Crikey!

Steve Irwin, the Crocodile Hunter, lies dead tonight, the victim not of a bear or a python or a shark or even a croc, but of that most deadly of aquatic life - the stingray. Yes, in what may end up being the freakiest celebrity death of 2006 - that is, unless Andy Dick rears his peculiar head - the 44-year-old Irwin was done in by a chance encounter with one of the otherwise graceful sea creatures during a diving tour off of the Great Barrier Reef. It seemed that as Irwin jumped into the water, the stingray, buried in the sand underneath the water, picked that exact time for its barbed tail to spring out, where it stabbed Irwin in the chest and punctured his heart. The great Aussie environmentalist probably never knew what hit him.

This is a time to mourn the loss of a larger-than-life figure, to feel for his American-born widow and partner in business and nature, Terri, who now will have to raise two young children on her own and most likely maintain the vast empire she and Steve had created for the benefit of the wildlife of Australia and beyond. But it's also a chance to smile - not only for the good times Irwin brought to his fans, but out of envy for a man who died doing what he loved, and how many of us will be able to do that? Well, maybe Andy Dick eventually, though that's the fodder for an entirely separate blog entry. As wacky as Irwin could be, and that was pretty damn wacky (did I mention he was from Australia?), he inspired a generation of young people worldwide to get involved, in ways big and small, in the preservation of this planet and the fascinating creatures who live on it. And he did more for the fashion of shorty shorts on men than anyone this side of Richard Simmons.

So as you sit at your dinner table to say grace or whatever tonight, think a good thought for Steve Irwin. Better yet, hoist a pint or two of beer in his honor. Bonus points if it's a Foster's.

Dylan Goes iTunes ...

I don't whether this is the end of the world, or the beginning ...

Read more by clicking the subject line.

Pluto voted off of the solar system island ...

Well, not exactly, but it sure seems like that after the International Astronomical Union - wow, just imagine the keggers those guys have - finally determined, after a long and acrimonious meeting in Prague, that Pluto, the icy sphere that has been considered the ninth planet in our solar system for more than 75 years, really doesn't deserve to be called a planet in the "classical" sense. In short, Pluto was bringing down the value of the neighborhood, so it is has been relegated to the ghetto of the land of "dwarf planets."

Pluto's major crime? It didn't help that its orbit isn't totally smooth, that its elliptical path around the sun overlaps with that of Planet Number Eight, Neptune. (In fact, from 1979 to 1999, Pluto was the eighth farthest "planet" from the sun because of that wacky orbit. Hope Plutonians enjoyed that brush with fame.) The official term being used by the IAU is actually "clearing the neighborhood" - really technical, guys.

Besides, stats prove that Pluto is a horrible place to raise children. You know - rampant crime, unattractive environments, average temperature of -387.4 degrees Fahrenheit. That's not exactly Vegas, guys.

So woe for fans of Pluto. Once again, the little guys get the shaft. Residents of Pluto probably will file a protest, but since they do have about 3.5 billion miles to travel to the meet with the IAU, this could take a while.

NOTE: One member of the IAU mentioned that few people would be "excited" by this decision, yet the organization's Web site was down when I just checked, apparently overwhelmed by that teeny level of excitement.

NOTE 2: Some may ask, if Pluto gets ejected from the planetary club because its orbit crosses that of Neptune's, then why isn't Neptune out? Apparently they wrote a footnote for Neptune dismissing that problem. So how does Neptune get out of that mess? Maybe they have photos of some of the more prominent IAU members playing with Uranus! [rimshot]

Snakes in a ... well, guess

You had to know this was coming ...

From a news Web site in, of all places, central Florida, where you know something like this would happen:

Two live diamondback rattlesnakes were released in an Arizona movie theater during a showing of the new film "Snakes on a Plane" ...

Authorities said pranksters released the young venomous rattlesnakes in a dark theater at the AMC Desert Ridge near Tatum and Loop 101 in Phoenix.

The two snakes caused a panic in the dark theater, according to the report.

"That to me is very scary," herpetological association representative Tom Whiting said. "I would hate to be watching a movie about snakes and have a rattlesnake bite me."

Wranglers were called to collect the snakes, the report said.

No one was injured in the incident and, so far, the culprits have not been caught.

Officials believe the snakes were smuggled into the theater in backpacks.

"This thing is under someone's chair and they go to sit and they just push your foot in the air and startle it -- obviously all they got to do is startle this thing," Phoenix Herpetological Society spokesman Daniel Marchand said. "It's dark. They can't see you, you know that well. If it's scared, boom it strikes."

The snakes were released into the desert.

I supposed in a day in which every other movie starring a rapper as a cop or a robber or something in between is greeted with at least one report about some "prankster" bringing a loaded weapon into a theater, this thing was a no-brainer. But then, how come this crap doesn't happen whenever there's a film about vampires? Where are the rattlesnakes then, eh?

Click the subject line for what I'm sure is some dazzling video.

Well, THAT was interesting ...

Last night, I was seen by a couple million people or so shilling for my new Snakes on a Plane book on MSNBC's Countdown with Keith Olbermann. It was quite the odd experience for someone who hadn't been on television since he was 17, and that was when I was the captain of my high school's academic team, and it's not that difficult to forget that there's a camera capturing your every move when you're trying to remember who was the President when the League of Nations was formed. This was something new and different, and an eye-opener for a guy who covers TV for a living, I must say. But rather than get long-winded, I thought I would tell this story in picture form. So, here we go!



This is the Lincoln Town Car that MSNBC sent to pick me up. Yeah, just like Herbie Stempel in Quiz Show, only without the NBC logo on the side. Fancy! The car even came with its own driver, Rich, which is good, 'cause I don't know how to drive. Rich was really cool - he knew how to get to the studio without any help.



This is Pacific Television Center, the West L.A. facility where I did my spot. I though they were going to take me to Burbank, but this was much more convenient to my location. Besides, there would be no place for Rich to park there since Leno hogs the parking lot with his 25 cars.




This is Patty, the women charged with the most difficult of tasks - to make me presentable for the air. I'd never had makeup applied to me before, and I can't say I was looking forward to it. But Patty was very gentle with me, and I didn't sneeze once during the process.

Note the protruding bald head, by the way ... scary!





This is the "green room," which of course isn't really green. It's weird to watch a show that you're going to be on actually in progress, especially when they promote your upcoming appearance. It really gives you a lot to think about.



See?



Finally, about 10 minutes before I went on the air, they called me into the actual studio, which is a fairly small room with a chair and a camera directly in front. Here one of the techs is preparing to wire me for sound, as it were. Notice the green wall behind, which was magically transformed into a nightscape, something I didn't even realize until it was all over, distracted as I was.




"Pay no attention to the person behind the black man ..."




This is what I saw directly ahead - a monitor of just me (which I had them turn off because it was way too distracting), a monitor that shows the actual broadcast (which was about 30 seconds behind what the actual interview) and the camera. Note the smiley face below the lens; that's what I was supposed to focus on while I was on the air.

Oh, and this may be a good time to note that Keith Olbermann, who is a SoaP fanatic, was actually off last night. I was interviewed by Brian Unger, whom I believe used to be on The Daily Show. I coped. :)




Patty does a final touch-up ...




I'm all ready to go. Slightly terrified, but ready to go ...


And ... and then I went on. The consensus seems to be that I didn't screw up. If you want to see me in action - and you have a PC with the proper equipment (no Macs allowed, sadly) - you can click on the headline to go to the Countdown page, where there have a link to my interview. But I lived. And as you can see below, I was very, very relieved to have done my thing without saying anything stupid. And on Monday - Geraldo!




A big thanks to my friend Anne, who was my support system and chief photographer for this mission ...

Perspective ...

Wow.

It's true what they say when they say that friends are the most valuable commodity that a person can have.

True friends are always there for you. They cheer you up when you're down, they pat you on the back when you've achieved something, and they snap you back to reality when your head grows too large for the rest of your body and soul.

I just experienced the last part of that equation, in a subtle but valuable way, thanks to one of my best friends in the world, the lovely and fair Beth.

Beth has been my friend for several years now. She was a co-worker at a previous job, and when that gig went away for both of us, we actually grew closer. Thanks to the companion known as unlimited long distance, we speak on the phone nearly every day, often multiple times, as well as e-mail and the occasional instant messaging. Hopefully some of you have checked out her own blog, which is bookmarked on the right side of this one.

Beth is really an extraordinary woman. She's a great writer, a good singer, an excellent cook and baker. (Brownies - mmmm.) And she's also a good bullshit detector. And I had told her when I started with the Snakes on a Plane book to keep me honest, to make sure that any part of the process didn't go to my head.

And today, it kind of did.

Today, believe it or not, I shot a story about me and my book for Geraldo Rivera's syndicated show, Geraldo at Large. (I know, I know. But it was interesting to see how such spots are put together.) The story will be on Monday - check local listings. But the point of this is that when I got home, I called Beth to tell her about it, since she works out of her place like me and thus is usually more readily available for impromptu conversations than some of my other, office-bound chums. And after telling her my tale, I threw this in: "I hope nothing happens in the world that would bump me out of the show."

