My goal is to have a tolerance that rivals Marion Ravenwood’s from Indiana Jones and the Raiders of the Lost Ark.
To Whom it May Concern,
I congratulate you on the success of your hit television show entitled Glee. It would seem that you have nailed a niche in American culture left empty when you decided to air an hour-long teen dramady with musical style. To go without saying, this show has filled a void that Americans had yet to see on television.
Although, if one really thinks about the circumstances surrounding the premise of this program, especially the setting and the “tween” culture to which the show has been marketed, it wouldn’t seem as fresh as, say, your summer hit buddy cop show, The Good Guys.
I think perhaps you may want to take a look at the singing teenage high school angst genre and realize the company you are up against.
The Walt Disney Company has made and released not one, not two, but three feature-length films with the High School Musical moniker - not to mention the countless amounts of merchandise, a stage and concert tour, and a reality show based on the films. The market also expanded to reach international audiences.
Luckily, the American people have not recognized the similarities between Glee and High School Musical. However, if there comes a time when viewers begin to realize that what they are watching on Fox they actually have on DVD and can watch any time they please, it may be time to let the series go. No shark-jumping, no “Who Shot J.R.s,” no spin-offs.
Basically, all I’m saying is that I’m not sure the mortal body of Rupert Murdoch has enough strength to fight the frozen head of Walt Disney when it is attached to a fully-functional, Disney-Imagineered animatronic body.
Because, as we all know, media moguls do not settle their disputes with mere lawsuits, they settle them in gladiator-esque arena style death matches.
Thank you for your time,
An Unconcerned Media Watch-Dog
I spent my adolescent life in south-central Connecticut, hiking, swimming, and generally goofing around in the woods of Sleeping Giant traprock mountain, always ending up at Wentworth’s Ice Cream Parlor at the foot of one of the ridges.
I went spelunking this summer, finding a fairly well-hollowed cave at the top of a peak. I have always enjoyed the outdoors, and my childhood thought that “I’m climbing on the stomach of a giant, sleeping Indian chief” seemed to only enhance the experience.
After today though, I will never hike that mountain again.
And this is why:

That’s right, according to Wikipedia, which never lies, “Sleeping Giant is also an important seasonal raptor migration path.”
Now, I know what you’re thinking: “They don’t mean Velociraptor, they mean, like, bird raptor.”
Bullshit, I say! You can keep reassuring yourself that a vicious dinosaur will never come through the bushes and cut open your stomach with its razor-sharp claw and eat you while you watch, screaming.
I will not be caught off guard, thank you very much.