Left of the Dial

three, it turns out, is not always a magic number

So Top Management walks into the kitchen and starts telling The Rose, The Bean and The Golden Weasel about how when we were kids Pop-Tarts came in a box with 8 Pop-Tarts, 4 pouches with 2 tarts each. And how when there were three kids in the family, this meant the tarts didn’t divide evenly and therefore someone was going to get more than the others. 

And then she says, “this shirt doesn’t fit me.”

And holds out this:

The shriek that instantly erupted from three sets of vocal cords nearly shattered every piece of glass in the house.

made for her

Top Management and I are watching the second season of a very good show. It's near the end of the first episode and so far it's good, maybe even very good. We're both intrigued and up for continuing. 

Until the end of the episode. When there's a twist and Top Management suddenly sits up straight. 

"Wait a second," she breathes. "Is this...is that place...a cult?!" 

And suddenly "intriguing" just morphed into Must See TV.

Sometimes I wonder about the various Roads Not Taken. And sometimes I'm very, very glad they weren't took. 

the facts of life

So I've been showing the two youngest—the Golden Weasel and the Brawn—an episode or two of M*A*S*H most weekdays. We started with the very first episode and have watched all but a few episodes per season—there are over 250 episodes, so skipping a few of the relatively weaker or more purely prurient or those which have not aged terribly well (and hoo boy do some of even the finest episodes have bits that have not aged well) doesn't seem like too great a crime. In this way, they're getting quite an education: they're learning some history (about the Korean War, which they'd never heard), and basic concepts such as triage, and military rank, and even some basic medical terminology. (Who knew that this was where I became familiar with the term "plasma"?)

They're also learning—or have now learned—how to watch a long-form episodic series which, to the surprise of me and Top Management, is actually something one learns to do, and is not necessarily innate; we grew up watching sitcoms from the time we were aware, pretty much, and perhaps even the occasional soap opera, so learned without realizing it. (The only time I ever watched soaps was when I was home sick from school, with the result that the sight or sound or even mention of a soap opera will sometimes make me feel slightly ill—yes, really.) 

That this is a learned thing is something we'd discovered with our oldest kids, but it was really driven home just how powerful long-form narratives can be—not exactly a revelation to either of us—when we watched the end of the third season, which as all should know, features one of the most shocking deaths in television history. We expected it to take them by surprise. We were not prepared for the fact that they were absolutely devastated. The Brawn was nearly inconsolable—"how could they do that?!" he said. "He was a main character!"—while the Weasel just went up to her room and laid on her bed, staring at the ceiling without speaking for half an hour. 

So we recently began the fifth season, a two-parter that has the unit bugging out. Colonel Potter finds what he believes is a suitable new location—there's only one small problem, and that's the house of ill repute which is smack dab in the middle, packed to the gills with ladies of the night and a madam who runs the place. 

"And that," I said to Top Management, as soon as it was over, "is how your two youngest became acquainted with the term and concept of a brothel." 

She just looked at me for a moment, then nodded. "You're really doing a great job with this homeschooling thing," she said. 

Star Trek v Star Wars [definitively settled]

So we've had a pair of sci-fi projects going on recently. Over the past month or two, I've been showing the youngest three selected episodes of Star Trek: The Original Series. We're closing in on the end of the second season now, and we'll probably watch at least films 2-4, and maybe the fifth, which I've never seen, but my imaginary friend Chris says is quite good. Or maybe that was the sixth. I'll probably stick with 2-4. After that, we'll move on to The Next Generation, which I've never really watched, but the oldest three and I watched the first two episodes last year and they were quite good, so we'll probably all delve into that. 

But we've also been making our way through Star Wars, in preparation for the new and theoretically final film, which has been out for a few weeks. So I showed them the first one, Episode IV: A New Hope, for at least The Golden Weasel's fourth time (and maybe more) and at least The Brawn's third (and maybe more—I've shown each kid the first film at least two or three times before moving on to The Empire Strikes Back, to ensure the big reveal really hits the way it should). We then watched Episodes V and VI, before moving back and starting the prequels (which the older three and I discovered are both not nearly as bad as their reputation/I remembered, and yet even worse in some ways). After we watch Episode III: Revenge of the Sith, The Brawn seems to believe we'll be done, apparently not knowing of the existence of the "new" concluding trilogy? And clearly not anticipating that I'll then be taking him to see his first (and last?) Star Wars film in the theater. 

(And, yes, at some point we'll watch the spinoffs and animated serieses and such.)

The other night, our viewing didn't start until a bit on the late side, so we went with an episode of Star Trek, rather than a Star Wars film. Which led The Brawn to ask the question which has plagued the entire speculative fiction community for decades now: which is better, Star Trek or Star Wars? 

He weighed in with his own opinion, immediately, unbidden: Star Wars for him. Which he didn't even need to explain. He clearly at least likes and maybe loves Star Trek—I was very gratified how immediately he took to it, since live-action isn't really his jam, normally, and for the first episode he didn't really react; I later realized it's because he was so gripped that he actually shut up for once. (I may have strong feelings about the way my otherwise absolutely perfect spawn chatter while watching stuff.) But Star Wars has far more action, far more and much longer fight scenes, and although he doesn't seem to have really noticed how understandably primitive the Star Trek special effects are, obviously Star Wars has that in a walk. 

The Golden Weasel, on the other hand, said quite firmly that Star Trek was the clear winner. This part did surprise me a bit. But I was more than surprised, I was blown away, when she explained her reasoning. "Star Wars doesn't have Spock," she said. Which...a fair pony, and an inarguable one at that. 

