“Why not?” Dan asked himself, “I am one funny sumbitch!” That self-congratulatory evaluation was not without merit. Gearino the weather guy was a hit with the locals.

Dan The Weekend Weatherman was attired in a Robert Hall suit ill-equipped to cover his lanky frame. And his trademark fake nose and horn rimmed glasses bestowed upon him a goofy and undeniable appeal.

So for three minutes and twenty five seconds on both Saturday and Sunday nights, August 22 and 23, 1975, WFRT’s loyal viewers were treated to TV magic.

Saturday’s show was fraught with the expected glitches of any maiden voyage. Dan manfully recovered from the dead microphone incident that marred the beginning of what he coined “weather-tainment”. And nobody much objected to his tendency to face the wrong camera - which was weird in that WFRT had but one.

His one-man show: “Seventy Six Tributes to John Phillip Sousa: Dan Gearino and His Trombone” closed after the opening performance - actually twenty minutes into the performance.

Gearino had barely started Tribute # 8 when the audience decided to toss in their collective towel.

I was there. It was excruciating. I’ve never seen a crowd flee a venue with such vigor in my life - and I’ve been to a Garth Brooks concert - without the presence of an imminent threat to life or limb. But now that I think about it, there were a few folks with blood streaming from their ears.

And to the everlasting credit of the crowd, theirs was an orderly evacuation. No stampede, no injuries. Not like the other time.

When you get back GD, you should give thought to taking up ethereal internet space on Twitter. I’m sure your one liner updates from the produce section of the local Food Puma would make you a Tweetin’ star.

Maybe I scrambled the scrambled word (or worse, misspelled it). Nope. That’s it.

T R P O M N I A S E H = M I S A N T H R O P E

I always defined misanthrope as a social outcast. While checking my spelling on Wikipedia, I noticed their definition to be “one who hates mankind”.

Well, that definitely ain’t me. I love my fellow man - especially Antonella Barba, the semi-finalist on American Idol last year. The poor girl couldn’t sing for bat turds - but I admired her spunk (and her internet pictures).

I wonder what the shrink in HR at my last job was driving at? Must have been that time when I released ten thousand pissed off bees at the company picnic.

Mean-spirited or not, that prank was a logistical nightmare. You try executing a surreptitious transport of two commercial-sized bee hives some time. That many bees makes a constant humming sound too - kinda like a big electric transformer - impressive.

Hell, I shoulda been commended for pulling off the prank. But no. Allergic reactions, property damage, undermining company morale, civil litigation. The list of offenses went on and on.

Why does everybody always have to find fault? Human nature I guess.

And further research indicates it (The Misanthrope) was even the title of a play by some dude named Moliere.

T R P O M N I A S E H is??? I’m usually pretty good at word scrambles but this one has stumped me. Everything I come up with is either obscene or doesn’t use all the letters.

It’s possible he has the real thing with him also.LOL

Enjoy yourself GD, we will be here when you get back!