Friday, October 06, 2006

Revered Camden would be proud

The Interweb tells me that there's a new television network on the American airwaves. It's called the C.W. and someone there must have some taste because it hosts Veronica Mars and Gilmore Girls and guiltiest of guilty pleasures America's Next Top Model. ("The next name I'm going to call is..." So go ahead and call it, Tyra. Or get a grammar coach.) Though all that girl power hipness might be canceled out by the new episodes of 7th Heaven.

None of this matters to me on a daily basis, since my satellite dish doesn't communicate with the right signal. But every time I see or read something about this happenin' new network, all I can think about is this guy I knew when I was a kid. His name was (all together now) C.W. and he was long and stringy and hyper and lived way out in the country. We went to 4-H camp together when we were ten, and one day we were playing volleyball, and he fell down and got back up again, and I said, "C.W., you have dirt in your teeth." And someone else said, "That ain't dirt, that's chaw."

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