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I developed an addiction.
I really appreciate the readers who took the time to give me feedback on the columns I wrote (thanks to the scribes who responded to my typewriter columns by taking notes on their vintage keyboards. ). But a new year is approaching. It’s a good time to clean up.
My favorite note is the average one.
As addiction progresses, I’ve never been more acrimonious than when I wrote about never smoking, taking illegal drugs, or getting drunk. , which really inspired people who can’t be named (“You must be drinking coffee, doncha dummies?” was the most polite answer).
But continuing the New Year’s tradition of wiping out the previous year’s mailbox provides new proof of my theory that haters can’t… spell.
“Stir the pot just to stir the pot” was a response to a column I wrote about the deadly backyard shooting of Newtown’s Bobby the Bear.
I agree with you at least. Stirring the pot is in my job description.
Another reader made an exception in my March column about Bob Stefanovsky’s capricious “poll” gubernatorial candidate (“How would you rate Ned Lamont as governor? 1) Okay 2) Bad; 3) Awful; 4) Horrible”).
I’m not the only one who thought of the survey concept as just 2, 3, 4.
“You lied that this was the real Stefanowski investigation…never happened. The ‘investigation’ you cited is not from the Stephnowski campaign.” you are a liar Respectful journalists don’t lie, so perhaps you should start your lessons learning how to be a welder.Your journalism career is over. “
In my head, I can hear Will Ferrell reading it in an “elf” (“you sit on a throne of lies”) chastising fake Santa.
And who doesn’t want to weld? It is an honorable profession. I wonder if Bob Dylan took up a welding job after calling him “Judas” for plugging in a fork in 1966. liar. “Or maybe Bob wrote me a note. ), his unpublished handwritten lyrics for his 1961 song. Bob, if you need a welding buddy, I’m here. We will edit it for free.
Sometimes readers don’t even limit the insult to me. They follow my subject too. After writing about Bruce Springsteen ticket prices, one reader rated: He is terrible to me.
I answered with the only logical question: “What’s a decent song?”
‘Prove it all night’ and ‘Born to Run’.
You see, it’s all about conversation.
Not everyone agrees. My wife, boss, and my dog (I know its glare) all prefer a “do not get involved” approach when it comes to hate mail. But people can surprise you. After taking a photo about Darien’s exclusivity last month, one reader briefly replied: All I have to tell you is that you are really tired.
Her spelling offered a whisper of hope.
“That’s not particularly compelling about Darien being a welcoming community,” I replied.
There was no reply until the next column was published.
“Your column on blackouts was much better…”
Look, now we’re having a conversation.
Spellcheck has already sent hate mail about this column, but let’s break it down a little more.
Maybe it’s just karma, but I continue to be haunted by the fact that my version of the column was swiped to a dark site and then back to English via some sort of translator. “Darien’s tone-deaf decision following the shooting at an LGBTQ nightclub in Colorado Springs” became “Darien’s deaf decision…” (as Darien shuts his mouth) to “Darien is kind of My observational shorthand of “became surly” morphed into “Darien became a kind of greasy abbreviation.” “Unctuous” wasn’t the only one to take issue with translation apps. My reference to “crazy videos” became “Bull!@#$” videos (sans the grawlix).
I realized that some of the writers who say “stop being a hopeless hack” might be innocently spotting these unreadable versions of my columns. Along the same lines, a piece I wrote about Mel Allen, the voice of the Yankees, went through other gimmicks and ended up on YouTube narrated by a drunken mechanical voice. I could only hear his second paragraph and decided the author also sounded like a hack.
Luckily, copyright police usually catch up with these thugs. One time they trapped me too.
Last year, my highlight reel was a conversation with Stanford resident Michael Raduazzo, who sent a condolence email Friday in January following the death of rock star Meat Loaf. In the early 1980s, when Meat Loaf was living in Stamford and coaching his Little League team, Michael referred to him as “coach” rather than “Meat,” “Marvin,” or “Mr.” I knew
At 6:12 that night, Michael said the team had been featured on “NBC Sports World” 40 years ago on a Saturday afternoon.
“I don’t have the video,” Michael wrote. “Years ago, I asked my neighbor, who now works for NBCUniversal, to search the archives, but to no avail.”
A bell rang. Our former columnist Kevin McKeever once mentioned the same show because he was in the opposing team’s lineup when the footage was shot. I texted Kevin. He’s not a packrat, so if he had the video, he’d probably be able to find it.
His detective work was surprisingly efficient, but then he had to seek out a more elusive working VCR. By 7:25 p.m., he was able to send a copy of his shot on his phone to his former sandbox rival. It’s a highly inappropriate, but engaging clip, as it uses Coach Loaf’s lustful “Paradise by the Dashboard Light” as the soundtrack to kids playing baseball.
Kevin briefly resurrected the footage on YouTube before being thrown out of the game for violating copyright rules. But at least the old lineup got to see it again.
“I was pretty sure[it was]gone forever. I can’t believe it!” Michael replied. “No one, no one expected it to exist. Oh. I’m at a loss for words.”
You see, good things come out of conversation.
John Breunig is editorial page editor for Stamford Advocate and Greenwich Time. jbreunig@scni.com; twitter.com/johnbreunig.
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