What did I say, Beth asked. And, like a lummox, I repeated what I had just said. And then I knew what I had done.

There is a lot going on in the world today, something I don't have to tell you guys. And most of it is far more important than Snakes on a Plane or the book that I wrote about the response to the movie. Sure, films like this are, at their best, necessary diversions from the seriousness of the news. But that's all they are, diversions. And for me to put myself above Iraq or Israel or the oil prices or even the JonBenet Ramsey story - yeah, that was a bit much. And Beth said so in a way that was not scornful or mean, but nevertheless hit the nail on the head.

So I may get bumped on Monday if the world blows up or something. It won't be the end of the world. Well, it may be, but you get the picture. So Beth did her due diligence as a friend, which is precisely why she's my friend. That, and the brownies.

P.S. If the spirit moves you, donate some legal tender to Beth's 3-Day Breast Cancer Walk, the link to which can be found on her own blog site. She does it every year, it's a really good cause, and she is quite the good egg.

A quick thought about JonBenet Ramsey

Now that an actual suspect has been arrested in the murder of JonBenet Ramsey nearly 10 years after her slaying, and it appears to be the guy, I wonder if all of the people who publicly accused John and Patsy Ramsey of killing their 6-year-old daughter will have the balls to go up to John - and to go Patsy's grave - to apologize to them personally.

Just a thought.

Pigs.

And now, a word about women. I love them. Just about all of them, with one or two exceptions (cough-Ann Coulter!-cough), but like most men or gay women, I do have my preferences. They aren't dealbreakers, but they're my things, and that's part of the tapestry that makes this planet so cool, or maybe so frustrating to the point of deadly warfare. Maybe it's somewhere in between.

One of those preferences is size. I prefer women who are curvy. This is not to say that I would turn my head away from a thin woman, but a lot depends on how thin she is. If she's, say, Sarah Jessica Parker thin, where there's some tone to her frame, that works. If she's Nicole Richie thin, then it's a no-go situation. If I'm with a woman in bed, I'd rather not slide off of her during the intimate moment. So you can guess that I'm not a big proponent of the trend that never ends, the Hollywood starlets that think that the best way to show off, to get that big part or that hot guy, is to have the figure of a 12-year-old emaciated boy from the Sudan.

So on the one end, I'm happy to see an article by Holly Millea in Details magazine about the revival of the curvy, healthy Hollywood babe in the forms of such actresses as Scarlett Johansson and Evangeline Lilly, not to mention "old" stalwarts such as Kate Winslet, Catherine Zeta-Jones and Drew Barrymore. What I am not happy about at all is the supplements the Details editors felt the need to add to Millea's piece to make it - oh, I don't know - punchier? Was it really necessary to use a headline such as "Why Fat Is Back in Hollywood"? Since when is Scarlett Johansson "fat"? This country has a serious, real problem with obesity, but it's not a solution to slap that label, however indirectly, on Liv Tyler or Katherine Heigl? And how clever is it to begin an online slideshow of famed voluptuous women with a shot of a pig wearing glittery high heels?

By invoking this tasteless imagery, the Details folks have dropped the ball. Millea's curve-positive article, standing alone, could have been a celebration of the notion that a woman doesn't have to starve herself to be sexy and desirable, in Hollywood or otherwise. Instead the editors went for the cheap thrill in an effort to be funny or cute. All they are, apparently, are idiots. We know where their bread is buttered now.

Click on the subject line to read Millea's article. It may help to use the printer-friendly version.

He's still dead!

These photos of Castro and Hugh Chavez prove nothing - except, perhaps, that they are about to be wed. But would Chavez marry a corpse? Maybe - he's a bit of an odd duck, no?

Look, they match!

He's dead!

Fidel Castro is dead. How he died, how long he has been dead - no one knows that except the powers that be in Cuba. But ever since they announced last week that he was relinquising power temporarily because of intestinal surgery, I had a feeling that there was more going on than meets the eye. This has all of the signs of what went on in the days of the Soviet Union when one of those old coots in charge would disappear for weeks or months on end, they would say that the codger had a head cold, and next thing you know, they're having his funeral. Since Cuba is the closest thing we have to a Soviet-like system, why wouldn't they do the same thing when their leader gets sick or worse?

And now today, the authorities in Havana have released some photos of their fearless leader to prove that he is still with us. One of them has Castro holding up a newspaper allegedly from today. See, this proves to me that Fidel is wormmeat. To have hom hold up a current newspaper as if he was a hostage or something - no, this has Photoshop written all over it.

Mark my words - in a month, they'll make the announcement. Relapse, they'll call it. But Fidel's in a freezer somewhere.

Snakes on My Blog!

Blogs. Wow, they are pesky things.

They are pesky because once you start one, there are those who, you know, feel that you have an obligation to update it on a regular basis. And that's not as easy as it sounds.

My dear friend Beth has a blog; it's bookmarked to your right (donate to her breast cancer walk!). She managed to blog about something at least once a day. It may be a review of a DVD she just saw or a musing about the state of the world, or even something as silly as an update on her hair. But she sticks with it. Considering she's a writer by trade, and that she's good at what she does, that's not that surprising. But I'm a writer by trade, and I've been told that I'm pretty good at what I do, and yet I've dong exactly one posting in the past two months. The spiders who have spun cobwebs on this blog are going to be pissed that there's disruption going on.

So what's my excuse?


Well, I have been busy, you know, writing my first book and seeing it actually published for consumption by the public. You can see the book pictured to your left, along with the curious face of the author. The book is called Snakes on a Plane: The Guide to the Internet Ssssssensation.

No, really, it is. Can't you see the cover?

It's a long story to explain what it's about and how it happened. Suffice it to say that there is a movie that's about to be released called Snakes on a Plane. It is about ... well, snakes on a plane - more specifically, the crate of poisonous snakes that has been smuggled onto a jet plane going from Hawaii to Los Angeles. The plane that is carrying a witness to the murder trial of a notorious crime lord, with federal agent Samuel L. Jackson covering his ass. The snakes are there to kill everyone on the plane, especially the witness, with no fingerprints from the crime lord remaining. Well, Mr. Jackson gets wind of the plot, and then everyone else did, which explains the flood of SoaP material that has turned up on the Internet, created not by a marketing department but rather by ordinary people with vivid imaginations about what they want this movie to be.

In fact, the fan reaction became so rabid that New Line did the only sensible thing they could - they got out of everyone's way. In the past, other studios have become very protective of their intellectual material, often showering industrious online fans of their projects with cease-and-desist orders to remove any material that comes to close to comfort in their eyes. But New Line went the other way. In fact, they went so far to authorize five days of reshoots back in March based mostly on the ideas of the fans. The result should be a gorier, sexier and much more profane SoaP than the studio was planning for. Soon after than, New Line coordinated a contest to pick an up-and-coming musical act to contribute a song to the SoaP soundtrack. And the official Web page now includes images and mini-apps that people can use for their own sites.

And now, a book about the phenomenon that has been thrust upon us by SoaP. It wasn't my idea. An agent called me out of the blue in early April, had an idea that a book about this would be a big success. I agreed, especially after a cursory review of the stuff that was out there. And so I wrote the proposal for the book, then it sold, then I had basically the month of June to churn out a 96-page manuscript, complete with the images that would accompany the text. That meant a lot of interviews, a lot of transcription, a lot of everything except for sleep and healthy eating.

And the result? Hopefully not only a compendium of the best, brightest and oddest that is out then in terms of SoaP fandom, but also an examination of how a simple, silly movie can motivate so many to put their own brains to the grindstone to produce thins such as a movie short or a song, or a poem or a children's story, or a line of T-shirts. You don't see anyone doing this for Mission: Impossible III now, do you? This is heady stuff we're dealing with here. And by this time next week, we should know how ultimately effective it all was. Personally, I'll be surprised if SoaP makes less than $40 million for its opening weekend. And the worse it is, the better. Just as long as it's not boring.

So that is primarily where I have been for so long. The book kind of took over my life, and it's still there. Because now comes the publicity. Actually, it's been going on for a while. Already I've been interviewed by E! Online, Reuters, The Christian Science Monitor and the Toronto Star. Entertainment Weekly quoted me in their big SoaP cover story last week. And in about five minutes I do the first of several radio interviews set for this week, which is the big push for the book. Oh, and I'm going to be on TV with Keith Olbermann on MSNBC on Wednesday. Olbermann has been a big fan of the film for months now, so me being on with him is to be expected, I guess. This is all so weird for me. I hope I never get used to it.

By the way, if I get a big head about all of this, you'll let me know, right?

Right?

Buy my book! :)

Amazon

Barnes & Noble

I knew it!

From CNN, regarding today's foiled terrorist plot:

Plotters were to carry a "British version of Gatorade," detonate it with iPod or cell phone, source says ...

You see. I knew that crap would be the end of us someday! Ick!

And don't even get me started on what a British version of that stuff must taste like. Probaby makes Red Bull taste like pure heaven.

Cobwebs and dust bunnies ...

Pardon my deliquency when it comes to posting regularly here. I've got a reason, I promise - I've been writing a book, which is now available both in bookstores and online at Amazon and B&N.com. I promise I'll get back to writing here soon enough. For now, though, allow me to clean up a little bit ...

