Erin Brockavich, whom I admire, will be appearing on George Noori's show tonight. This should be fun: She's a famed environmental activist, while Noori's audience includes...oh, let's just say a sprinkling of right-wing fundamentalist nitwits. But you're not going to get your message out if you speak only to the like-minded, are you?
Did I ever tell you about the time I met her? I had spent two days away from home, painting unicorns and other cute stuff on the walls of a "kid's room" of a gym. Frankly, I was unshowered and gloriously messy. Early in the morning, a very attractive lady (who looked not at all like Julia Roberts) came into the gym to pump iron. She started telling the gym's owner about a toxic waste problem near a high school. Being a buttinsky, I butted in:
"You know who you ought to tell about this? Erin Brockavich."
A long, embarrassing pause. Finally, she said: "Uh...I'm Erin."
Even though I had previously seen her on television, I had not recognized (until that moment) the woman doing butterfly curls before me. Fittingly enough, I was painting a picture of a horse's ass.
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