Do you ever swear to yourself you’re going to do something and then, before you know it, time has run out and it’s too late? I do this all the time. Like, one of my dreams was to be a dead body on The X-Files or an extra on Seinfeld. I had no idea how to accomplish those goals, but you know, I put them out there. That is, after all, what the cult of Oprah and The Secret advise you to do. But I guess I didn’t want it enough, because it didn’t happen for me.
Sure, I could be a dead body on any number of CSIs or Law & Orders, but having coroners whose names I can’t remember slice me open doesn’t have the same cachet as one Dana Scully. Bonus points if I turned out to be an alien or a clone or something.
One of the things I frequently told myself I’d do was to visit California and wear a stupid T-shirt and jump up and down and get picked to be on the Price is Right. Bob Barker would be paternally creepy, but I’d secretly think he was a silver-haired fox. And I’d get to play Plinko and win a car.
When I was five, I loved Plinko so much, my Grandpa made me a Plinko chip of my very own. Plinko is the shit, yo. I’d take the yodeling mountain guy or the hole in one (or two) games as a close second, but man, Plinko rulez! I’d also like to win a car at Plinko, which I know is not possible, but man. I’d have the car covered in Plinko chips and drive it around. It’d be the Plinkmobile!
So yes. My grandparents used to babysit me when I was little and I watched a lot of Price is Right. This is, I suspect, where my love of Matlock developed too.
At any rate, I’m having a hard time digesting the news that Drew Carey is replacing Bob Barker. Now, I’m not saying he isn’t up to the task. I’m sure he’ll be every bit as blandly inoffensive yet secretly douchey as Barker was. It’s just not the same, you know? If you’re going to get your ass pinched by a grody game-show host, that game show host better be Bob Barker. Or Alex Trebek. Talk about silver foxes. Rrrrowr. Does it get any better than Classic Concentration? I thought not.