Helmet head ...

Ben Roethlisberger may be the luckiest son-of-a-bitch in Pittsburgh today. But he's also one of the dumbest as well.

Roethlisberger, as some of you may know, is the 24-year-old quarterback of the NFL's Pittsburgh Steelers, who won the Super Bowl in February. That makes Roethlisberger one of the very top dogs in the city. He's rich, he's good-looking, he's off to what promises to be legendary career in one of the country's most football-crazy cities. And he loves to rides motorcycles - without a helmet. He points out that a long-standing law in Pennsylvania requiring motorcycle helmets was changed a few years ago to make helmets optional. He's been chewed out by both his coach, Bill Cowher, and by former Steelers QB Terry Bradshaw for going sans lid when he rides, told that he's putting his career in jeopardy, let alone his life. Neither of those formidable men seemed to make an impression on Roethlisberger.

Maybe this will: This morning, as Roethlisberger was rolling through downtown Pittsburgh on his ride, he apparently was cut off by one car, an action which threw the young athlete off his bike over his handlebars and into an oncoming car - head first. He then tumbled onto the pavement and was taken to a local hospital's trauma center. Early reports indicate that his injuries are not life-threatening, that he has a bad gash on his forehead and a possible concussion. One called to ESPN Radio indicated that Roethlisberger may have a broken jaw.

So, like I said, Roethlisberger is very lucky to have apparently escaped this accident with non-serious injuries. But, my God, what was he thinking? It's good to be young and independent and without a care in the world. But it also can be very dangerous. It was, of course, Roethlisberger's right as a citizen of Pennsylvania to choose not to wear a helmet while riding his motorcycle - indeed, to ride a motorcycle, period. But for someone who has shown such poise and maturity on the football field, he proved today that in other ways, he is still just a kid.

If nothing else, Roethlisberger should have paid attention to recent sports history, to the stories of Chicago Bulls point guard Jay Williams and Cleveland Browns tight end Kellen Winslow. Both men came into the pros of their respective sports loaded with potential - and both nearly threw it away in devastating motorcycle accidents. Williams nearly died in June 2003 when he crashed into a Chicago intersection, and suffered injuries to his lower body that were seriously enough that the Bulls released him. Winslow, a top draft choice of the Browns, already had missed most of his rookie season with a broken leg when, in May 2005, he blew his knee out while executing stunts on his bike and missed all of the 2005 season. As a result, Winslow has to forfeit some of his big Brown bucks for violating a clause in his contract outlawing "dangerous activities."

Right now it is unclear if Roethlisberger has such language in his Steelers pact. But even if there isn't such a clause, the Steelers should seriously consider taking back some of their millions if Roethlisberger misses just one game as a result of his injuries. In a sports world fueled by money, that seems to be the only argument that athletes will listen to these days. Roethlisberger can ride his motorcycle all over the place the day after he retires from professional football. But now, with so much cash on the table and so many Super Bowl rings to win, is not the time.

We in the transplant community refer to motorcycles as "donorcycles" because of the idiots who ride without a helmet and the fresh organs they supply to others after pulverizing their brains in accidents that they may have walked away from otherwise. Thankfully, it seems that Roethlisberger has avoided that fate. The question now is, will he see the light, or remain a kid at heart and mind?

[UPDATE - 11:30 a.m. pt] ESPN Radio reports that Roethlisberger is in serious but stable condition and is now undergoing surgery. ESPN host Dan Patrick just said that he is being flooded with e-mails and calls from the Pittsburgh area with info about Roehlisberger's situation but he said he won't report on them on the air until he gets confirmation, so as not to "alarm" listeners. This may be worse than thought.

[NEW UPDATE - 12:05 p.m.] ESPN now reporting that Roethlisberger suffered a broken jaw, the loss of most of his teeth, a laceration to his forehead and - and this may be the key football-wise - serious damage to both his knees when he hit the ground. Uh-oh ...

The Number of the Beast ... kind of

Today is June 6, 2006 - or, as those with little time on their hands, 6-6-06. You know what that means. Yes, an excuse to release another bad remake! I mean, what other justification could there be for the production of a new "Omen" movie, other that it could be released on this once-in-a-century date? But if you needed more proof of the power of this ominous day, consider this. Today the Los Angeles Angels (of Anaheim) play the Tampa Bay Devil Rays in - wait for it - St. Petersburg, Florida. Not only does this baseball match-up combine words that convey of heaven and hell, but it also takes place in Florida, maybe the closest thing to hell this country has today.

Oooooooo. Freaky.

R-O-C-K O-N

(From left) Saryn Hooks, Finola Hackett, Katharine Close. Behold the future. Bow down and grovel.

Last night the viewing public was treated to the kind of reality program I can get behind - a live presentation of the finals of the 79th Annual Scripps National Spelling Bee, in which 13 of the best and brightest of North America gathered in Washington D.C. to spell their little hearts out. Now, I can expect some cynics out there to scoff at this event, at the garishness of thrusting young ones into the harsh spotlight of primetime television and ripping the innocence out of a precocious event in the name of ratings. But nothing could be further from the truth. In fact, last night's show was not only a thrilling competition, but a celebration of the coolness of education and intelligence.

ABC, which has had a checkered history in the reality-TV realm (for every "Extreme Makeover: Home Edition," there is an "Are You Hot?" or "The Bachelor: This Time They'll Stay Together - We Promise!") did a splendid job with their presentation, never overselling the deal or going overboard with caustic elements. No kid was forced to eat a cockroach or sit in a confessional box and spill their guts. They were all clean-cut and charming and displayed loads of personality. And they all were very, very smart, spelling words so complicated that Microsoft Word's spell check won't even bother with many of them.

There was drama when Saryn Hooks, a 14-year-old from North Carolina, was eliminated from the competition for misspelling the word "hechescher" and then reinstated a few minutes later when judges determined that they screwed up their spelling of the word. (She eventually finished third.) There was surprise when the presumed favorite, confident 13-year-old Rajiv Tarigopula of St. Louis, was knocked out after flubbing the world "heiligenschein" (a bright light around a shadow of a person's head cause by dew drops - or something like that. God, did they make these words up or what?). And there was white-knuckle suspense as the final two competitors, Katharine Close of New Jersey and Canadian Finola Hackett, went toe-to-toe for several rounds nailing with ease words that God Himself wouldn't know how to spell before Finola finally got tripped up and Katharine ("Kerry" to, well, just about everybody) sealed the deal with the word "ursprache," which means parent language. She responded as any kid would and should - with utter disbelief, even though her confidence had shown through all night long.

I was very happy to see education on display for all of the nation to see. I was stoked that the final three spellers were all girls, 'cause you can never give enough attention to that aspect of the education issue. And I was very pleased for Kerry, who looks like the type of kid who will be able to handle the extra attention - and there will be a lot of it. Already she has done the three network morning shows, and I'm sure Leno and Letterman, among other things, are in the offing. (Kerry wants to be a journalist. We'll see if she sticks to that after dealing with the same questions over and over again.) If native sons Bruce Springsteen and Tony Soprano give her congratulatory phone calls, her year will be complete. Oh, that $42,000 in prize money won't hurt, either.

There always are signs that the bloom could pop off of this rose pretty damn quick. Some bettors actually laid odds on this year's competition. There's talk that the prize package could skyrocket if the finals remain on broadcast primetime, and who knows if that would destroy the camaraderie the spellers obviously build among each other. (Would it be long before some ambitious parent puts a hit out on his kid's main rival, or at least gives him a very sore throat?) But let's not think about that right now. Let's revel in the triumph of what happened yesterday. Can you spell a-w-e-s-o-m-e?

P.S. An interesting sidebar - last year Kerry Close was randomly picked to be the audience speller during a Broadway performance of the Tony-winning musical "The 25th Annual Putnam County Spelling Bee." Foreshadowing?

Click on the subject title for Newsday's take on the hometown girl done good.

Operation Perish Hilton

And now, I give you a reason to hate Hilton Hotels other than the existence of Paris Hilton. But first, a story. Once upon a time, there was a restaurant in Washington D.C., not to far from Walter Reed Army Hospital and Bethesda Naval Hospital, that decided to do a nice thing for the seriously wounded Iraq veterans who were recuperating at the medical facilities. This restaurant, called Fran O'Brien's, made a plan to hold free steak dinners for the wounded soldiers every Friday night, giving them a place to have a good meal with all of the trimmings, to enjoy bottomless drinks and, hopefully, to have a welcome respite from the pain of rehab and tests, and from the harsh adjustment process that comes with losing one or more limbs in a combat zone. The proprietors of Fran O'Brien's pulled out all the stop to make their special clientele comfortable, even going so far as to purée steaks for those who could no longer chew - you know, 'cause part of their jaws were gone - and to purée them in a way that they could still tell they were consuming steak. In other words, Fran O'Brien's gave a damn about these men and women and what they had given up for the sake of their country.

