Andy Rooney...on Rosemead Blvd.

So a week ago last Sunday 92-year old Andy Rooney made his last scheduled 60 Minutes appearance; it was his 1,097th.  Rooney’s video essays have been a 60 Minutes feature since 1978.

I’ve always been a huge Andy Rooney fan. And I’m not sure whether I’m troubled or proud that we began our runs at practically the same time.

And I bet my dental team sees me more like a crotchety curmudgeon than I’d care to believe (I know some local Temple City politicos and at least two ex-editors see it that way.)

Anyway, I’ve always admired Rooney’s seemingly endless sense of curiosity. I also wish I could better mirror his directness and unwillingness to put up with the usual and customary El Toro doo-doo aka…BS.

During his October 2 finale, Rooney told fellow 60 Minutes’ newsman Morley Safer that (at age 92) “I would be embarrassed to say I couldn’t (still) write a column.” Take note Patch.com.

I’ve heard Rooney wonder aloud for pay on Sunday nights (since I was a kid) about stuff like door knobs, hyperactive opossums, paper clips (not what they used to be), Rodney King, the NBA, Matisse, cold remedies, and how coffee goes into a coffee can.

And I’ve interviewed Andy virtually twice in the last seven years right across the street at El Pollo Loco. The first time, Andy wondered what Chihuahuas really thought about and why they were such ornery little punks. Next time around it was the Mafia, reformed smokers, and born-again Christians and why they were all so dang intolerant.

So while the memory of Rooney’s 33-year CBS stint is still fresh, I couldn’t help but wonder what he would say about something more ridiculous than dairy subsidies on the moon.

I give you…Andy Rooney:

“Tonight I’m going to talk about Rosemead Blvd.

I’ve been on probably the most disastrous highway in the U.S. twice now (both times visiting a friend who’s said to be the foremost scribe/elite athlete/DDS in the San Gabriel valley.) Today I went back for one last look and I think it’s time I finally speak up.

So a little while ago while attempting (in vain) to get to Rosemead Blvd off The 10, I had to wonder why I was trying so hard to be somewhere I really don’t like.

And you’re right; the same principle applies when I’m traveling to cover political conventions.

My dislike for this “Boulevard (under-perpetual-repair) to nowhere” is now complete. My going south on the clogged aortic passage, toward a burg that used to be downtown Temple City, actually caused me to age…and I’m already 92 freakin’ years old!!!

Yeah, today it finally hit me I just might be getting old when I realized I hated a street from two different directions. I even shouted out, “I hate Rosemead!!!” And it felt good too. Just so you know; it’s not just me. My Temple City molar jockey buddy Dr. V. goes by “Smilin’ Jack” in sophisticated dental circles and I didn’t even know those circles existed…but he hates Rosemead too!!!

And if I’d ever used the word “hate” when I was a kid (under 50; okay, 60) my Mother would’ve washed my mouth out with un-fluoridated soap.

So after all these years I guess maybe it’s time to finally look in the mirror. No…I don’t think so. Not for this! We’re talkin’ Rosemead!!!

So I knew I was sick and tired of Sarah Palin. And I don’t think I’m the only guy around who isn’t impressed by a politician who guns down a moose from a helicopter with automatic weapons. And I know Von Bulow isn’t crazy about screeching Bolton, whimpering Blount, and cutesy Buble’ either. But “hate” is far too strong a word.

And I do hate Salmonella, E. Coli., and the Tijuana trots. I don’t hate Wall Street bankers…but I do hate cynicism and a sense of entitlement that reduces less fortunate people to less fortunate numbers.

So maybe I really don’t hate Rosemead. Maybe I’m just sick and tired of the sight of the crummy looking thoroughfare all the way from what used to be Del Taco to the wastelands of Temple City to the freeway that makes body and fender guys millionaires

And there it is. I just had a full out conversation with myself discussing the merits of my hatred for an inanimate object when it might really be just a preference. Good grief, I bet I was even wearing that mean looking hawk-like scowl I’ve seen permanently etched on old folks who never smile back (hope you’re listening Mike Wallace.)

So thanks for putting up with my rant. Oh yeah, I’m still on Rosemead but you’re never too old to slow down and take some time to smell the roses…or whatever.”