Wednesday, January 17, 2007

Letter from the Editor


Happy New Year, everybody! Please ignore the month-long hiatus in exchange for FREE CANDY!




REGARDS, THE EDITOR


Posted by Greg White at 8:57 PM | | Comments


Man About Town

New Year Arrives Without Cure for Cheating Whore Wife-itus

by Larry St. James, Our Town Staff


As millions around the globe watched the great sparkling sphere drop in this metropolis or that, a once happy-go-lucky man named St. James sat around feeling sorry for himself and mulling over the choices he had made in life, waiting on a cure for the blues. That's right, Chesterfield Ridge, this New Year is all about the blues for yours truly.

You see, I'm a news man. I am proud to say it and have been ever since I covered my first Chesterfield Ridge election scandal over twelve years ago (the headline editor at the time, the late, great Al Scheft came up with "Election Erection Faux Pas Kills Ten"). Writing about the news has been my bread and butter, and as of December of 2001, my wife Samantha's as well. Up until December 24th, 2006, me, the news, and Samantha were happy. Together.

But somewhere along the way, Samantha (cough! whore!) decided that being married to a newsman wasn't quite for her anymore. When we first met in the months after 9/11, I was in the Big Apple covering another major news story: Chesterfield Ridge's very own high school marching band was competing in the 29th Annual Battle of the Beats marching band contest. Samantha, grief-stricken over the death of her husband, had taken to hanging around in local gymnasiums and YMCAs. Her husband, a very wealthy investment banker named Ted, had been killed by a bear during a routine visit to the zoo. I guess my notepad, pen, and NEWSMAN sandwich board caught the fancy of her eye. One innocent salutation led to another, and soon enough we were spooning Sbarro's into one another's mouths.

Boy, were we happy. And while Samantha's parents and in-laws were initially concerned over her involvement with another man so soon after the death of her one-time husband, my easy going smile and way with words quickly allowed them to settle into a false sense of closure. All was right in the world.

Fast forward to December 2006 when I suspected something was amiss with Samantha (or "Samanth" as I called her). She had been spending an inordinate amount of time in the bakery owned by Chesterfield Ridge fixture John Chiarello. Whenever she would return home, her hair covered in flour and yeast, she would mutter something about having a PTA meeting to attend and quickly run upstairs to wash the baked lust off of her skin. I may have had my suspicions, but I kept them to myself.

But one night as I sat typing an article about the upcoming Chesterfield Ridge dog show (can't wait!), I reached for the sandwich next to me and was reminded of the whispers floating around town: "Ya hear about St. James' wife? She's having sexual relations with the baker," or "Man, I'd love to touch Samantha St. James' heiny---if only she weren't with the bread guy." I was no fool and I would not be made a cuckold of.

I closed my laptop computer and drove over to the bakery where Samantha had said she was going for a piano lesson. But when I arrived at the bakery, the lights were off and nary a note could be heard. I burst into the back room and was greeted with the unwelcome surprise of my Samantha bent over a bread mixer, being covered in puff pastry and egg wash by, you guessed it, that damned Chiarello. When I demanded an explanation, Samantha went into a lengthy tirade about me being "emotionally unavailable" and having "no sense of what it means to be married."

That was on Christmas Eve. I have not heard from or of Samantha ever since. Worse, I have avoided eating baked goods of any kind, a dietary shift that has severely altered the way I eat sandwiches. If I am invited to a social function that is to be attended by that baker man I will certainly not RSVP by the requested date.

This is why I will spend 2007 in the seedy underbelly of Chesterfield Ridge seeking out danger, disgust, and intrigue for a column noirishly titled Man About Town. If I am to die in the course of seeking out our town's dirty laundry so be it. I have nothing left to live for.*


*Except the dog show. The part where the dogs wear bathing costumes is hilarious.

Posted by Greg White at 8:17 PM | | Comments

Weather or Not with Phil Stubbs, Stuntwoman to the Stars!

Weather Forecast for January 16th, 2007: CONTEMPTUOUS!


Posted by Greg White at 8:13 PM | | Comments

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