All of this is now in the past tense, 'cause Fran O'Brien's held its last Friday night dinner a few days ago. You see, the restaurant was located in the basement of the Capitol Hilton Hotel in D.C., and the folks at Hilton have seen to evict the restaurant from the space. May 1 is their last day of business. The folks at Hilton, if you ask them - and many have in the weeks since this story first went down - will tell you that this is only business, that it had nothing to do with the weekly sight of wheelchair-bound people regularly appearing on their property. They say that negotiations for a lease renewal broke down, and just recently pulled out the old "late rent" chestnut. Hilton even offered to continue the tradition elsewhere in the facility - just not at Fran O'Brien's, and not with the staff who was catered to the veterans' needs for the past two-and-a-half years.

There's the likelihood that the Friday night dinners aren't done yet. The owners of Fran O'Brien's say they are looking for new permanent space, and several D.C. locations, including the Italian embassy (!) have offered temporary refuge. But that's almost not the point. The bigger point is how Hilton Hotels, a major international corporation, could have made such a boneheaded P.R. choice - and, worse, how they seem hellbound not to submit to pressure - pressure coming from all political stripes and from all opinions about the Iraq war itself - to change its mind and do the right thing.

So I ask everyone who reads this blog to make it a bit clearer to the Hilton folks about what's going on here - by never, ever staying at a Hilton property again. Ever. If you have a Hilton account, cancel it. If you're a member of Hilton's HHonors program, cancel that. If they ask you why you're canceling, tell them why. (I would have posted some direct e-mail addresses to Hilton executives, but it seems that most of these have been disabled, making the fat cats something the wounded vets aren't - cowards.)

Click the subject line (which I didn't think of, by the way) to read the Washington Post article about the last Friday night dinner at Fran O'Brien's.

P.S. Hilton Hotels would have never pulled this stuff during World War II. Just something to think about.

Memories ...

Today is Barbra Streisand's 64th birthday. Say what you will about her politics (or, maybe more precisely, how she talks about them) or her quirks or her obsession with her legs and nails. (Well, she does have great legs.) But it's safe to say that there are few individuals who have had the life or career she has had. (Or, according to a recent unauthorized biography, the sex life. Both Princess Di's ex-husband and one-time lover? Yowza!) And she's still going strong, with her box-office success in Meet the Fockers and word of yet another "farewell" concert tour to take place later this year. Though Ms. Streisand would be well advised not to go crazy with the ticket prices, as there are already reports that they could be as high as $1500. You're great, Babs, but unless you're going to shoot golden eggs out of your bum and distribute them to the audience, all while singing "The Way We Were," that's not cool. Especially when people will have to spend that much money just to drive to the arena.

BTW, who sings "Happy Birthday" to Barbra Streisand? Does she record herself doing it and then play it back to herself?

Primal primates!

Click on the subject line for a horrible story about a pack of maraduing chimpanzees who are wanted by the law in Sierra Leone - literally - for killing one man and injuring at least four. Seems that the chimps broke out of the preserve they were living in and then ripped a taxi driver to bits while injuring the Americans who were in the car with him. Yeah, they look cute and all, but apparently they also can be total badasses when crossed or onery or something. Let's just hope that al Qaeda or the CIA doesn't hire them.

Keith Hernandez - former MLB player, current Neanderthal hairdo ...

So I haven't blogged in a few weeks, partly because of a possible business project that has dominated my existence (and hopefully will for the next two months - and no, I can't tell you what it is), and partly because I haven't had anything to say (though I did have plenty to say about Derrek Lee breaking his wrist on Wednesday night, none of it printable on a family-friendly blog). But, alas, something has come up, and it also involves the world of baseball.

Seems that Keith Hernandez, a former Major League first basement of reasonable skills who has now become a TV broadcaster for the New York Metropolitans, was doing the Mets-Padres game in San Diego the other night when, early on, he noticed a woman in the Padres' dugout congratulating catcher Mike Piazza after he homered. To which he made the enlightened comment:

"Who is the girl in the dugout, with the long hair? What's going on here? You have got to be kidding me? Only player personnel in the dugout."

What Hernandez didn't know, or didn't care to find out before he opened his trap, was that the girl with the "long hair" was fully authorized to be there. She was Kelly Calabrese, the massage therapist for the San Diego Padres. In short, she had more business being in the dugout that Hernandez now has. Upon hearing that Calabrese was indeed street legal, he came around - not.

"I won't say that women belong in the kitchen, but they don't belong in the dugout."

Now, I guess Hernandez can be forgiven for his thought process concerning this issue. After all, he cut his teeth in the '70s and '80s, when women were much more likely to be carrying out their baseball duties in the hotel rooms of traveling players than in the clubhouses or front offices. And, true, that's probably still the case in many cases. But in 2006, women are deeply involved in most aspects of the game with full legitimacy. There are female co-owners. A woman came very close to becoming the general manager of the Los Angeles Dodgers last winter. Oh, and by the way, Keith, women are also in Congress, in the president's cabinet, in CEO offices and currently are in harm's way, and sometimes beyond, on the front lines of Iraq. And I will tell Hernandez and everyone else something - there will come a day when a woman will be in uniform for a Major League Baseball team. And she will most likely be 6 feet tall and a left-handed pitcher, 'cause when you find a southpaw hurler with good mechanics and a wicked change-up, it won't matter much what chromosomes are in play.

And if Keith Hernandez doesn't like that prospect - well, I'm sure he'll tell us about it. Or he can just lock himself in a room and put his Seinfeldepisode on a loop on his DVD player and remember the "good ol' days," when women knew their place.

Three strikes, you're out.

Read the article describing this by clicking the subject line.

UPDATE: Hernandez "apologized" for his comments during Sunday's broadcast - while pointing out, without actually saying it, that Calabrese's presence in the Padres' dugout may have been against MLB regulations anyway because teams are only allowed to have the "head" and "assistant" trainers there during a game. Wow, Keith, good job there at being contrite. He'd be great as a politician. (The New York Daily News reports that his sorry act was kind of forced on him by his bosses at the SNY sports network, which further waters down its validity.)

Life ...

... is fleeting. No one really has to be told that these days, what with the growing casualty list out of the Middle East dominating the current news cycle. God knows no one has to tell me that, as I have a sobering reminder of that each morning when, after my shower, I look in the mirror and see that very long scar on my belly, under which somebody else's liver has resided for the past 16-plus years. Yeah, life isn't a permanent condition, but that doesn't mean that you can't still get royally pissed off when it's swiped away from someone for what seems to be no good reason.


Three weeks ago Maggie Dixon was on top of her world. The 28-year-old has become one of the fuzzy feel-good moments of the college basketball world. In her first year as the head coach of Army's women's basketball team - a job she had taken just 10 days before the season began - she had taken her young squad to the NCAA tournament, an impressive accomplishment considering the Lady Black Knights had been a nondescript program beforehand. What's more, Dixon had made history as half of the first brother-sister tandem to ever coach their teams into the NCAAs in the same season, as her beloved older brother Dixon had led the University of Pittsburgh's men's squad to the Big Dance. The biggest dilemma the Dixons' parents had was how to watch both games in the same weekend. The fact that both Jamie and Maggie lost their respective first-round games didn't dampen the ebullient occasion for the family. After all, the future was bright for both of them.

That was three weeks ago. This morning, Maggie Dixon is dead, struck down in the prime of her life by what at this point remains a mysterious cardiac arrhythmia suffered while at West Point, hours after having breakfast with her brother.

One can only imagine what the siblings talked about over their last meal together - I would guess their conversation was filled with the excitement both Maggie and Jamie had to still be feeling over their own fortunes, and each other's. Maggie definitely was a rising star among her ranks, a talented and energetic young woman who had charmed her players and peers with her magnetic charm. One photo that sticks in my head centered on Maggie Dixon giving one of her players a chest bump following a thrilling win. It was a moment of pure joy.

Yeah, the future was bright for Maggie Dixon. Now, she has no future.

I am not a religious person for reasons I will not get into at this juncture. But I believe in God wholeheartedly. The fact that I am still alive is for me proof that God exists. But there are times when I don't get God, when I'm even angry at God for the stuff that sometimes occurs on this mortal plane. This is one of those times. They always say that there is a purpose for everything. But why this young, vital woman lies dead less than a month after such a huge personal and professional triumph, with everything ahead of her - I don't get that, and I really don't want to get that. Even if it inspires her brother, her players, total strangers who never met Maggie Dixon in some way, I'm not sure it justifies her abrupt passing.

It's just not fair. But no one said life is fair, I guess.

It definitely is fleeting, though.

Read more about Maggie Dixon by clicking the subject line above.

Lose Her ... Again

Word has broken that Marshall Mathers, the artist currently known as Eninem, has filed for divorce from his wife Kim - three months after marrying her for the second time. You will recall, true believers, that the Mathers had given the matrimony thing a go the first time around in 1999, after meeting in high school and dating for several years. That marriage ended in 2000 and resulted in much acrimony, a vicious custody battle for their daughter (who is now 10) and mucho material for Eninem's top-selling CDs about how he'd like to, you know, kill his wife and all. So now it's Round Two and maybe more stuff for Eninem to rant about on his next album - if there is a next album, as there have been hints about him retiring from performing. But to Marshall and Kim, a word of advice: One way or another, make up your damn minds already! It was kind of cute with Liz and Dick, but this is ridiculous.

Read all about it by clicking the subject line above.

