Rosie's View on Christopher Walken

The word from the AP is that Rosie O'Donnell is scheduled to take the place of Meredith Vieira's spot on the mega-hit "The View" alongside the other powerhouses of Joy Behar and Star Jones Reynolds. That's right ladies and gentlemen, it's Rosie time!

Wow. I can't wait to see the Saturday Night Live skits that are forthcoming if this comes to pass. Too funny. I placed my bets when the whole Katie Couric & Meredith Vieira shake-up came down the pike that Vieira would come out the best. I'm willing to stake my money on that still. I just don't see Couric holding down Dan Rather's desk all too well. I still have Connie Chung nightmares.

Speaking of nightmares, has anyone seen that movie Communion? It's about a guy that gets visted throughout his life by aliens, you know, the ones with the giant head and giant eyes. It was based on some book that some guy wrote that had a picture of one of those things on the cover. When I was little, my mother had that damn book. It gave me nightmares.

Then I caught that movie. Sure, it's about aliens with big eyes and big heads, enough to stir up old, repressed memories. Then it stars Christopher Walken. Great. Now I've got these images of Walken sitting a chair at night, window open, curtains blowing gently in the wind, with that alien sticking his head around a dresser. Are you kidding me? Maybe there are things scarier that "The View."

Have You Been Told What to Think Today?

I love the mail. Every day I get lots of magazines that come from trading in meaningless frequent flyer miles on airlines that are defunct or nearly defunct or fly only on the other side of the country. The magazines are great. They tell me what to think, and I listen.

Today I got a "GQ" and yesterday I got an "Entertainment Weekly." "GQ" tells me what to wear, where to drink, who to hang out with, how to meet the ladies, what's really going on in the war on terror, and what Tom Cruise really thinks about whatever his publicist told him to tell the reporter (who really is the hallmark of journalistic integrity). What's more, "GQ" decided to tell me this month every tool a man needs. Here's the list:

1) Claw hammer
2) Measuring tape
3) Utility bar
4) Folding hex-key set
5) Ratcheting screwdriver
6) Box-joint pliers
7) Stud sensor
8) Cordless drill
9) Laser level
10) Utility knife

I'm new to the homeowner-thing, but I've got to tell you, I find this hard to believe. That's it?! Why, it all sounds so simple! Get these tools (cost of which tallies to $373) and you're set for life. It's amazing! Next thing you know, Ron Popeil at Ronco will put all these tools into one super-tool for only 5 payments of $19.95 (call now and they'll throw in the telescoping sledgehammer for free). Whatever happened to a good $1.90 screwdriver?

Aside from "GQ" (which, incidentally wouldn't know a bandsaw from an asshole) I've got "Entertainment Weekly." "Entertainment Weekly" gives me the grades on all the movies, TV shows, and albums 'er records that are coming out over the next few weeks. Sound too good to be true? It is! With a simple chart, I know exactly what to read, watch, and listen to, and all with the minimal effort required of flipping pages.

The damnedest thing is this, even after I've read "Entertainment Weekly" and "GQ" and "Time" and "US News and World Report" and "Real Simple" and "US Weekly" and "New Yorker" I still take 20 goddamn minutes to pick out a stick of deodorant. That's sick. Maybe if I watched Oprah...

Alby Grant's Clandestine Love?

Just a short reflextion on tonight's "Big Love" episode (entitled 'Eviction'). A pretty bland episode comparatively. I was a bit perplexed with what could be going on with Alby Grant's mission from Roman.

Roman told Alby to pack a small bag and tell his wives he would be gone for two nights. Cut to the next scene with Alby at a Quicki-Mart and there is a bearded man who wants to know where he's off to. "No where. Around here," says Alby. Then the two scoot off to a hotel...

Some tense moments later, Alby decides to make a sandwich and the dude closes in, asking Alby, "So are we going to f**k?" Then the best part - Alby starts sceaming and moaning and banging his head against the wall, causing the man to flee from the room. WTF?

