The first great one-liner to be called into the Rant line was seven weeks after its launch last year. “The bald chick ad,” the caller complained, “When will it end?” Succinct, specific (a local hair salon had been regularly running the offending advertisement in C-VILLE) and funny, it was ranting distilled to stand-up comedy.
But by the next week, February 25, there was a new turn: ranting as esteem-building exercise. “I like the bald chick ad,” the caller said. “I think the woman is beautiful with or without hair and I think we should be more tolerant.” (And P.S., all the kids in the class should get valentines.)
“What the hell kind of rant starts ‘I like the bald chick?’” inveighed another fed-up soul one week later. And so a cycle established itself in the pages of this newspaper: bitch, soothe, bitch.
The Rant began running as a weekly feature of C-VILLE on January 7, 2003. It replaced a long-running feature, Explain the Phenomenon, which invited readers’ smart-ass captions to sometimes witty, often plain amateurish, photographs. The Rant would balance the privilege usually extended to those with a penchant for writing letters to the editor with a get-it-off-your-chest forum for the phone-centric. Only two rules would prevail: no rants to extend past one minute and no slander. Otherwise, we’d transcribe it all, um, you know, ver-uh-batim. Yes, thank you.
And what, after a year of living angrily, have we learned about Charlottesvillians from their rants?
In no particular order: Traffic irritates them, the Iraq War irritates them, cyclists irritate them, people irritate them, sometimes restaurants irritate them, and ranting irritates them. Did we mention that traffic irritates them?
If they’re boiling mad on issues like the State budget, the paucity of Hollywood roles for older women, out-patient hospital services, the lack of a decent shoe store Downtown, Haliburton’s government-sanctioned corruption, or the tepid performance of the UVA men’s basketball team, they’re not picking up the phone to say so. By the way, that number is 817-2749, extension 55.
At about the time the United States invaded Iraq, then-columnist Ted Rall earned a lot of minutes from callers particularly in response to one column we headlined “Don’t support the troops.”
“I’d just like to say Ted Rall is amazing and he should have his own newspaper,” said one.
“I’ve had enough of your Ted Rall exclusives,” was a response two weeks later. “It would be more appropriate to rename his column The Rant.”
The next week, March 25: “Yeah, once again Ted Rall has amazed me. He is amazing. Mr. Rall, if I ever meet you, guaranteed I will shake your hand.”
“A firm resounding BOO! for Ted Rall. BOO! Don’t support our troops? Monsieur Rall, I once agreed with you that the President shouldn’t attack Iraq, but thanks to you I have no choice but to gravitate over to the other side.”
Mind you, the war’s main protagonists were not left unscathed during this period: “George W. Bush is the moronic puppet of a plutocracy of homicidal megalomaniacs, and we the people are fools for thinking that we’re informed because we watch corporate-sponsored television and are so comfortable in our ‘non-negotiable’ American lifestyles that we’ll ignore or even support any atrocities so long as a vaguely plausible piece of B.S. is used to justify it.” Draw breath here.
And then there were those who were grateful—repeatedly grateful—just to have a platform: “Thank you. What makes me rant are people who think this world would be a better place if we go to war with Iraq, because it’s just not gonna happen. This world won’t be better. Thank you for listening to me.”
If only drivers could inspire such gratitude. Alas, they are among the most reviled of God’s creatures. Who can forget the girl in the yellow slicker? “I was the girl in the yellow slicker last Saturday in front of the 7-Eleven on Barracks Road trying to clear the drain for the lovely City residents, and bad karma I wish to everyone who splashed me full on. I can’t believe how ignorant some people are around here.”
The malfeasant wishes spread through the year like so much rancid margarine: “To the asshole who nearly plowed through my car last Sunday: 1) My light was green! 2) I hope your red Toyota truck hits the back of a ’79 Pinto and vaporizes instantly.”
And then there was this angry contribution: “This is for the jerk who blatantly cut me and my roommate off at the intersection of 29 and Rio, and then had the audacity to pull off and gesture for us to fight him after we honked: We’d just gotten back from the gym, asshole, and totally could have taken your South Carolina redneck butt.”
People, people, can’t we all just get along? Where’s everyone driving to so carelessly? And how many of you are out there with one hand on the wheel and the other holding a cell phone dialing The Rant to complain about other drivers?
People on bicycles inspired their fair share of venom, too, beginning in June with the saga of “the Earlysville Road cyclist”: “O.K., my rant is about the idiot cyclists who get on Earlysville Road during the morning or evening rush hours. For those of us who live in Earlysville, this road is also known as the Earlysville 500 or the Earlysville Death Trap. People speed all the timethey drink and drive, they’re reckless. Please cyclists, keep off the road—it’s too dangerous. The wannabes are all in their SUVs with their cell phones attached to their heads. They’re not paying attention to what they’re doing. The redneck faction, they couldn’t care less.”
