Pussies and Bobcats

The Oatmeal comments on Hurricane Irene:

It's official; East Coast Yanks ARE pussies

The Torygraph's Toby sums it up:

There was almost palpable disappointment among the TV big guns rolled out for the occasion when Irene was downgraded to a mere 'tropical storm". In New York city, CNN's Anderson Cooper, more usually seen in a tight t-shirt in a famine or war zone, was clad in what one wag dubbed "disaster casual".

His face fell and he was briefly silent when a weatherwoman told him that the rain was not going to get any worse. "Wow, because this isn't so bad," he said. "It's an annoying rain but it isn't even a sideways rain."

How's Haiti going? Still a mess from the earthquake? We didn't hear much about them when Irene passed them by. She was a proper hurricane back then, not some jumped-up tropical storm that rattled David Letterman's mocha-latte.

Are East Coast Yanks a bunch of pussies?

Earlier in the week, a rare earthquake on the eastern seaboard of the US set off a round of post-9/11 panic. The devastation and trauma was palpable:

Now, with Cyclone Irene bearing down on the Big Apple, a state of emergency has been declared before the storm hits. Mayor Bloomberg has ordered evacuations of low-lying areas and state governor Cuomo has ordered the closure of several bridges if the winds rise above 60 mph, or what we Wellingtonians call a light breeze. Hell, we don't even bother closing the airport in such weather.

Thank you for whingeing, you *%$@!

Fidel's Cafe has been fined $600 for allowing smoking in the rear section of their premises:

"Acting on a complaint last year, smokefree enforcement officers from Regional Public Health contacted the cafe about the breach, reminding staff of their legal obligations. Though the cafe agreed to alter the smoking area to comply, staff let people continue to smoke and failed to erect non-smoking signs or remove ashtrays."

The last civilised place to relax with coffee and cigarettes has been dobbed in to the safety nazis. Not content with the huge non-smoking area available in the main cafe, some cum stain of an excuse for a human being has bleated to the health police about the back porch where people could relax and enjoy their rituals without being exposed to inclement weather. Tosser.

For the fun of it

The New York Times pays tribute to the release of the first season of Sesame Street on DVD:

Just don’t bring the children. According to an earnest warning on Volumes 1 and 2, “Sesame Street: Old School” is adults-only: “These early ‘Sesame Street’ episodes are intended for grown-ups, and may not suit the needs of today’s preschool child.”

Say what? At a recent all-ages home screening, a hush fell over the room. “What did they do to us?” asked one Gen-X mother of two, finally. The show rolled, and the sweet trauma came flooding back. What they did to us was hard-core. Man, was that scene rough. The masonry on the dingy brownstone at 123 Sesame Street, where the closeted Ernie and Bert shared a dismal basement apartment, was deteriorating. Cookie Monster was on a fast track to diabetes. Oscar’s depression was untreated. Prozacky Elmo didn’t exist.

Indeed. Back then only Big Bird could see Mr Snuffleupagus. It was a reassurance to kids that direct observation trumps peer pressure every time. It certainly helped me deal with tinnitus. Contrast that with today's pre-chewed pabulum. Jeez, give me another hit of the 70's realism, risk-taking and acceptance: