Sad news, guys: Andy Rooney died over the weekend. An American treasure! Not sarcastic! For as much as it was so easy to poke fun at his rants, he was still a venerable institution, and in their own bizarre, crotchety way, those rants were a delight. The New York Times obituary captured them perfectly:
He admitted to loving football, Christmas, tennis, woodworking and Dwight D. Eisenhower, one of the few politicians who won his approval because, as an Army general during World War II, he had refused to censor Stars and Stripes, the G.I. newspaper for which Mr. Rooney worked. He also claimed to like shined shoes and properly pressed pants and had machines in his office to take care of those functions, although somehow he always managed to look rumpled.
But he was better known for the things he did not like. He railed against “two-prong plugs in a three-prong society,” the incomprehensibility of road maps, wash-and-wear shirts “that you can wash but not wear,” the uselessness of keys and locks, and outsize cereal boxes that contained very little cereal.
“I don’t like any music I can’t hum,” he grumbled.
He observed that “there are more beauty parlors than there are beauties” and that “if dogs could talk, it would take a lot of the fun out of owning one.”
Haha. Oh, Andy Rooney. (The obituary also includes a pretty interesting look at the weird racist, homophobic, and misogynistic comments he has made over the years, but what are you going to do?) It was only two months ago that we mourned the death of his 60 Minutes segment and now we are mourning the death of Andy Rooney himself. R.I.P. Andy Rooney. You are in heaven now, complaining about the angels.