Let's get this out of the way: At the end of this post, you will be confronted once again by the vapidly fixed grin, bulging breasts and mediocre singing voice of Lynda Carter.
Yes, this sort of thing threatens to drive away whatever readership I actually have here. I could just point out that this clip only recently entered rotation on YouTube, and it serves as a hilarious reminder of what passed for mainstream entertainment back in the late seventies and early eighties. Of the many, many samples of Carter's questionable talents posted here, this may actually be the worst.
But you, kind reader, deserve a better explanation.
In the interest of self-justification, let this be noted: right now my life is so desperately, sadly uninteresting that last night I dreamed about doing laundry. Okay? Pathetic enough for you? The whole dream consisted of me sitting on a park bench talking to a dog (!) when suddenly I realized, "Omigod, I've got laundry to do!" And indeed, I rushed home and LAUNDERED CLOTHES.
When even your dreams are overpoweringly mundane (Did I mention I had to gather up change to do the laundry? Even though I had a washer and dryer in the basement of the ranch-style house I apparently owned in this dream? So I bought a house and installed equipment I had to pay to use? MY LIFE IS A HOLLOW LIE!), it's simply human nature to turn to something comforting, something familiar.
Or, in my case, to turn to something horrible and easily mocked, so that I can, at least momentarily, feel superior to something. However badly things are going, I enter my dwelling at the end of every workday secure in the knowledge that at least I've never dressed up in a fringe-bedecked outfit and pranced around to a horrible, horrible Glenn Frey composition. So on an extremely generous moral relativism scale, I'm a better person than Lynda Carter.
