Andy Rooney, America's favourite curmudgeon, has passed away at the very respectable age of 92. Now I don't know too much about his television persona; when he began his 60 Minutes stint in 1978, we didn't have cable - and even if we had I would have been too young to appreciate his wit and wisdom. And by the time we finally did get cable and I was a bit more mature, it just wasn't a show on my radar.
I was always far more of a reader than a television viewer anyway though. And I did have access to a plethora of book sales where I picked up several of his anthologies of essays. Those I thoroughly enjoyed, and I plan to read his final books soon. I didn't get every reference, of course, particularly the political ones, but Rooney was at his best when he was waxing eloquent about the most ordinary and mundane facets of life.
You didn't always agree with him and sometimes you were bemused by his bafflement with the modern world, but you certainly loved and admired the grumpy old man behind the words. You have to respect anybody who can make his living complaining about life in three-minute sound bytes once a week. In fact, if I can keep this blogging thing going, I'd quite happily apply to be the next national curmudgeon! I like to gripe too; if I could raise it to an art form the way Rooney did, I'd be very satisfied indeed.
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