And neither could the cyclist, as we learned in the weeks to follow: “I am the idiot cyclist of Earlysville Road, and I ride to work because I can. Should I perish at the wheel of a NASCAR commuter or a drunken redneck longneck chunker, I will regret that I have but one bike to give for my City.”
“I totally agree with the bike riders on Earlysville Road,” said one caller somewhat confusingly (we think he meant, he agrees about the bike riders). “I almost ran two bike riders over the other day trying to pass them, because yes, I agree I do not have all day to go 12 miles an hour. And I’m sorry, my car, I pay taxes for the road, and the bicyclers don’t. So they need to get off the road, or find a road that’s wider.”
Predictably, the discourse ended on a personal and sour note: “Yeah, thanks. This goes out to the idiot who thinks cyclists don’t pay taxes and aren’t entitled to use Earlysville Road. Car taxes don’t pay for roads, you dumbass, property and income taxes do. I’m a cyclist and I pay car tax, income tax—more than you, trust me—property tax, more than you, again. Move to the left when passing cyclists, and bite me. Thanks.”
Uh, yeah, you’re welcome. Have a nice day.
Transportation was a favorite topic all year (can‘t wait until you start calling in about the tie-ups once Target opens and the Meadowcreek Parkway is operational!), but entertainment—movies in particular—drove its share of the rants, too. “If another person comes up to me and gets in my face and tells me one more time that I, quote—just have to go see My Big Fat Greek Wedding, I’m going to have to shove a big, fat leg of lamb down their ignorant throat.”
“O.K., the move The Matrix 2 or Matrix Reloaded or whatever, well, your reviewer said, O.K., it was totally awesome or something like that, alright, everybody’s raving about it. That movie sucked ass. It was a total waste of time. O.K. that’s all.”
Matrix Revolutions was evidently beneath contempt, but not those who miss out on local music: “Where in the hell was everybody on July 18 when all these great bands were playing at Starr Hill? This past weekend I went to the Outback Lodge to see a couple of great bluegrass bands and there were like 13 people there. Where in the hell is everybody? Why aren’t we supporting our local musicians?”
Assuming it’s fair to classify The Rant itself as local entertainment, it too was subject to plenty of mouthing off and criticism. “Yeah, I also need to rant, um, against The Rant. You guys don’t need to print every ‘um’ and ‘ah’ that people say in their message. Come on, those aren’t even words.”
“I think people are getting a little too personal with rants. This town is small enough so a little goes a long way. I’d hate to see a negative, belittling mood permeate our City because of certain individuals’ moods.”
More back and forth: “I’d actually like to make a rant about people ranting in response to other people’s rants.” (That’s different!)
“You know The Rant just makes me want to rantall your big bold letters with angry words, ‘snobby ass, stupid, idiots, no-growthers, snapbags, get off your ass’—it makes me mad.”
Indeed, some just hate the whole idea of The Rant—and they called to rant about it! (And yet you hear that irony is dead) “O.K., my rant is that your paper doesn’t have a Rave page. ’Cause there’s lots of good things going on, so let’s start focusing on that stuff instead of the rant stuff.”
Yeah, and another thing. (Remember folks, it’s 817-2749, extension 55. Call today!)
There were other favorite topics, of course—McMansions, soccer moms, peach applesauce and restaurant service—but by far the most prevalent insight (if you can call it that) of 2003, and leading the way already in 2004, was that other people are stupid. Why can’t people be more like us, we all wondered, week after week?
“Everything is 10 times worse at K-Mart because people who shop there are just absolutely retarded”
“The ultimate in stupidity is people who leave their lawn sprinklers on in the pouring down rain.”
“To the permanently adolescent Neanderthal who honked at me”
“My rant is to the foolish people who wear headsets”
“How about those idiot drivers out there who don’t realize that right on red means to stop and look first?”
“Yeah, to all the idiots who voted for the President”
“This is for that crazy loser and his crazy loser friends”
“To the insane woman running along Earlysville Road with her dog”
“Hey, this is to the idiots at the express checkout in the grocery stores”
“Hi. This is for the inconsiderate idiots”
Surely, we reflect looking over the year in rants, there can’t be that many imbeciles out there. Maybe it’s just the same dope time and again. Maybe he’s everywhere!
That might be the answer: one roving dodo-brain. In fact, it’s probably he who’s behind our favorite rant of the year: “Am I waiting for a beep? Am I waiting for a beep?”