We don't have much in the dumpy, little town I live in. It's not tumbleweeds and hitchin' posts, but it's no burgeoning metropolis, either. In fact, the tallest building around is probably the old hotel in the city, which, built in 1925, tops out at a whopping eleven stories tall.
But what we do have? Well, among other oddities, we have a sign. And it's not just any sign (a billboard, really) that we pass every single day of our lives, this particlular sign tells all the citizens of our dumpy, little town the average wait time to be admitted into the emergency room. Just before I started this post, the sign said 7 minutes. But on a bad day? My son and I laughed endlessly when it read 48 minutes.
Almost an hour? For an emergency? That's f--king terrible. I mean...imagine just sitting around waiting to die...
That would be terrible. And occasionally, really, really funny, too.
In order to possibly contribute to last week's LAMBcast (episode #330), I needed to watch the 1974 action/thriller/unintentional comedic masterpiece, The Towering Inferno. Championed (repeatedly) by Jay Cluitt at Life Vs. Film, director John Guillermin's epic disaster film is a shockingly star-studded affair. While contemporary films jam-packed with famous people are silly and have two strangers falling in love in an elevator, this bad boy is all business and simply has people falling out of them.
Apparently, back in the seventies, people gave a shit about buildings. Big ones, especially (the buildings, not the... never mind). And on the opening night of the world's tallest building, San Fransico's The Glass Tower, a very large party is to be held on the 138th floor. The guest list will include the upper crust of the City by the Bay, including the noble mayor and his lovely wife, and even a prominent senator. Oooh fancy.
Anyway, as preparations are underway for the big evening, the architect of the building, Doug Roberts, inexplicably shows up after two years of wrestling grizzlies in Montana (not that there's anything wrong with that) to make sure things go smoothly. I always thought architects designed buildings, but apparently they frantically maintain them as well. Doug (Paul Newman, starting and stopping all kinds of fires), after rocking the casbah with his lady-friend Susan (the super-fine Faye Dunaway), immediately discovers the whole building is f--ked. See, it's readily apparent that one of the contractors skimped on the electrical wiring, and The Glass Tower should probably be renamed The Oily Rag.
But what we do have? Well, among other oddities, we have a sign. And it's not just any sign (a billboard, really) that we pass every single day of our lives, this particlular sign tells all the citizens of our dumpy, little town the average wait time to be admitted into the emergency room. Just before I started this post, the sign said 7 minutes. But on a bad day? My son and I laughed endlessly when it read 48 minutes.
Almost an hour? For an emergency? That's f--king terrible. I mean...imagine just sitting around waiting to die...
That would be terrible. And occasionally, really, really funny, too.
Apparently, back in the seventies, people gave a shit about buildings. Big ones, especially (the buildings, not the... never mind). And on the opening night of the world's tallest building, San Fransico's The Glass Tower, a very large party is to be held on the 138th floor. The guest list will include the upper crust of the City by the Bay, including the noble mayor and his lovely wife, and even a prominent senator. Oooh fancy.
Anyway, as preparations are underway for the big evening, the architect of the building, Doug Roberts, inexplicably shows up after two years of wrestling grizzlies in Montana (not that there's anything wrong with that) to make sure things go smoothly. I always thought architects designed buildings, but apparently they frantically maintain them as well. Doug (Paul Newman, starting and stopping all kinds of fires), after rocking the casbah with his lady-friend Susan (the super-fine Faye Dunaway), immediately discovers the whole building is f--ked. See, it's readily apparent that one of the contractors skimped on the electrical wiring, and The Glass Tower should probably be renamed The Oily Rag.