Note: Not to get terribly political, but for those who crow about how same-sex marriage would marginalize and weaken the institution overall, I present to you the preceding story as Exhibit B. (Exhibit A being the legendary 55-hour union between Britney Spears and Jason "I'm not George Costanza" Alexander.)

Opening Day 2006: Cubs 16, Reds 7

Yeah! The season's over, Cubs finish year undefeated, World Series bound!

If only ...

Still, a good start. Let's go for 162-0! (Might as well ...)

The Cubs did what?

I have been a Chicago Cubs fan for 25 years. And being a Cubs fan, that means I've been through a lot of stuff, good and bad. Mostly bad. The slings and arrows that have been cast toward the lot of the Cubbie faithful have been plentiful. Leon Durham. Steve Bartman. Lights at Wrigley Field. The White Sox - gasp! - winning the World series. And now this - the Tribune Company, the dictators, er, owners of the Cubs, announced today that the newly renovated bleachers at stately Wrigley Field will henceforth be known as the Bud Light Bleachers.

I'm sure that if Harry Caray, legendary Cub fan and Bud man, were alive today, he wouldn't have a problem with this. Or, at least he'd be too drunk to care. But for me, it just seems, well, unseemly to have naming rights encroach onto what many devotees of both the team and the sport considered sacred ground. What's worse, there's a nasty feeling in my bones that the cash that will come from this deal won't be going toward the salary of a talented free-agent pitcher or outfielder, but right into the pockets of some Tribune Co. fat cat who think it's kind of cool that the Cubs haven't won the World Series in 98 years.

There's another report that Tribune may be considering finally selling the Cubs. If there is a God ...

An offer you can't refuse ...

Friends are wonderful, wonderful things to have. They laugh with you when you're happy, they cry with you when you're sad, they slap you alongside your head when you're being a jerk, and they give you fabulous advice whether you need it or not.

My friend Beth - she of the bookmarked blog to your right - just gave me some advice that I didn't ask for, but definitely needed. It wasn't about which girl I should date or which investment I should make with my money.

It was about something really, really important.

Ice cream.

Yesterday she left a message on my voice mail declaring that I had to immediately rush to my local grocery story to purchase a pint of Ben & Jerry's new flavor, "The Gobfather." Now, it's important to know that Beth, who quite likes ice cream, almost never buys anything larger than a cone for herself because she thinks she can't be trusted with the stuff in her home. So it's a really big deal when she actually has a significant quantity of ice cream inside her freezer. Therefore, the recommendation was taken seriously.


The Gobfather, by the way, consists of chocolate ice cream with fudge-covered almonds and what may be the two best words in the English language - a "nougat swirl".

Oh, it's also important to note that I am a chocoholic. Big time. Seriously, if the time ever came when the Earth ran out of chocolate, I probably would have to put a bullet in my brain. Only I would make sure that said bullet was made of the last bits of chocolate left on the planet.

Well, actually, I would probably eat the bullet and then OD on something else. But we're getting off the topic.

I didn't rush out immediately to buy a pint of The Gobfather (self-control, you know). But I did today. I got home, opened up the container and had two spoonfuls of the mixture. And I have to say that my friend Beth is a freakin' GENIUS!! My only regret is that Marlon Brando himself didn't live to taste this - and you know he had to be an ice cream connoisseur. Just look at a picture of him.

Honestly, if you love ice cream and you love chocolate, then stop reading this blog, get thee to the market and get yourself a pint of Ben & Jerry's The Gobfather. And if you don't like ice cream or chocolate, then just stop reading.

Roger Ebert speaks ...

In addition to his movie reviews, Roger Ebert has a regular column called "The Answer Man," where he answers questions from readers on a variety of topics regarding film. Not only is it an entertaining and clever feature, but on occasion it broaches issues of great importance. Two in particular from this week's column caught my eye, and I'd thought I'd share them with you, along with my own pithy responses to Ebert's responses.

Also because I haven't posted anything in a while ...

Q. I was rooting for "Brokeback Mountain" to win the Best Picture Oscar. I thought it was a great film. I haven't seen "Crash," but I'm curious now to see it and be able to make a comparison. I wish the Academy voters had done the same. For the major categories, there is no requirement that Academy voters have seen all nominees. Or that they've even seen any of the nominees. Or that the Academy member is the person actually filling out the ballot. The process is a sham.

If one of the Olympic ice skating judges missed one of the performances but then was able to submit a score that helped determine who won the gold medal, people would be outraged. The Academy should change its rules.

Bob Bartosch, Somerville, Mass.

A. Although the Academy requires members to see all five documentaries and all five foreign films before voting in those categories, there is no such requirement in any of the other categories. Perhaps it is time for new by-laws. It was widely reported that two Academy members refused to see "Brokeback Mountain" because of its gay subject matter, and anecdotal evidence that others also refused. Of course, some members no doubt voted for the film because of its theme. Members are free to vote however they want, but I think it is reasonable to expect them to see the films first, and I am awaiting apologies from Tony Curtis and Ernest Borgnine, who shamelessly went public with their refusals.

I had not heard about Curtis and Borgnine publicly stating that they avoided "Brokeback" solely for its content, although I do vaguely remember hearing about a comment from Borgnine about how gay cowboys didn't fly in his book. (I just did a Google search and found much more evidence of both of their "opinions" of the movie; guess I've been living under a rock, or at least a very large pebble.) I don't know if it's feasible to require voters to see all the eligible movies, but if I were the president of the Academy, I would suspend the voting rights of Curtis and Borgnine for at least a year for going public with their deliberate avoidance of a film in a category or categories that they voted for anyway. It's simply not fair to the process, and it makes the Academy look bad.

Question Number Two:

Q. I must take issue with your response to Jay Leno's question about whether Hollywood is out of step with the mainstream public. Your response was, "Maybe the moviegoing public is out of step with good movies." How incredibly insulting and arrogant! Your comment illustrates an obvious belief on your part that the people involved with financing, writing, directing and acting in films -- most of whom live in the unnatural and aesthetic environments of Hollywood and other cloistered situations -- know better than I and the rest of the public what WE want and need in entertainment! Many of us are TIRED of the continual diet of political, environmental and societal issues forced upon us by today's moviemakers. The overwhelming and continual box-office success of the lighter fare vs. the others proves my point.

Donna Larson, Princeton, Minn.

A. No, I think it proves my point. These 2006 films "won" their weekends or placed second: "Hostel," "Underworld: Evolution," "Big Mamma's House 2," "When a Stranger Calls," "Madea's Family Reunion," "The Hills Have Eyes," "Ultraviolet" and "Date Movie." Only three of these, by the way, were "lighter fare," unless vivisection and evisceration make you smile. During the same weeks, these films were not embraced at the box office: "The Matador," "Cache," "The New World," "Transamerica," "The Three Burials of Melquiades Estrada," "Tristram Shandy" and "Tsosti." If I prefer the films on the second list, does that make me arrogant? Moviegoers "tired of the continual diet of political, environmental and societal issues" are finding lots of films that entertain them, and those of us who prefer more challenging films have to look a little harder.

Here's some insight from Daniel R. Huron, of Texas City, Texas: "I was reading a review of 'Syriana' from Reuters but I stopped reading, not because I was offended by their opinion, but because the reviewer insisted on commenting on its box-office potential. According to the reviewer, the film was unlikely to connect with the 'under-25,' 'mainstream audience' because it is so 'dialogue heavy.' My feeling is, who cares? Shouldn't a reviewer critique the film for what it is and not for its potential to make money?"

I can't add much to Ebert's response, except this: "Gentlemen's Agreement," "Inherit the Wind," "To Kill a Mockingbird," "Guess Who's Coming to Dinner," "Norma Rae," "Philadelphia," "The Best Years of Our Lives," "Mr. Smith Goes to Washington," "The China Syndrome" ... and "The Defiant Ones," starring one Tony Curtis. I would bet that there were some Academy voters who did not see "The Defiant Ones" because they found the premise of its content - that blacks and whites can work together despite their differences - distasteful. Wonder if ol' Tony would have edged out David Niven for Best Actor in 1958 had that minority swallowed their pride and done their due diligence like they were supposed to.

Art lesson

Sit down, boys and girls. I'm about to teach you something about art that may be very important to you some day.

Last year, a man in California spent $40,000 on a drawing by Pablo Picasso. Considering Picasso's reputation as, oh, one of the great artists of the 20th century, this could be seen as a wise investment. Not to mention a bit of a bargain, considering some of ol' Pablo's paintings have been auctioned for more than $100 million, which isn't pocket change.

The one catch? The man purchased the Picasso drawing through Costco.

Yesterday, Pablo Picasso's daughter, who serves as an authenticator of her father's work, judged the drawing to be a fake.

The lesson behind all this, boys and girls? Buy your paper towels and your almonds and your silverware through Costco. But it may not be the best place through which to buy your fine art.

Click on the subject line to get the details from The New York Times.

Cock not-so-sure ...

Forgive the provocative headline, but you'll understand the reason if you click on it to read the attached story. But to some it up, a Chicago citizen was arrested the other day for causing a disturbance that included - wait for it - severing his own penis and hurling it at police. Obviously he was trying to make some point, but damned if I know what it was. Unless it was that he was tired of having sex like a normal person any more. (Actually, he told cops that he was upset about problems he was having with his girlfriend. Think of what kind of problems he's going to have now! )

Yanni arrested!