I really hope this comes into play in upcoming episodes. It seemed a bit, I don't know, Deliverance-esque. Not that anything happened; but it was one of those situations that makes you feel yucky inside. Alby creeps me out. Not as much as Roman's 14 year old wife though... That child is creepy.

Poppin' Fresh

I love cultural icons. There are few greater icons than the Pillsbury Doughboy (or as I like to call him, Poppin' Fresh). Honestly, there are few figures we all know so well than this little guy. At the ripe age of 41, he's still going strong. Don't believe me, catch a glimpse of this guy busting a move! Over at the Pillsbury web site, each faithful or less than faithful fan can take a few seconds and put together their own Doughboy Dance. Check out mine.

Here's the short timeline on Poppin' Fresh we all need to know:

1965: The Pillsbury Doughboy is born. He is voiced by Paul Frees, the voice of Boris Badanov from "The Adventures of Rocky and Bullwinkle".

1972: The Doughboy was named the toy of the year by Playthings magazine. I am a bit concerned about the name of that magazine...is anyone else?

1986: Voice of the Doughboy (Paul Frees) dies; he is replaced by Jeff Bergman, voice of Charlie the Tuna (this is clearly a major step for Jeff).

1987: The Doughboy was awarded first place in the "Whom Do You Love?" survey by Advertising Age.

1996: At 31, the Doughboy is named the most recognizable advertising character by Marketing Evaluation, Inc.

1998: Poppin' Fresh receives over 200 pieces of mail per week and Pillsbury sends over 1,500 autographed pictures to fans worldwide.

Let's face it, this is one tasty little bastard and a pricy one, too. The original Doughboy prop cost Pillsbury $16,000 dollars and was made of foam and plaster. So, even if you wanted to throw him into your oven, he'd have the last laugh.

If you are ever in Wal-Mart, check out the grocers' freezer section with Pillsbury items. Chances are, there will be a giant styrofoam Doughboy there to greet you. It may not be edible, but I bet he'd make a fantastic life preserver.

"Our food was fly."

What's the old saying, never say famous last words because they could be? Well, Stephen was heard around the world tonight letting it be known that his "food was fly" and the team of Lee Anne, Miguel, and Stephen would coast to victory on TOP CHEF on Bravo!

TOP CHEF is the kind of no-brain entertainment I have come to love in the depressing absence of PROJECT RUNWAY. The problem with the series thus far has been the emphasis on team work. Every damn challenge is a team challenge, except for the Quickfire Challenge, a short-duration cook-off in which the winner (usually) receives immunity.

This week proved no different. The final six were divided into two teams with 24 hours to open a concept restaurant. The teams shaped up as RED (Dave, Tiffani, Harlod) and BLUE (Miguel, Lee Anne, Stephen). Each team was given $1k to plan a menu and decorate a menu space.

RED concept: "American Workshop" to serve an all American classic menu. Ultimately they served up some tuna tartare, roast chicken, and fall vegetables. Harold and Lee Anne hit the kitchen while Dave pulled together a quaint, family-style restaurant and friendly ambiance.

BLUE concept: "Sabor" to serve a Spanish menu complete with white gazpacho, tapas trio, and pan seared snapper. Miguel and Lee Anne were in the kitchen with Stephen up front doing whatever the hell he does ("educate" or some other crap).

I have to tell you, I love the show, but the highlight of the night came during a commercial for the French Culinary Institute. Did anyone else catch a glimpse of Miguel up in that? Let that be some foreshadowing, because when he got his ass kicked off, at least he found a way to make some bucks. Prove me wrong!

Bottom line: Blue loses. You never get away with saying things like "our food was fly" when there are cameras around. Never.

Plus, when you are looking for good customer service reviews, don't put the modern incarnation of Eddie Munster out front. That's a sure loser.

