows on television — plus Sesame Street, which taught my kids to read — but once we figured out how much we would have to spend to get back the snacks we ate, we realized the money we could afford wouldn’t be worthwhile.
So if you have some extra cash laying around and you want to give to a good cause, I’d recommend channel 13 and channel 21, because somebody has to pay for this great programming.
Now’s the point in the column where I change the subject because I ran out of things to say about the last one.
Did youse see the story of the maniac who posted the photo of himself holding his 19-month-old daughter in his arms in a pose that hinted he intended to shoot her? No? Well I did, and I once again demand that such news be censored to the public out of my fear of copycat maniacs! We’ve seen too many of these sickos killing people. If only they killed themselves first, they would do everybody a favor and that’s news I would welcome!
On another informative note, I hope the upcoming holiday season brings you nothing but joy, good times, and such good health that you won’t need Obamacare!
Screech at you next week!