Oh my God! What's the world coming to?

Linda Evans wouldn't have put up with this!

Click the subject line for the sordid details.

Initial Oscar thoughts

Well, the dust has settled, the tuna cones and mini Kobe burgers are being munched on at the Governors Ball. The 78th annual Academy Awards are newly-made history, and some comments about the festivities already have come to mind.

* A lot of people already are calling Crash's best picture win one of the greatest upsets in Oscar history. I don't know if I'd go that far; many pundits had been predicting something like this for weeks now. Some will call it a repudiation of the themes of Brokeback Mountain; that's bunk as well. What it was was a surprise, whether you liked the movie or not, and God knows we don't see enough of that at the Academy Awards.

* Speaking of best picture, though, what the heck was going on the directors' booth? The show was running ahead of schedule when Jack Nicholson shocked the world (or not) by revealing the contents of the last envelope, yet it was deemed necessary to not allow Paul Haggis, who was literally the father of this labor of love, to say something to the audience about his unexpected triumph. And for what reason, prey tell? Apparently just so Penelope Cruz could sell some more of the hair coloring she so obviously doesn't use in real life. Gee, just think - if they had just eliminated one of the film montages about film noir or epics or head lice or something, they would have had time for even more Clairol commercials! It was a disgusting moment in a show that, for the most part, was quite entertaining.

* Speaking of - it may be hard out there for a pimp, but apparently it's even harder to be an Oscar host. It didn't take long for the Associated Press to pan him for playing it too safe. Of course, had he turned the broadcast into an extension of The Daily Show, he would have been slammed for that. Truth be told, I can't recall laughing more during an Oscar telecast. It wasn't all Stewart; Ben Stiller's green-screen gag was perfection, and Steve Carell and Will Ferrell's presenting of the makeup award while wearing face paint was very funny. But Stewart was the pulse of the piece, and after a slightly wobbly, I thought he pulled it off with his jokes that poked fun both at the Academy and himself. And the fake political ads were very clever and very hilarious. So the AP needs to, oh, get a sense of humor and, to paraphrase Thomas Jefferson, go blow. [UPDATE: Reuters and The New York Times were more complementary of Stewart's performance, for what it's worth.]

* Robert Altman had a heart transplant - who knew? Apparently nobody. :)

* I felt bad that Felicity Huffman didn't win best actress, but Reese Witherspoon's heartfelt speech made up for that somewhat. So is the fact that Felicity got to come to the party in the first place with her great husband and, as many discovered tonight, her great breasts! (Though not as great, maybe, as Salma Hayek's. Hello, nurse!)

* George Clooney is The Man. Or maybe The Man heir apparent, as Jack still seems have It. But Clooney is total class and proved it again tonight with a speech that probably will be used by Gil Cates in future years as an example of what to do when receiving an Oscar.

* And speaking of Cates, the Tyranny of the Speeches continued with his latest tactic, turning the Kodak Theater into the world's largest elevator by having the orchestra play Muzak underneath all of the speeches - you know, so the obnoxious swelling of the music to play them off should they be deemed long-winded wouldn't sound so obnoxious. Also note how the music stopped entirely when it became clear that Reese Witherspoon wouldn't be done in a minute. It was the wise move, of course, to let her go on, but proved my point that there is an unfair hierarchy when it comes to Oscar speeches.

* Philip Seymour Hoffman didn't bark his speech. I think he should have to give his Oscar back.

* Was anyone else afraid that Kathleen York was going to catch on fire during her best song performance? And God bless Three 6 Mafia for momentarily turning the Oscars into the Grammys, complete with the bleeping during their speech. And God bless Larry McMurty for having the stones to wear blue jeans and cowboy boots to the high-faluting Academy Awards - and for mentioning the importance of books in his remarks.

* Boy, the AP is on a roll tonight. Witness one of their headlines: "Three 6 Mafia Steals Oscar Song Award." Nice, fellas. Have fun at those diversity classes.

* What do you think Mickey Rooney did during the rap performance? My guess is that he was humming along with the rest of us.

* When Morgan Freeman flubbed his line while giving out best supporting actor, I thought, "Thank God, he is human after all."

I'm sure I'll think of more stuff later.

Oscar Buzzkill: Extreme Addition

For many of the nominees and eventual winners, the Academy Awards are a once-in-a-lifetime occasion. The chances are very good that those lucky few chosen to take to the stage of the Kodak Theater on Sunday to get one of their very own statuettes to take home and pat and call George (its name is Oscar!) will never get to this point again. Which is why the annual pleas of Gil Cates, the otherwise venerable producer of the ceremony, about keeping speeches short and to the point have grown tiresome.

Every year he works the Oscars, Gates makes it his sworn duty to implore, cajole and threaten nominees about not abusing their moment in the sun by doing things as ghastly as actually showing gratitude to the people in their lives who helped them get to that point. He always does his finger-wagging act at the annual nominees' luncheon, as if he is the stern vice principal laying down the law to a bunch of unruly kids. One year he even offered a free widescreen television for the winner with the shortest speech. He does this, he says, to keep the awards show to a manageable length. But he forgets two basic truths about the Oscars:

1) The show is long, period.

2) A better way to shorten it would be to get rid of some of the silly production numbers or, more recently, the superfluous film montage that say nothing about anything, that seem to always find their way into the ceremony.

Last year, Cates made the embarrassing call of having some of the "lesser" awards given out in the theater audience, so those winners never got to the stage, the better to cut out the few seconds it takes to reach the podium. (Longer, of course, if you're not one of the gilded few and thus don't have top-notch seats in the front rows.) This year, there apparently will be a plan to leave a few rows of middle seats aside for "rotating" groups of nominees. At commercial breaks, so the viewing public can't see, the next round of craft nominees will be moved up so they can get to the stage faster. And now comes word of a video tape, hosted by Oscar winner and Academy vice president Tom Hanks, in which handy tips are given out to prospective winners about the proper way to comport yourself if you are honored with your very own Academy Award.

An article about the tape is linked to the subject line, but here's one handy highlight: Winners have just 60 seconds from the time their name is announced to when they will, in theory, be played off the stage by the orchestra, to give their speeches. This is even worse than the previous 30- or 45-seconds winners had to finish up their remarks in the past, not counting the jaunt to the head of the theater. The ridiculous part about this, of course, is that these rules only apply to those whose names we don't know. George Clooney or Ang Lee or Reese Witherspoon or Felicity Huffman won't have to worry about having the indignity of being interrupted by the orchestra should it take them 1:01 to say what they have to say, just like Halle Berry and Julia Roberts and Steven Spielberg weren't in the past.

(By the way, I just popped my tape of the 1994 Academy Awards into the VCR and timed Tom Hanks' remarks after he won best actor for Forrest Gump, and though they definitely were heartfelt, if a little babbling - not Laurence Olivier babbling, but babbling nonetheless - they clocked in at a not-so-speedy 2:01. BUZZ - thanks for playing, Tom, but no cigar.)

The Academy Awards, for all of its artifice and glitz and pomposity, is an example of a real reality show. Most of that reality comes from the emotion displayed by those who win - the laughs, the tears and, yeah, the gratitude. But Gil Cates seems determined to squeeze all of that out of the experience in the name of speed. My advice to him, like he'll listen, to get off his high horse, grab and pillow and get comfy. No one is going to go on all night, 'cause even the winners want to get out of there as soon as possible so they can go to the Governors Ball and munch on Wolfgang Puck's spread. But if it take them a couple of minute to speak their minds, so be it. They earned it, didn't they?

Oscar predictions!

A couple of weeks ago at the Academy Awards nominees' luncheon, George Clooney, who walks into the Kodak Theater on Sunday with three chances to win film's ultimate (non-financial) prize, called these weeks before the actual ceremony "the golden time". He's right - the time between the announcement of the nominations and the moment Jon Stewart first takes the stage on Oscar night probably is the best period of the entire process, the period when all of the lucky finalists can fully bask in the glory of making it this far, before the envelopes are opened and the fun is at least partially ruined for the nominees who don't get to put a new knick-knack on their mantles. (Of course, they still get to go to all of the fancy parties that night for free food and booze - heck, at that point they may need it more than the winners.) The "golden time" is also when prognosticators 'round the world, professional or otherwise, try to prove themselves by attempting to determine who will win on March 5 - as well as, perhaps, who really deserves to win.

Every year for more than a decade, I have been one of them. Even before I became a professional entertainment writer, I have jotted down my picks on paper or e-mail and circulated them to my friends in a misguided attempt at acceptance and love. (No, not really - I just do it because it's just so much damn fun, and on occasion I get stuff right.) This is the first year I have a blog, so now I can share my predictions with the 10 or 12 of you who stop by and read my ramblings. So make way for the power of my film intellect. Not.

