An afficianado of fine music I am not. My first favorite song was a ditty called, "Pony Boy". I played it on the record player over and over and over. I was four years old. Once in awhile, when I'm wretching from listening to talk radio, I'll tune into station 1270 in Marysville, Ohio. It's an oldies station and I've never heard a bad song. By 'bad song' I mean something by Herman's Hermits.
Out of curiosity I happened to flip to the opening of the Grammy's on Sunday. It started with a guy named LL Cool J opening the show. I figure he'd make some remarks about Whitney Houston and quite possibly do it without using the F word. Surprise of surprises, his opening remarks were, "Dear Heavenly Father". Shock came over me.
Lizzie pointed out that the entire female audience was adorned in black---except for the tramp who was wearing the Lil' Red Riding Hood outfit and her escort dressed in The Pope clothes. Who and what was that? A silent protest no doubt. Some people have no sense of couth.
I'm still a cynic. The ratings came out this morning and it was the highest rated Grammy Show since 1984. Can it safely be said that a sponsor or two was jumping for joy when it was announced that Whitney Houston had done her last drug combo a mere twenty-four hours before the show?
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