Pete and I just came back from the feared, loathed and loved Somerset Diner, where Sixty Minutes was on five or six giant flat screen TVs, muted, with closed captioning scrolling down the page at an energetic clip. Thing was: the transcriptonist must’ve been Welsh or Israeli or something where vowels were optional and word breaks were created with delicious whimsy. The result was – and I hope you saw this at home – gibberish. I looked up a few times and came within inches of inhaling french fries, which would have made me miserable because those french fries were really good. In any case, Wall Street is melting down, and anyone still advocating deregulation and socialized losses for the rich deserves not a promotion but a turn at public humiliation.
Fortunately – did I mention it? – Sixty Minutes was on, Scott Pelley’s an absolute moron, and there was public humiliation for viewer, interviewer and candidate alike.