Best Supporting Actor
George Clooney, Syriana
Matt Dillon, Crash
Paul Giamatti, Cinderella Man
Jake Gyllenhaal, Brokeback Mountain
William Hurt, A History of Violence

The only person who may not belong in this race is Hurt, and that's only because his brief appearance at the end of Violence may have been too weird for the room. Everyone else here is well deserving of the top award. Gyllenhaal has a legitimate chance if there is a Brokeback sheep, er, sweep. Giamatti is a popular character who many people think got hosed when he wasn't nominated last year for Sideways, so the make-up Oscar definitely is a possibility. For me, though, this is a two-horse race, with Clooney maintaining the slight edge over Dillon, whose nomination qualifies him for comeback-of-the-year honors. His racist cop was chilling and nasty, no doubt. But being that it's likely that Good Night will not score in any of the other categories it was nominated for (save, perhaps, cinematography), and that Clooney made history for being the first person to be nominated for acting in one movie and directing another - and that he's pretty damn good in Syriana, complete with the physical transformation Oscar voters love to acknowledge - I think George had better make sure his tuxedo is pressed properly for his big close-up.

WINNER: George Clooney

Best Supporting Actress
Amy Adams, Junebug
Catherine Keener, Capote
Frances McDormand, North Country
Rachel Weisz, The Constant Gardner
Michelle Williams, Brokeback Mountain

Another tough category, which any lover of all things movies and Oscars appreciates. And yet, the winner here seems very clear. Keener and McDormand are well-respected actors who always do yeoman work. Adams turned mucho heads with her performance, though I've known about her since she showed up as the only good thing in the so-bad-it-was-never-aired Cruel Intentions clone Manchester Prep as a very different character from the simple pregnant girl she played in Junebug. And Williams earned her nomination with one very emotional and very well-played scene as the cuckolded wife in Brokeback. But Rachel Weisz seems to have this thing sewed up. She's one of those actors who has been bubbling at the surface for some time now, doing solid work in films not always deserving of her efforts, waiting for her big creative break. This was it, and - again, short of a Brokeback sweep - she will be rewarded. Plus Weisz is very pregnant, and there is a mini-tradition of the Academy giving awards to such women (Eva Marie Saint, Catherine Zeta-Jones), maybe in the hope of some ratings spike if the winner's water breaks right then and there.

WINNER: Rachel Weisz

Best Actor
Philip Seymour Hoffman, Capote
Terrence Howard, Hustle & Flow
Heath Ledger, Brokeback Mountain
Joaquin Phoenix, Walk the Line
David Strathairn, Good Night, and Good Luck

Maybe the one absolute lock for the evening, which sucks for Terrence Howard, David Strathairn, Joaquin Phoenix and especially Heath Ledger, who is the heart and soul of Brokeback, to the extent that a friend of mine who thought the film was overrated still called Ledger's performance a revelation. Any other year, he wins, hands down. But Philip Seymour Hoffman is Truman Capote, just as Jamie Foxx was Ray Charles last year and Charlize Theron became Aileen Wuornos the year before that. It will be considered a major upset if he doesn't prevail, even though I'd have no problem with any of these guys' names being in the envelope.

WINNER: Philip Seymour Hoffman (who apparently made a pact with chums years ago that if he ever won the Oscar, he'd bark out his acceptance speech. That ought to be interesting.)

Best Actress
Judi Dench, Mrs. Henderson Presents
Felicity Huffman, Transamerica
Keira Knightley, Pride and Prejudice
Charlize Theron, North Country
Reese Witherspoon, Walk the Line

It's both the good and the bad of having a really competitive Oscar race. Two performances, both top-notch, both by extremely popular and pleasant women. Whom to choose? Reese Witherspoon has been considered the favorite for her work as June Carter in Walk the Line and has won a large parcel of the major awards. But Felicity Huffman kicked ass, to be blunt, as a transgendered woman in Transamercica, a labor of love that stands in broad contrast to her Emmy-winning character on Desperate Housewives. She's also beloved in Hollywood for her talent and her über-cute marriage to William H. Macy, and has been campaigning like a demon for both herself and her small gem of the movie. But Witherspoon also is cute as a bug and did her own singing as June Carter. Eeek! Flip a coin!

WINNER: Perhaps guided more by my heart than my head, Felicity Huffman in a mild upset. But I'm really rooting for a tie, which is fudging, but they're my predictions, so there.

Best Director
George Clooney, Good Night, and Good Luck
Paul Haggis, Crash
Ang Lee, Brokeback Mountain
Bennett Miller, Capote
Steven Spielberg, Munich

Now this is easier. All five directors proved their mettle in their respective films, dealing with difficult subject matter with skill and craftmanship while making them as entertaining as they were informative. I was especially taken by what Spielberg and Clooney did in their movies. Spielberg walked a tenuous line in directing Munich, giving equal weight to life-or-death arguments and managing to piss off everyone in the process - which, of course, means he did his job. And Clooney so deftly brought the early '50s, with its black-and-white imagery and cigarette smoke and jazz and style, to life, along with the spirits of Edward Murrow and Joseph McCarthy. But Ang Lee may be the most versatile director working today, a fact proven yet again by Brokeback Mountain, a movie that came from the same man who also did Sense and Sensibility and Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon and The Hulk. You can't beat talent like that with a stick - you can only reward it.

WINNER: Ang Lee

Best Original Screenplay
Paul Haggis and Robert Moresco, Crash
George Clooney and Grant Heslov, Good Night, and Good Luck
Woody Allen, Match Point
Noah Baumbach, The Squid and the Whale
Stephen Gaghen, Syriana

Not to get too wordy (get it?), but this is where Crash most likely will be rewarded for its blending of issues, emotions and, yes, humor, because there is a fair amount of humor around all of the deep, often-tragic drama. It's the kind of humor that leads more to knowing nods than laughter, but that's what makes the film, as manipulative as it can be, effective. Sidebar: It's somehow comforting to see Woody Allen, who has been nominated about a thousand times for his screenplays, back in this category after a long absence. We knew you still had it in you, Woody.

WINNER: Paul Haggis and Robert Moresco

Best Adapted Screenplay
Larry McMurtry and Diana Ossana, Brokeback Mountain
Dan Futterman, Capote
Jeffrey Caine, The Constant Gardner
Josh Olson, A History of Violence
Tony Kushner and Eric Roth, Munich

Brokeback Mountain, by a mile. No other film has captured the consciousness of the culture as thoroughly as this film, both in its controversial subject matter and its capturing of the human spirit. And it's all the more remarkable because of its sparse use of dialogue. Even when there are grand speeches, they seem to consist of so little but say no much.

WINNER: Larry McMurtry and Diana Ossana

Best Picture
Brokeback Mountain
Capote
Crash
Good Night, and Good Luck
Munich

It's always good to have years like this when all five nominees in this category of categories are worthy of being named Best Picture. Whenever a so-so film sneaks into the race, there's always a sense of dread that someway, somehow, it could squeak by and win the whole thing. (The English Patient, anybody?) But that won't be the case this time. Of the five films, my favorite is Good Night, a crisply told tale of the importance of the freedom of the press and of speaking up for what one thinks is right, no matter what the consequences. It's a story of the past that's very relevant today. Yet all five movies are relevant, in their own ways, to the present day. That's fine and dandy, even if the overall subject matter is so dreary that you wonder what it will take for a screwball comedy to again make it this far in the future. Right now we're hearing a lot about how the race-relations parable Crash is gaining fast on the prohibitive favorite, Brokeback Mountain. But Brokeback is, to paraphrase its tag line, such a force of nature, I don't think it will be derailed in time for Oscar night. Gay cowboys, er, shepherds, rule!

WINNER: Brokeback Mountain

Some other predictions: Wallace and Gromit will win Best Animated Feature, Good Night, and Good Luck will win for cinematography, Crash will win for editing, Brokeback Mountain for original score. Don't ask me what will win for best song, 'cause they're all haunting in their own ways and that category can be the trickiest of them all. Oh - and I'm going out on a limb here - Robert Altman will win an Oscar time time around.

And Jon Stewart will bring the house down. And never host the Oscars again.

A meaty sports transaction!

From ESPN.com:

"BUCHAREST -- Romanian second division soccer club UT Arad sold a player in exchange for 15 kilograms of meat, local sport daily Pro Sport reported on Monday.

However, fourth division Regal Horia made a bad deal because defender Marius Cioara decided to end his footballing career and take off to Spain to find a job in agriculture or construction.

"We are upset because we lost twice -- firstly because we lost a good player and secondly because we lost our team's food for a whole week," a Regal Horia official was quoted as saying by the daily in its electronic edition."

Probably a good move, 'cause when your team ships you off for a hunk of beef, it may be an indication that it's time to hang up the cleats. Unless it's a hunk of Kobe beef, which is pretty tasty stuff from what I hear. Angus beef, not so much. Always tasted like high-school cafeteria mystery meat to me.

ZZZZZZZZ … I'm awake, I'm awake

Anyone else having the strange phenomenon of become very, very sleepy sometime between 3 p.m. and 5 p.m. every day, no matter how well you slept the previous night, and then being very alert in the evening and night?

Anybody?

OK, it's just me.

Understated news lede of the week

From our mellow friends at the Associated Press:

"FORT LEWIS, Wash. - Army officials have recommended a court-martial for a Purple Heart recipient accused of stabbing his young wife 71 times with knives and a meat cleaver."

