In Medias Res

Don't Be Cruel.

Hit up the Downtown Standard last night, post-Kings-defeat, and who's right there at the first table by the elevator, chewing his face like George W. Bush at press conference? None other than Bobby Brown, resplendent in oversized Polo shirt and jean shorts, baseball hat askew over what was either nascent dreadlocks or just uncombed hair. Brother wasn't looking well. Somehow, when we weren't looking, Bobby Brown turned into Flavor Flav. (Flavor Flav, meanwhile, has turned into Burgess Meredith.)

But here's the worst part: It was boys' night out, and Bobby was, without question, scoping for Ronies. Locking onto any new woman who stepped off the elevator, like actual missiles might come out of him. In more than one case, actually grinding against them. What the f?

For real, Bobby Brown! You took America's Sweetheart, a woman whose Star Spangled Banner galvanized a war-torn nation, and turned her into The Poo Lady. Can you at least not hit on other women in public? At the fucking Downtown Standard?

Whatever. He made this money, I didn't. Right, Ted? We outta here.

Quick Awesomeness

Anybody tried Pandora? It's an internet radio dealie, where you put in a favorite song and they build a station around it. (Morning zoo and zap-zap-zap contest noises sold separately.) I threw it The Push Stars, as it's a grey autumn day and I needed some Bostonrock, and for the most part, they've pointed me in the right direction (Neil Finn, Portastatic, Bob Mould). Somehow, though, some Blessid Union of Souls got in there, so I have to perform an honor killing on my iMac. Otherwise, it's the funky-freshest.
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Think I can get them for my housewarming party? Perhaps the best quote I've read all day: "We're proud of being white, we just want to keep being white!" Hey, best of luck with that! And I hate to burst your bubble, but experts agree: being twins named Lamb and Lynx makes you a little white-chocolatey. Rock on, Gold Dust Pre-Women!
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I know Katrina's all retro now, but can we please re-live this? Download richard-simmons-hurricane.wmv Take a look, then come back and let's talk.

Okay. Now watch again, and look out for my favorite things:
1) The overall feeling that this happens in the Simmons household ALL THE TIME. This is clearly not the first time Lenny and his wife have had to hold Richard's hand on the sofa. And not just during hurricanes, either; I suspect that if a camera crew was there while they all watched the premiere of "The Ghost Whisperer," the resulting footage would be identical.
2) At around 1:09, Lenny calls Richard "sweetheart." I love both my brothers, but if either of them called me "sweetheart," I would shower like Karen Silkwood and never, EVER stop.
3) The way Richard makes himself cry with the beauty of his own gestures. When his face is buried in Lenny's armpit at around the 1-minute mark, and he's wailing like the offspring of Dakota Fanning and a sheepdog, it's not really the hurricane that's got him in such a state. It's the sheer, simple grace of his action: waking up his big fat brother in the middle of the night with a camera crew and making sure that everything he needs he ha-ha-haaaaas. (Which, by the way, he seems to, and if they can find the motherfucker's temporary address, surely they can verify that he's okay, and leave the boom guy out of it.)
4) Richard Simmons' brother is obese. And doesn't feel the need to put pants on when company's over.

God bless America, and let's pray there are Simmonses in Cancun.

Saturday Night DEAD! Ha, ha! Get it?

(It's a play on words, see. Like instead of "Saturday Night LIVE," which is what it's called, I used the opposite of live- or actually the opposite of alive- which is dead. Because, you know, the show's not real funny this season. Get it now? Yeah? I know. Hey, thanks!)

The show's in its 31st season, and that goddamn headline is in its 30th. Can you really recycle that pun- now in its fourth decade of life- and then go on to criticize unimaginative writing?

Okay, yeah, I guess you can. It's the Post, after all. And, hacktacular choice of words or no, the guy's right. I'll TiVo SNL for the rest of my life, and I root like hell for it, but the last year or two have been, dare I say, sub-Denny Dillon.

Consider this, though: save for maybe two seasons in the late 1980s, the show has always, on balance, kind of sucked. I know people masturbate and cry about the first 5 years, but dear God- have you ever watched a whole episode from the Seventies? Not the clips of Gilda Radner that you get on nostalgia shows, not even the 60-minute versions you get in reruns, but a whole episode? The short films? The Laraine Newman character monologues? Leon fucking Redbone? That's a 90 minutes that will tax you, historical or not. If they put the 1977-78 season on Saturdays at 11:30 starting tonight, you'd hate it so much you'd even try to think of a new headline.

At its best, the show gives you 2 or 3 really good laughs per episode. Not spectacular, but better than Anthony Clark's entire sitcom oeuvre. It's just that the last few seasons don't seem to be making anyone laugh even once, except the cast. (Memo to Horatio Sanz, Kenan Thompson and Rachel Dratch: when I want to see people with fat heads act pleased with themselves, I'll go get that Death Cab For Cutie DVD.)

Whatever. Catherine Zeta-Jones and Franz Ferdinand tonight.
Come back. All is forgiven.

KR-ONE

Okay, Karl Rove. You're a brilliant strategist, and you've got a talent for whispering things in the right ears and then sitting back as everyone starts repeating them. And when they come back around to you, you probably laugh, and your laugh probably starts with a "mu" sound.

But let's not get cocky.

I guess Karl and James Dobson (of Focus on the Family fame) just sat down over mudslides and talked about this Harriet Miers. Just, you know, as pals. And the juicy info that Rove passed on to Dobson was this: she's the Very Best Choice. She was, in fact, "at the top of a very short list." Shocking, right?

But then he said something I think is a little odd. Just read this, excerpted from James' radio show (which I've never heard, but I'm guessing he plays the clean version of David Banner's "Play."):

"Well, what Karl told me is that some of those individuals took themselves off that list. They would not allow their names to be considered because the process has become so vicious and so vitriolic and so bitter that they didn't want to subject themselves or the members of their families to it."

Um. What?

Correct me if I'm wrong, but didn't we all just watch John Roberts go through The Process and get confirmed as Chief Justice of the United States Supreme Court? Did that process strike anyone as vicious or vitriolic or bitter? I'll admit I didn't watch the entire thing, but I can't even remember a raised voice. I've seen episodes of "Revealed with Jules Asner" that were more vicious and vitriolic and bitter.

Is the bar really set this low? Are the best-qualified candidates for the United States Supreme Court backing out because they're afraid someone might ask them questions? Jesus, let's hope these guys never try to buy in a co-op building.

Or is someone trying to take a bonehead nomination that nobody on either side appears to support, and make it look like a noble gesture in the middle of a shitstorm of Democrat Anger? It's almost like Karl and James are trying to conjure the shopworn image of evil bureaucrat liberals, pissily standing in the way of progress, stopping at nothing- NOTHING!- to derail Bush's best-laid plans, because they hate hate hate him. "Why, they'll make vicious, vitriolic, bitter personal attacks on good, honest Christians and their families! Just like they did with whoops we have to take a commercial break."

I don't know, I just like my Evil Geniuses a little savvier. Karl, my message is simple: ya slippin'.

All I'm saying...

...is that when I'm at a bar, and I look around, and I notice people doing this, I leave.

FYI, they leave out the 20 minutes of this press conference where he just goes on and on and on about Paul Thomas Anderson.