Frank, Irene, Budweiser and Schnitzel

Recently we went on a leisurely cruise throughout the Caribbean to take a few days to relax and have some fun. We chose to cruise on the Holland America Line, a nice cruise line that is known generally for an older clientele. We quickly found out that we were, indeed, some of the youngest on-board. That was just fine by us.

Lunch was served on the ms Veendam each day in the main dining room (the Rotterdam Dining Room) at 12:00 PM. When you arrived for lunch, unlike the dinner seating, you were placed randomly with the couples entering the room at the same time as you. It was ironic but each time we went to eat our lunch, we were seated with Frank and Irene.

Frank and Irene were in their early 80s, just a mere 55+ years older than we are. They cruised twice a year and only on Holland America. This was their second voyage aboard the Veendam.

Frank and Irene kick ass. They drank beer with us and told us stories about the difficulties octogenarians face when learning to use the internet. Frank could not hear a damn thing, so he would nod his head and Irene would tell us all about the joys of life in St. Petersburg, Florida. They ate Weiner Schnitzel each time we sat with them.

The last few days aboard the ship, I spotted Frank and Irene only once, chilling in the Lido Pool where Frank was hiding behind a bronze statue of a dolphin to stay clear of the sunlight. Hey, you have to protect that skin, man. Frank and Irene kick ass.

Gwyneth Paltrow and Polygamy

Found a great commentary today about Gwyneth Paltrow. I've thought about her from time to time and tried (in vain) to determine just what I feel about her. Someone has voiced the definitive word over at MSNBC. "Gwyneth Paltrow - she's not just like us!" is an article by Page Ferrari, a blogger/contributor to MSNBC. It sums up in just a few quick words what we are all thinking (or probably should be). Here's a hint:

Fact: Gwyneth Paltrow is the kind of girl who ditched sixth-grade slumber parties so she could be fresh for early morning equestrian lessons.

Fact: Were you to invite Gwyneth Paltrow over for lunch, she would bring her own macrobiotic food in Tupperware containers, decline your silverware and tell you that your new pants are "slimming."

As of last check, the poll on MSNBC about peoples' thoughts on Gwyneth was fairly evenly matched between positive association and negative. Contrary to the last post about Tom Cruise and Michael Jackson, Gwyneth is someone who clearly has the right stylist and publicity team. But the fact remains, she still named a poor child Apple.

Good old Apple. It's a funny thing that celebs have taken to giving their progeny historically canine names. There's nothing wrong with that. We're used to dogs with names like Apple, Coco, Satchel, Rumer, Rocco, Blanket, etc. Looking at the list again, there not really dog names either. There's something wholly wrong with them.

Does anyone think it has to do with being separated out from normal society by fame and wealth that these children end up with names like Moon Unit? It has to have something to do with living in an alternate reality. Let's hope the family accounts don't dry up before these kids are grown. People have a hard time buying Palm Beach real estate from Alabama Zoe Gaskill (daughter of soap star Brian Gaskill).

On to more important business. Caught a new show on HBO On Demand, which I might add is a gift from God and a curse to finals studying. Has anyone else caught Big Love on HBO? You all have got to check it out. This is one of those shows that sucks you in and won't let go. Someone over there is getting it right. After the end of Sex In The City and Six Feet Under, I thought things were getting grim, but ohhhhh no. This is some good stuff.

If anyone has HBO, check it out. You won't regret it. Plus, it's great to see Bill Paxton in a role other than Chet in "Weird Science" or as that sailor dude with the creepy earring in "Titanic."

Some people do arts and crafts...

First off, let's set up some ground rules. My boss once reprimanded me for being too judgmental. To be fair, I was with a co-worker. I remembered a scene from "Sex in the City" where Carrie talked with Stanford.

