I know this story broke prior to the weekend, but sometimes a story is too delicious to ignore.
You know, one of those yarns that leaves you dumbstruck and with eyes shiny and vacant, like two rain-streaked windows in an abandoned building.
Smirk as you read this, if you must, but there is a 42-year single mom as hot as the Florida sun offering her four-bedroom Palm Beach Gardens home that sports vaulted ceilings, upgraded tile and a soaking tub in a gated community with a pool and tennis courts and her heart for $840,000 on the Internet.
By the way, Deven Trabosh loves to prance around her home in patent leather heels and is willing to marry the winning bidder if he proves to be a prince.
“I’m struggling…I don’t want to lose my house and I want to find somebody,” said Trabosh. “So I came up with this dream plan because I’ve always dreamt about being a fairytale princess.”
Desperation is always a tyranny, I guess.
So if you’re a single, homeless dude with some spare cash (an oxymoron?), you might find Trabosh’s offer so inviting that you could be like a woodworm that finds a spot behind a knot in the family room timber and stays there forever.
I guess we need a lot of medical buildings in Berks because our population is slightly older than carbon, everybody’s eyes bug out like fried eggs whenever they scan a menu and consequently nobody is as skinny as foul pole, and the city is about as safe as porcupine juggling because of all the gunplay.
Therefore it’s not surprising that Reading Hospital, already swollen like a giant balloon over West Reading, wants to build two medical buildings and a retail shopping mall at Paper Mill and Broadcasting roads in Spring Township.
Personally, I like the grass and weeds that currently inhabit the 100-acre tract and see no reason to change the landscape. But after we Spring Township residents dodged the Wal-Mart supercenter bullet, we all knew something was going to sprout there.
With the new St. Joe’s Hospital, the mushrooming Reading Hospital and eons of surgical centers in Berks, those of us about to fall apart will be in good hands. And our relatives will have plenty of places to shop while we’re undergoing treatment.
I’ve grown somewhat weary over the years with the Mike Schmidt story about how the superstar Phillies slugger never could find peace as a player but now is sipping at the cup of serenity in retirement. It’s a tale almost as old as the Dead Sea Scrolls.
I chronicled Schmidt for years during his career in my sports columnist days and always found him to be a fascinating contradiction. Sometimes he found opening his mouth to be more painful than opening one of his arteries. He would be moody and aloof, if not borderline hostile. Then sometimes gems of quotes would roll eloquently off his tongue as his analytical mind and introspective psyche let loose of their adhesions.
But there is a fresh side to Mike Schmidt these days and I resoundingly applaud him for it.
Now that the avid golfer has begun to slice and hook his way through the back nine of his life, he — like mere mortals — has discovered that the body can get a bit cranky in old age.
So now he’s raising awareness of BPH, which in plain English means an enlarged prostate. The cause brought him to FirstEnergy Stadium last night where the Reading Phillies faithful bathed him in adulation.
It takes a confident, secure man to discuss such issues publicly.
In fact, when Schmidt was quoted saying “I think I’ll always urinate a little bit more than most men,” it certainly gave a fresh and poignant perspective to the Mike Schmidt saga.
Frequently the news around here has a the-sun-came-up-at-dawn … ho-de-hum quality about it.
Then there are days when the news is so shocking that those among us over the age of 21 need to don a pair of ER lifesaving shock paddles.
And when such startling news is so resoundingly good that it leaves many among us smiling with a glow that lights the air around them, so much the better.
Today is such a day.
For the record, Mother Nature wanted it to be cloudy today in Berks — especially Spring Township. But if you have poked your nose — more importantly, your eyes — out the window today, you have noticed that we are dappled in glorious sunshine.
Because of today’s news that Weis Markets has applied to Spring Township to begin selling beer in its store in the Broadcasting Square Shopping Center.
If the township and the PLCB approve the transfer of a state liquor license to the Weis store, the supermarket would be the first in Berks to sell takeout six-packs as well as individual beers to those eating in its cafe area.
Of course, in most states, selling beer in supermarkets would be as newsy as dog bites beer distributor. But Pennsylvania, as thirsty folks all know, still is stuck in the 18th century.
Besides the convenience, one-stop shopping where a guy can buy his beer and potato chips at the same place saves gas money. Indeed, the last time I filled my tank it left me as pale as a pearl handle. And left my wallet an even whiter shade of pale.
No wonder nobody watches the news on CBS3.
Their former star anchors are much better at making the news than they are reporting the news.
Larry Mendte and Alycia Lane, however, are good illusionists. When they used to appear on screen together, you would have never known the Channel 3 set was a skillet. You would have never sensed that underneath their idyllic veneer bubbled a sea of seething envies.
Apparently Larry and Alycia have been embroiled in a real blood feud. No wonder both are now toast at CBS3.
The station finally axed Mendte yesterday, almost four weeks since FBI agents seized his home computer amid allegations that he illegally broke into Lane’s e-mail.
Evidently an internal investigation at CBS3 discovered software that secretly captures keystrokes — including passwords — had been installed on a station computer.