Uh, OK, if you really think a court-martial is the right way to go ....

Click on the subject line for the whole wicked story, but be warned - it's pretty gross.

The best day of the year ...

... is today. 'Cause today is the day that spring training begins, that pitchers and catchers start reporting to their various warm-weather camps in Florida and Arizona. Today, every Major League Baseball team is the same, starting at 0-0, with an equal chance of ending up in the World Series in October. Sigh ...

Well, actually, that's all bunk, as any loyal fan of the Tampa Bay Devil Rays and Detroit Tigers and, yes, Chicago Cubs will tell you. But one can dream, can't they?

Can't they?

King of the Dogs!

Behold the most perfect dog in the world, at least in the eyes of the Westminster Kennel Club. Rufus the colored bull terrier beat out more than 2,600 other canine to take the "best in show" prize this evening. His prize? A free steak from Sardi's and probably all of the doggie sex he can handle, since he will be popular as a breeder when the time comes. A dog's life for me, even with a head that looks like that.

P.S. "Colored" bull terrier? Were they originally called Negro bull terriers?

Wacky Olympic ho-hah

Actually, it's a lot of nothing, but I found it, well, incongruous that while Tonya Harding is getting a makeover (!) on Entertainment Tonight, Nancy Kerrigan is doing special Olympic coverage for ET's sister show, The Insider. Maybe this arrangement works because the two of them are on separate continents at the same time.

By the way, in terms of Tonya's makeover ... er, no.

A real education ...

The issue of whether public school students should be forced to wear uniforms has always been a perplexing one to me. Part of that may be because I had to wear a uniform for four years when I was attending a Catholic grade school and thus can see both sides of the story. On the one hand, uniforms are an economical way to protect kids from the elements without the peer pressure of having to wear the hottest and coolest and most expensive thing in order to keep up with the "hip" crowd. On the other hand, it's during their school days where the personalities of children are formed, and having to wear the same thing day after day is not exactly conducive to individuality.

I bring all of this us as an ass-backwards way to back into the main topic of this post, which has something to do with how clothes can sometimes backfire on students, but much more with why some people should not be charged with teacher our young people anything. A few weeks ago in Beaver Falls, Pennsylvania, an unfortunately titled town outside of Pittsburgh, a high school junior named Joshua Vannoy ran into a buzzsaw - namely, a "teacher" named John Kelly. From the AP:

Sunday, January 29, 2006

BEAVER FALLS, Pa. -- A 17-year-old high school student said he was humiliated when a teacher made him sit on the floor for wearing a Denver Broncos jersey.

The teacher, John Kelly, forced Joshua Vannoy to sit on the floor and take an exam in an ethnicity class two days before the Pittsburgh Steelers beat the Broncos 34-17 in the AFC championship game. Kelly also made other students throw crumpled up paper at Vannoy, whom he called a "stinking Denver fan," Vannoy told The Associated Press.

Kelly said Vannoy, a junior at Beaver Area Senior High School, just didn't get the joke.

"If he felt uncomfortable, then that's a lesson; that's what [the class] is designed to do," Kelly told The Denver Post. "It was silly fun. I can't believe he was upset."

Vannoy was wearing a No. 7 Broncos jersey on Friday, because he is a fan of John Elway, the Broncos' retired Hall of Fame quarterback.

Vannoy said he was so unnerved he left at least 20 questions blank on the 60-question test, and just wants out of Kelly's class because he's afraid the teacher won't treat him fairly now that the story reached the media.

Cool, right? But, wait, it gets better. Kelly, who said that the class he teaches is about diversity and the sometimes isolation circumstances of such, was not punished or even admonished for the incident by his principal or the school board. (The district said that Kelly had suffered enough from the publicity.) Vannoy, meanwhile, says that he received phone threats against his person from other students, missed a week of school because of such, and now has transferred out of the entire school district to an unnamed school where he may be able to start anew. (But, hey, Vannoy did get a free heat-massage chair designed by John Elway himself for his trouble, so I guess it's all good, right?)

I'm sorry, I thought the point of high school was for the kids to get an education, not to be chased from the institution because of prejudice. And while being shunned wearing the "wrong" football jersey may not compare with the shunning of pregnant girls or gay students or such, it is still just as stupid. John Kelly - apparently one of the most popular teachers at his school - should have been fired or suspended on the spot the moment this story broke, and because he wasn't, the people above him should be evaluated for their qualifications to hold on to their posts. This entire thing is ridiculous.

Note: I guess Vannoy should be thankful that the Broncos lost to Pittsburgh. Who knows what would have happened to him otherwise?

A Hare-y proposition!

There have been some wacky trades in the annals of sports history. Players have been swapped for equipment, managers and coaches have exchanged jobs - and, yeah, there have been occasions when the a guy has been traded for a "player to be named later," only for said unnamed player to end up being the same guy. (We won't even go into Lou Brock-for-Ernie Broglio, the very mention of which sends waves of nausea into any good Cub fan's stomach.) So what went down today between two sports networks wasn't that unusual. For NBC Sports and ABC/ESPN did some wheelin'-and-dealin' today.

NBC Sports got sportscaster Al Michaels to headline their upcoming Sunday Night Football NFL franchise alongside John Madden, with whom Michaels worked on ABC's "Monday Night Football," which is moving to ESPN after 35 years.

In exchange, ABC/ESPN got the rights to extended highlights from such NBC Sports properties as the Olympics, the Kentucky Derby and the Ryder Cup, the chance to promote ESPN's version of "MNF" on NBC's NFL broadcasts, and ...

... a rabbit.

But not just any rabbit - Oswald the Lucky Rabbit, best known as Walt Disney's precursor to Mickey Mouse. Disney had created the happy hare while he was with Universal back in the 1920s, but left the studio and the bunny behind over a contract dispute and went on to establish his own shingle and cast of animated characters. Nearly 80 years later, mergers had created the perfect scenario for Disney Studios, now the owner of ABC and ESPN, to regain ownership of a part of its founder's heritage from what is now known as NBC Universal.

A look at Oswald (he's the one on the right, by the way) reveals the natural "family" resemblance and makes it understandable while Disney would give up an actual living human being to get him back. But this isn't just a nostalgia-based transaction. 'Cause this is the 21st century, brother, where everyone and everything has to earn its keep. Turns out Oswald is being lined up for a three-episode gig on "Desperate Housewives" as Gabrielle's new boy toy. Can't wait for May sweeps!

'Curious' timing

Many of you may be aware that a big-screen version of the "Curious George" series of children's books is due to be released on Friday, with Will Ferrell and Drew Barrymore among the stars suppling voices for the animated feature. You may not be aware of what has gone regarding one of the men who was pivotal in establishing the popularity of the precocious monkey and his exploits:

BOYNTON BEACH, Fla. - Alan Shalleck, who collaborated with the co-creator of 'Curious George' to bring the mischievous monkey to television and a series of book sequels, was found dead outside his home, and police were treating the death as a possible homicide.

The bloodied body of Shalleck, 76, was found Tuesday covered in garbage bags in the driveway of his mobile home. Police said it was there for at least a day before a maintenance man discovered it.

They say out here in Hollywood that there's no such thing as bad P.R. I'm not sure Mr. Shalleck would concur with that. If he could concur with anything at this moment, that is.

WHY?

For the love of God, why?

The ’hog says ...

Well, officially Punxsutawney Phil saw his shadow this morning, meaning that there's going to be six more chilly weeks of winter. (Keep in mind, of course, that it's been hovering around 50 degrees for most of the winter in the Punxsutawney area.)

In reality, I'm always thinking that Phil is really saying, "Who the f--- keep waking me up every February? Can a brother hibernate in peace?"

He also may be ticked that the ceremony this year became a de facto Pittsburgh Steelers Super Bowl rally. I mean, what if Phil's a Seahawks fan? Anyone ever consider that?

It's tough to be a groundhog these days ...

From "Full House" to crystal meth? Egad!

And no, we're not talking about one of the Olson twins. But you're close. I had heard rumors about this, but I guess it's true, 'cause Jodie Sweetin, who played irritating middle child Stephanie on the irritating sitcom "Full House," is indeed a recovering meth addict. She spoke about it on this morning's "Good Morning, America" (click on the subject line above for the complete story). Now, there's plenty of room here to be cynical and crass and rude (which was, you will remember, Stephanie's tag line - "How rude!"). But all I will add is that she's lucky she got out of it before it totally ruined her looks, as longtime meth users make crack addicts look like Miss American candidates. Oh, and all of this puts Dave Coulier being on "Skating with Celebrities" into perspective.

WOW

Click on the subject line to go to a story about a piece of reality that had to be expected, but maybe with a bit more fanfare. The skinny is that, after 145 years of tradition and overuse of the word "STOP", Western Union has ceased its telegram service. Of course, in a world of unlimited long-distance calling and e-mails and BlackBerrys (well, for now, at least), the need to run to the local WU office to send a quick note about how the new baby was doing or a request to home for some cash was a bit unnecessary. But wouldn't you have expected some sort of hoopla - a cash prize for the last person to buy a telegram, or something?

This coming from a man who has never used a telegram in his life, of course.