Carrie: Well, you look very...something.
Stanford: I am very...something.
Carrie: What's going on over there Ms. Blatch?
Stanford: I met someone.
Carrie: Oh, my God, really? That's fantastic!
Stanford: His name is Marcus.
Carrie: And is he a Roman?
Stanford: No, he is not.
Carrie: Oh, too bad. I always adore a metal breast plate on a man. So, what does this Marcus do?
Stanford: Okay, before I tell you, you have to promise not to judge.
Carrie: Do I judge?
Stanford: We all judge. That's our hobby. Some people do arts and crafts. We judge.

And I heard myself blurt it out. That's what we do. We judge. It would be harsh if it weren't so damn true.

So, here it is, the judgment du jour: Tom Cruise. What in the hell is going on here? Get ready folks. This stuff is about to get out of control...

Tomorrow, Friday, 14 April 2006 at 9/8c, ABC's Diane Sawyer will talk with Cruise about all the crazy shit going on in his life. If the teasers on abc.com are any taste, this could be one of the great pop culture crash-and-burns of the modern age. The web site noted,

"We were just talking about it last night," Cruise said. "She has this beautiful belly, this glowing woman….We were walking up to bed, and I just, I can't wait till we get married. I can't wait till I can call and say, 'Hey, you know, put my wife on the phone.'"

What does that even mean? If you can't wait to get married, get married! I know that would prematurely end the media frenzy and hype.

Tom is going to discuss the mysterious "silent birth" that Katie Holmes is to undergo. Evidently, hearing negative noises at the birth causes psychic scars. No joke. I may be wrong, but I think that this interview, if Sawyer did it right, has the charm of the last great public relations fiascoes: Michael Jackson and Martin Bashir then Michael Jackson and Ed Bradley.

Bradley: You said, and — and I'm gonna quote here, "Why can't you share your bed? A most loving thing to do is to share your bed with— with someone."
Jackson: Yes.
Bradley: As — as we sit here today, do you still think that it's acceptable to share your bed with children?
Jackson: Of course. Of course. Why not? If you're gonna be a pedophile, if you're gonna be Jack the Ripper, if you're gonna be a murderer, it's not a good idea. That I'm not. That's how we were raised. And I met — I didn't sleep in the bed with the child. Even if I did, it's okay. I slept on the floor. I give the bed to the child.

These dudes clearly need to replace their publicists, lawyers, and clergymen. Remeber this...out there are rich, powerful folks who think that childbirth will give you psychic scars and that sharing a bed with children is okay. Oh, and if you let them, they will tell you who to vote for.

Shame into Action?

Today I had an odd experience. Following a class, I headed off to the library to do some studying before my next class and realized that today was the school's bone marrow drive. On the way into the library, I was physically confronted by several of the volunteers who were trying to get people to sign up for the drive. The drive is a noble effort I believe, and I support the action whole-heartedly. The actions of the volunteers were, let's just say, offensive.

Instead of simply making a request such as, "Good morning. Could I have your attention for a few moments to explain to you the drive we are conducting today..." My companion and I were asked brutishly, "did you sign up yet?" To which I replied that we had not and were not able to at this moment. The volunteer then stated, "what's the matter with you? You don't want to save a kid's life?"

Whoa. Did I just hear that? Do I not want to save a kid's life? Really? Are you kidding me? I stopped and turned around and asked to volunteer what he had stated so smartly. This guy would not even look at me. It was as if he was no longer the shaming party but the shamed.

Of course we all want to save lives if we can. This goes without saying for most of the good-natured Americans I know. However, for any number of reasons a person may be unable to stop their activities to register or donate or give or whatever the hell the cause so requires.

Relaying the story to a confidant some time later, she informed me that she had asked the volunteers if the procedure to extract blood hurt in any way. To this she was informed, "not as much as having leukemia." Again, am I missing something here? My social ineptitude may be getting the better of me, but that just seems out of line. The funny thing is, it becomes personal at a point.

Now the question is, do you take the high-road or hold a grudge against those condescending assholes? It really is a tricky question. For the life of me, I can't imagine Jerry Lewis on stage during the telethon shaming Americans into action. I can hear it now. "Come on, asshole. Give your bucks. If you don't, some kid will die. I don't know which one. It could be this one, or this one, or this one..." That's absurd and would never happen.

