A careful reader sent The Observer a classified advertisement from a recent issue of the Greenwood Democrat. Maybe you want to take advantage of this deal.
The seller is looking to trade his wedding and engagement rings for a Corvette. (Or $15,000, whichever comes first.) Check it out. If you're fixing to pop the question and tired of the Chevy, you're in luck. You get the feeling he believes he's trading up.
The Observer was shopping for shoes in a department store Saturday when a voice came over a loudspeaker to inform us that Dennis Johnson had returned the kickoff for a 91-yard touchdown. We're glad the Arkansas tradition of broadcasting Razorback plays in public places carries on. We remember when every store on Main Street kept up so shoppers wouldn't miss any plays. Sorry to sound so old-timery, but it was a sign of fall.
We decided this year we're going to learn something about football. When we got back home we turned on the radio so we could listen while we cooked dinner. It was homey hearing the advertisements about corn seed and the commentators wishing people's moms happy birthday. That was like the old days, too. It felt like fall.
The Observer didn't know there were so many Commies in Arkansas until we started reading about all these people coming to the health care town hall dramas who object to the czars. And we didn't know there were so many rich people (besides the usual suspects) until we read about the guy who said the way to pay for your health care should be “liquidation of assets.” Hope he never has anything worse than a hangnail, or his assets will be plumb evaporated, not just liquefied. He and the czar-hating Bolshies — they have crept out of woodwork The Observer never knew existed around here.
We enjoy the czars, ourselves, especially the last of the Romanovs, who The Observer's daughter fills us in on every day after school. Talk about liquidation of assets.
The Observer's television set went on the fritz recently. A single, loud, angry BZZZZT! — as if it had finally become fed up enough with reality TV to finally lodge a vocal protest — and then it was done.
To be fair, it had a really great run. Twelve years, to be exact. The Observer and spouse bought it back during our two years of self-imposed exile, living in student housing on the snowy plains of Iowa, where The Observer was going to grad school. It was a bargain-basement cheapie: an RCA we picked up at Wal-Mart in order to appease my brother, who was coming for a weeklong visit, and who would have surely gone Jack-Nicholson-in-The Shining on us had he not had a way to alleviate the frigid, crushing, Midwestern boredom. Up until then, we hadn't owned a television set in over a year. To tell you the truth, I don't think we missed it much.
Twelve years, a kid, and much better cable later, The Observer is appalled at how much television we watch. Back when the last set went out just prior to our Iowa sojourn, we were happy to hang with Kafka or Flannery O'Connor or John Steinbeck and stuff a few hours down the crease of a book (still are, but not as much as we were then). These days, though, there are times when we catch ourselves just keeping the boob tube on for background noise, or flipping through channels, content to complain that there is nothing on rather than punching the little red button to turn it off.
For the last couple of days, however, there has been silence throughout the kingdom. We're learning, once again, to appreciate the sound of that.
Department of huh?: “Melanie Linker and guest dancers will present Story of a Heart, featuring modern dance and obscure theatrics, at the Auditorium on Saturday, Sept. 5 at 7 p.m.” — The Lovely County Citizen, Eureka Springs.