Mendte’s firing came nearly six months after the station bounced Lane following her arrest in New York for allegedly hitting a cop. Felony charges against Lane have been dropped and summary charges are expected to be dropped later this summer.
So what began as scraps of juicy Lane tidbits stuck to gossip pages has extrapolated into a federal criminal investigation and a sexual-discrimination lawsuit.
The FBI is investigating whether Mendte illegally accessed Lane’s e-mails and leaked information from them to the media, including an angry message from a wife upset that Lane sent bikini photos to her husband. Lane recently filed a lawsuit in which she said Mendte worked to discredit her behind the scenes and that CBS3 defamed her. Surprise, surprise, the station denied her charges.
Now that the headlines about Channel 3 are about to vanish into the mists of time, everybody will resume watching the news on Channel 6 and Channel 10.
Comic genius George Carlin died last night. I sure wish I could have heard him talking to St. Peter at the Pearly Gates. I wondered if Carlin swore.
At first blush, I wondered if I should simply remember Carlin by writing that since I can’t cuss on this blog, I have nothing to say about his death.
But then I realized that to define and confine Carlin simply as a profane counterculture comedian who shook up the obscenity folks years ago with his “Seven Words You Can Never Say On Television” would do him a gross injustice.
Granted, the aging dude loved to have his irreverent rhetoric ride all over the margins of so-called accepted boundaries. But he was not simply stirring up the dust to get dirt in people’s eyes. He wanted to make people think. As such, he was every bit the social commentator and philosopher as he was the comedian.
He wanted to elicit laughs from his audience. But he also wanted their minds to crack open like walnuts. His scathing words were like 500-pound Roman candles lighting up the sky. His monologues had a blast and a flash that reminded you of an ammo dump exploding.
The afterlife isn’t going to be the same now that George Carlin’s there. I just know he’s gonna be too busy performing to rest in peace.
Summer is officially here in Reading. The Jehovah’s Witnesses are here.
It’s become a rite of summer to have a series of JW weekends downtown.
It’s great to have the Jehovah’s Witnesses among us because they are so well-dressed. Good grooming, like legible handwriting, has pretty much become a lost art.
And the Witnesses do pump money into the coffers of our hotels and restaurants. Which is why we don’t mind terribly that they tend to muck up the traffic a bit.
Granted, their presence does officially confirm how dull we must be. They are not party animals who love to soak up the neon of Manhattan or Las Vegas.
Indeed, the only excitement around here seems to be wondering who’s gonna get shot next.
The proposed $2.8 billion RiverView project could — big, big emphasis on the could — transcendentally transform Reading forever and a day.
And if it does, the man behind it all, Edward V. Giannasca II, likely will be lionized with a massive statue on Canal Street.
Granted, the $2.8 billion project sounds like a mere pipe dream to some folks. With the enormity of the proposal, you would have to be insane not to be somewhat cynical.
Then again, if the project does come to life, the deathly shroud that engulfs Reading could disappear like the morning dew.
Or is Reading simply like a drowning man clutching at a razor blade?
But the $2.8 billion question is this: Is Giannasca the real deal or just a guy who should be nicknamed Fast Eddie?
I don’t pretend to know the answer. But our city fathers will have to learn the answer soon.
The guy does have an impressive track record as a developer. He didn’t just fall off a turnip truck in Blandon.
Still, lawsuits seem to cling to this guy like lint to an expensive suit. The news of which was splashed all over our paper today. Needless to say, the guy now has some spackling to do to his image around here.
Of course, it may be a bit harsh to prejudge Giannasca for getting entangled in litigation. Big deals frequently wind up in court as big egos and big wallets go for the juggler. Power brokers can be more pugnacious than pit bulls. And power brokers seldom are neutered.
Is Giannasca a developer with a stable personal infrastructure rooted on a solid foundation? Or is he all shimmy and shake like a belly dancer on amphetamines? A guy whose dream will build Reading a magnificent new home or a flimsy house of cards?
I, for one, can’t wait to find out.
The economy, which is now so terrible that it obviously was wired together in hell by some subcommittee that was giggling cruelly as it went about its work, is not unleashing an aurora borealis of a smile on anybody these days.
How bad is it?
So bad that even the legalized brothel business in Nevada is being significantly pinched — and I’m not talking about the girls’ buttocks.
What’s remarkable about this slump is bordellos long were thought to be recession proof. But skyrocketing gas prices apparently have dimmed the pilot on the blue flame of lust.
The brothels, as you can imagine, are not taking this lying down. One began offering a recession special last week: The first 100 customers who show up with their tax rebate checks of $600 get double the services — the $1,200 George Bush party consisting of three girls and a bottle of champagne.
Which obviously stimulates the economy as well as other things.
While the rest of us have been distracted by what’s happening here on Earth, the Phoenix lander doing a dig on Mars has unearthed (OK, unMarsed) some white stuff in the soil.
Scientists aren’t sure if it’s ice or salt.
Of course, it could be sugar.
Better yet, perhaps it’s cocaine.
I always knew those Martians were totally spaced, man!