January 30, 2008

Maynard’s Milieu,
Home of the Deaf Ear

Not there.  I don’t work at the Sentinel.  True, the folks at the local broadsheet publish my weekly (weakly?) effort come Wednesday but those thoughts are pecked out on an I-Mac laptop from wherever our peripatetic lifestyle finds us.  So know, when you phone the Sentinel to correct the erroneous thinking of the illiterate hack occupying the left hand side of Wednesday’s second section, he’s MIA. 

Others, unhappy with a Sentinel article or editorial position, and wishing to verbally demonstrate the validity of their claim, should be equally aware the absolute last person to talk to is, moi.  Reaching the night watchman gives one a better chance of influencing Sentinel policy than bending the ear of this cranky, chrome-domed geezer.  Plus the likelihood of my agreeing with whatever has you torqued at the moment is almost nil since ninety-nine per cent of the time I’m happy, happy, happy with the content of the local paper.  

Not that I’m all that chummy with the reporting staff.  I wouldn’t know most of the folks in the newsroom if they bit my nose.  There are occasional long-time acquaintances. Patty Arnold and I go back to JUCO press-box days. Chris Tomlinson once took my picture and Denny Herzog and Bob Silbernagel have been known to smile my direction on the rare occasion we see one another.  All that being said, it’s extremely problematical I’ll take your side when you insist on interrupting a meal or calling the house to complain about what, to you, is some egregious mis-statement on the part of the local broadsheet.  

For those of you convinced the Sentinel is Hillary’s Clinton own personal left leaning Western Colorado mouthpiece aiding and abetting her unquenchable thirst to take over our country.  Yah sure. 

Others, having determined the Sentinel editorial page is politically somewhere to the right of the Third Reich, insist I’m the messenger to inform any and all the error of their ways.  Wrong again, Bucko. 

For yours truly, particular contempt is reserved for those who feel they must first establish impeccable journalistic credentials by assuring, “Normally, my news comes from the____(and fill in the blank with the Denver Post, NPR, New York Times, Internet or God”). In the word’s of Dana Carvey’s “Church Lady”, “Isn’t that special.”  Go bother NPR about where you think a sub-division or supermarket should, or shouldn’t, be located.

Look, my minds made up.  Unless I’m married to you, there’s not a lot that will change it.  If you’re bound and determined to pontificate a different view, get a blog, write a letter to the editor or submit your efforts to Sentinel execs explaining why you should be a columnist.   

But save yourself the frustration of expecting this kid to lend a sympathetic ear to your complaint while my burger chills and beer warms.