I've always believed that we are all called to service of some kind. Some of us serve the country, some serve their communities, some their families, some only serve themselves, some serve their deity, and many of us serve a mixture. Try another technique than shame, you bastard. That serves no cause whatsoever except maybe childishness.

If you get the chance, have the opportunity, I say go ahead and link in above. Do what you can. That's probably the best way to make a point.

Mayor McCheese

Perplexing question: what happened to Mayor McCheese? I know, I know. We all see Ronald McDonald around us everyday. He still has TV spots, and if your willing, you can sit down next to a life-sized statue of him at many a McDonald's. I'm not so worried about the scary clown. I want to know where McCheese has gone...

I set out to do a bit of research. Sure enough, it takes .01827 seconds on Google to return a myriad of possibilities. If anyone else has wondered, I have posted the links.

Theory 1: Bottom line - McCheese was murdered and eaten. Evidently the poor bastard's name was also Chauncey. Here's the unofficial biography of Chauncey Munster McCheese.

Theory 2: McCheese was McStolen. This is the most probable answer to the vexing question. Word on the street is that McCheese was a rip-off of H.R. Pufnstuf. Okay, let's think about this. For the lowdown on the McCheese lawsuit that shook the foundations of our great nation, I'd look to Wikipedia. That's the McCheese I remember. Now, take a look at this thing Pufnstuf. I don't think so.

I pulled the opinion of the Ninth Circuit Court of Appeals which heard the lawsuit in 1977. Describing the similarities between McCheese and Pufnstuf the court stated, "The characters are also similar. Both lands are governed by mayors who have disproportionately large round heads dominated by long wide mouths. They are assisted by 'Keystone cop' characters. Both lands feature strikingly similar crazy scientists and a multi-armed evil creature." Sid and Marty Krofft Television Productions, Inc. v. McDonald's Corp., 562 F.2d 1157, 1167 (9th Cir. 1977).

That's awesome. Now I know the truth. Congrats Pufnstuf. You killed off an icon. But the thing is, no one remembers you now. Wouldn't it have made since to bow out gracefully to a real hero?

It was a great marketing tool. I'm still hooked twenty some odd years later. I say resurrect McCheese. We could all certainly do with a little McCheese in our lives. Let's be honest, McDonaldland is just a happier place than most.

Cemetery Tours

In yesterday's post about the Lindbergh Baby, I mentioned the John Dillinger Museum. Another fond Hoosier memory was sparked in the hours that followed directly related to Dillinger, "Public Enemy No. 1."

In Indianapolis is Crown Hill Cemetery. It is a beautiful, green, and moderately hilly bit of earth where many of the most well-known Hoosiers of all ages are buried. I remember taking a number of bicycle tours as a child to the famous gravesites there. Ironically, one of the gravesites was John Dillinger. Also buried in Crown Hill are President Benjamin Harrison, and three Vice Presidents (Thomas A. Hendricks, 1885; Charles Fairbanks, 1905-1909; Thomas Marshall, 1913-1921). When I think of memorable statesmen, no one comes to mind like Thomas A. Hendricks. Maybe this is what Al Gore has to look forward to, a side note on some stooge's blog.

Crown Hill is also the final resting place of James Whitcomb Riley, the Hoosier Poet. The best known of Riley's characters is Little Orphant Annie, a name tucked away in the minds of many a person be they Hoosier or not. Surely all of my generation remembers the radio program that Ralphie listens to religiously in the classic Christmas movie, A Christmas Story. It's Little Orphan Annie! Here's a taste of the classic poem:

LITTLE ORPHANT ANNIE

Little Orphant Annie's come to our house to stay,
An' wash the cups an' saucers up, an' brush the crumbs away,
An' shoo the chickens off the porch, an' dust the hearth, an' sweep,
An' make the fire, an' bake the bread, an' earn her board-an'-keep;
An' all us other childern, when the supper-things is done,
We set around the kitchen fire an' has the mostest fun
A-list'nin' to the witch-tales 'at Annie tells about,
An' the Gobble-uns 'at gits you
Ef you
Don't
Watch
Out!

