I guess we can close up shop here. Our work is done.
It’s easy to hate on Tom Hanks sometimes. He made me think it was OK hold forth with strangers on a bench while holding a really melty box of confections in my lap every time I’m held over south of the The Mason–Dixon line.
He made World War II look like a sepia-toned postcard to squinty-eyed handsome ruggedness; a time when beautiful women waited on the ranch porch in a wind-swept polka dot house dresses with ruby lips, and heels to match, sipping on a cherry Coke waiting for her man to come on home to receive a kiss on a forehead — blown-off leg for her to stitch right back on.
He made my high school fetish for used sporting equipment seem not so weird. And he normalized the middle-aged paranormal investigator mullet.
He even spawned a son who made a documentary about Crazy Crab …with Ray Ratto as a talking head:
…I guess you could say it’s been a mixed bag at best.
Hanks basically sums up everything I’m about, everything this site is about. Everything everyone, ever should be about. In just a few sentences he takes down and/or captures the essence of: The billionaire rentier class, Astroturf, domed stadiums, the environmental and societal harm of artificial environments, Las Vegas (not the place but that marketed-to veneer of you’re escaping when really you’re being trapped in bad decisions), general awfulness, general malaise, general carelessness, the plight of the taxpayer …and then for good measure he decries the DH and calls Charlie Finley a bastard.
The only thing missing was this after his mic drop. #ThanksHanks