Rachel is great but I went "jeez" when she started naming all 32 Campbell soups by WARHOL
Back when Keith and Rachel first got started, I certainly appreciated their politics as ours, but both of them for me had this irritating method of expression of speaking in the most convoluted and *long* paragraphs ever, with gory detail stacked atop gory detail like talking in computer data entry punch cards, boxes and boxes of computer punch cards, with every last agonizing punch card.
I didn't watch them much back then, felt that it wasn't so much a matter of withholding support for them but of our side of things being safely taken care of by them over there so I didn't need to micro-support.
But in recent years I've been there more with Rachel, fine. And tonight I was there, but I don't really watch t.v., just have it on with the sound as the background. Anyway, I was just winding down from hassling with the printer and Tech Support, and in the picking-up-the-debris-afterward I turned up the background volume, and she launched into the most CONTEXT-FILLED convoluted detail ridden report on how Phyllis SCHLAFLEY at 90-something was being overthrown by her own wingnut outfit that she founded. I realize that our younger cohorts have no idea who P.S. is, what a dragon she was to us Oldies, and that Rachel was catching the young'uns up, but it got to be massively a burden while she ground on about P.S.'s wingnut history. When she *finally* got to the punch line P.S. news of today, that P.S. was being kicked out by her own daughter, I yelled out, "*Finally*!1"
So that was over. And there were some other, mercifully briefer topics. But then she got to the art theft of WARHOL's Cambell Soup cans. When she said that there had been 32 varieties of Campbell soups and she started *NAMING* them, I went, "Holy *ZEUS* she's going to name them all!1" Mercifully, WARHOL only painted TEN, so *WHEW*!1 Yeah, the WARHOL thing was a CONTEXT story, too, like, I didn't know the TEN being together in one place was a big deal. But, JEEZ!1
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...she can get whipped into high meringue and bogged down in repetitive and breathless(!) periphrasm. But give me her and sweet Keith any night of the week over the painfully stoopid Fux Snooze crowd. 