This is classic stuff. My grandmother used to tell me that when Riley died in 1916, all the school children of Indiana sent their pennies in to pay for his monument at Crown Hill. Again, I can't verify this, but it makes for a great story. Any one ever in Indianapolis should drop by the cemetery and pay their respects to Riley. Be sure to leave a penny.

Back to the bicycle tours at the cemetery. I remember that some guy was there on one of those giant wheeled bicycles you see in the turn of the century photos and at the circus. Something like this:

Evidently there are groups of folks with these big-ass bikes who tour with them today. It seems strange to me. But then again, most of those in my generation had those awesome plastic big-wheels. Mine was like the General Lee from the Dukes of Hazard. It was a sweet ride. I was the last in the neighborhood to learn to ride a real bike, but I was pretty damn cool.

If you're ever in Indy, check out the Hill. You won't regret it. Just don't ride a big-wheel.

Freaky Lindbergh Baby

When I was little, my father used to take me to the John Dillinger Museum in Nashville, Indiana. The museum was dedicated to the life and death of the famous gangster who was born and raised in central Indiana. I don't remember too much about the Dillinger exhibit except that there were bloody garments which were worn by Dillinger the day he was killed. One thing has always stuck in my head about that museum: the freaky Lindbergh baby.

Now, when I say that I went to this museum when I was little, I mean I was around five years old. So I naturally identified with the portion of the museum dedicated to the "Crime of the Century" (remember, this is pre-OJ Simpson, right?), all about the Lindbergh Baby kidnapping. I have always remembered vividly the images of the curly-topped child peering back at me in black and white. Next to these images were the pictures of the convicted kidnapper and murderer, Bruno Hauptmann, sitting in the electric chair. These are amazing things to keep tucked in the back of your mind...

The other night before heading off to sleep, I decided I would inbibe a brew and watch some History Channel. The program was about the Lindbergh Baby kidnapping. It was amazing, to see all of the old photos flashed upon the screen that I remembered from the Dillinger museum twenty some years ago. What I soon realized is, the freaky Lindbergh Baby and beer do not mix. I swear I have thought about that baby thirty times a day for past week. It's really creeping me out. For those of you who don't know the Lindbergh Baby, look him up. It's a sad tale. But whatever you do, don't look him up if you've been drinking.

As a side bar, I looked up the Dillinger Museum on the net. It looks as if the Museum has been closed in Nashville since 1999 and has moved up north to Hammond, Indiana. I cannot confirm this as I have not been to Nashville in ten years. If any one has any info, shoot me a line.

Welcome to 21st Amendment

Welcome to 21st Amendment. This is my first blogging experience, so hopefully it will be a place to share ideas, yours and mine, about whatever the hell is going on out there. For those of you who don't know, the 21st Amendment is the amendment to the Constitution of the United States that repealed the prohibition on liquor. In its entirety it reads,

Amendment XXI

Section 1: The eighteenth article of amendment to the Constitution of the United States is hereby repealed.
Section 2: The transportation or importation into any State, Territory, or possession of the United States for delivery or use therein of intoxicating liquors, in violation of the laws thereof, is hereby prohibited.
Section 3: This article shall be inoperative unless it shall have been ratified as an amendment to the Constitution by conventions in the several States, as provided in the Constitution, within seven years from the date of the submission hereof to the States by the Congress.

Today, the amendment serves little practical purpose except maybe to prohibit the importation of our favorite out of state wines and to serve as a reminder of what happens when we amend the greatest article of law the world has ever known for the sake of "morality." At least we can amend it, right? Does anyone else have a hard time believing that the word "liquor" is actually in the Constitution (not once but twice!)? Best-