I'd imagine that a lot of bloggers will post about Tony Danza's go-karting mishap today. They'll probably make light of it, perhaps by implying that an accident of this type airing on his show is apropos, as the show itself is something of a car crash. From there they'll probably move into a lot of really unfair criticism of his singing voice, spastic goomba mannerisms, and acting.

Well, if you want to read that kind of thing, I'd suggest you go elsewhere. Because, in my book, a Tony Danza trapped in an upended go-kart is no laughing matter.

Tony Danza figures prominently in my psyche. He represents for me something essentially masculine. He is at once warmly paternal and irresistibly attractive to women. He is athletic and artistic, gracious, kind, strong, and sensitive. I've recently come to understand that all of my life I've aspired to be the man that I think Tony Danza is.

I've also come to understand something similar about Marilu Henner. For me, she is the quintessential woman. She is nuturing and kind, thougtful, non-judgmental, supportive, and outrageously sexy. And she walks with the kind of weightless bounce that not only makes you believe that being with her would relieve you of life's many burdens, but that also accentuates her fantastic breasts. She is the feminine ideal I've looked for in the eyes, arms, and thighs or countless women, aged 13 to 32, from the hallowed halls of our nation's capitol to the dirty back alleys of Bankok's red light district.

These realizations are a little frightening to me because I was a very young boy when the two appeared together on the hit sitcom "Taxi," and I'm now certain that the show was the single biggest factor in making me the man I've become.

I'd like to think I'm a little Tony Danza, and I'll admit to being a bit of Danny DeVito. But in the end, I'm most like Judd Hirsch, caught in the middle while DeVito and Danza battle for what Platoon's Rhah called "possession of my soul."

Analogcabin @ 9:35 AM
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