"Besides," she added, "Star Trek isn't all about how you have to bury your emotions." 

I was staggered. She'd never said anything like that previously. What's more, that was something which had really only occurred to me a few nights before, watching my fifth Star Wars film of the week, most for at least the fourth time, and some for at least the 15th. Because even though I've made my living creating and analyzing stories for decades, when it comes to Star Wars, I simply can't be objective; part of me is always and forever that 8-year-old boy sitting in the theatre, not knowing a thing about the movie that's about to start, and having his mind utterly blown by the first spaceship passing overhead onscreen, the biggest damn thing I'd ever seen in my entire life, so big I was hardly able to comprehend it...a ship which is then followed by the far, far, far larger Imperial Star Destroyer. My tiny little brains leaked out my ears at that point and for the next two hours I was barely able to follow what was going on even as I was beyond enthralled and captivated. 

So. After I recovered from my shock over just how astute and incisive her analysis was, I realized she must have heard one of the three oldest say something like that. Turns out, nope: they were just as blown away by her take on the matter as I. 

So now it all came down to The Boy. He was the tiebreaker. Which would it be for him, Star Trek or Star Wars? 

"Star Trek," he said. "Because it's less than an hour, and Star Wars is more than two."

And there 'tis. At long last, we have discovered the one true objective way of deciding which franchise is better: which one is more convenient. SETTLED. 

(I see we're all too late and it's already been definitively decided)

(Also, we're about to start watching Star Trek: The Next Generation, which none of us have ever really seen before. But before that? We're going to watch the Star Trek films. Which, of course, are roughly two hours long each. How will that affect the entire equation?!)

another thing to look forward to

So I'm making coffee as the two youngest are eating breakfast. They're watching a cartoon, but I'm not awake enough—note the "making coffee," not "drinking coffee" bit—to know what, and the television is mercifully out of my line of sight. 

The Brawn says, matter-of-factly, "When you get older your grip looses." He takes another bite. "You can't hold on like when you were young." 

The Golden Weasel chews thoughtfully. "Yeah," she agrees. 

the answer to one of life's mysteries

Top Management sidles up to me. She looks troubled—an expression markedly different from her usual cheerful demeanor. 

"I...I need to ask you something," she says softly. 

I am trepidatious. "...okay..." 

Her brow furrows. "This is something I think I'm really supposed to have known a long time ago." 

"All right." I brace myself. 

She pauses, then mumbles, "Can you explain the Kardashians?" 

(No. No, I can't. No one can.) 

teamwork

The two boys are watching Dora the Explorer as I'm doing the dishes, the younger one enthusiastically, the older one considerably less so; he's not a huge fan of La Exploradora, for reasons I've never understood, possibly because they're utterly inexplicable. 

I hear Dora instruct her faithful viewer to call Map and, instinctively, I yell "map!" as I always do and have ever since our oldest started watching television. We hoped, as did the makers of the programs, that it would encourage the kids to be more actively involved, rather than simply passive viewers. It never worked, no matter how many times or how loudly I tried. 

(The show did, however, lead to one of our family's favorite sayings, thanks to a then-young daughter who couldn't pronounce the villainous Swiper's name correctly: "Fiper no fiping!") 

Except I'm dimly aware I can hear The Brawn join me in yelling "map! Map!" from the other room as I start scrubbing the pasta pot. 

A moment later, I realize he's now yelling, "Dad! Dad!" 

I turn off the water. "What is it, buddy?" 

"It worked," he politely informs me. "We got Map to come." 

I have never felt so powerful. 

unwilling suspension of disbelief

"Buttons can't talk," says the six-year-old with affectionate exasperation. 

I look up at the television. Apparently there's either a talking button I missed, or someone is under the mistaken impression that buttons can converse? Something like that and, either way, it's obviously absurd.

Never mind that on screen at that exact moment, a cow and a chicken are learning to square dance. That's just fine. But talking buttons? A bridge too far. 

big sisters

So the youngest three are watching Max & Ruby. 

"Max always wins," notes the four-year-old thoughtfully. He's, of course, the youngest and is perhaps wondering why it so rarely seems to work out that well for him. 

"That's true," I agree. I don't point out that Top Management has wondered if Ruby might just have developmental delay issues. 

"Ruby's kind of mean," adds the seven-year-old. There's no hint of judgment in her tone; she's merely stating the facts. 

"She's a big sister," I reply. "Big sisters are always mean." 

She grins and opens her mouth to confirm this opinion, then pauses, as it occurs to her that in addition to owning big sisters, she's also a big sister herself. She closes her mouth, furrows her brow and turns back to the tube. 

A moment later, she turns back around and, with a steely-eyed gaze, says, "Mommy's a big sister." 

I open my mouth but nothing comes out. 

"Hmph," she says triumphantly, and turns back to finish watching. 

Antony Starr Looks Like Liev Schreiber

So Top Management and I just started watching the Cinemax television show Banshee, which neither of us had even heard of before, until Cinemax started running ads, trumpeting its upcoming second season. So we checked out the first season and, after only four episodes, Top Management has already decided it's Her Favoritest Show EVAH. (Disclaimer: she says this about every new show she enjoys. She's a fickle thing, as I well know, and I expect to be tossed aside Any Day Now for a new and improved model, who may or may not, in fact, be a model.)

Anyhoo, we were a few minutes into the first epi when she said, "Who do I think he is? I mean, I know he's not, but who do I think he is?"

"Liev Schrieber," I said. "Sabretooth, the bad guy from the bad Wolverine movie? And the utterly unnecessary The Manchurian Candidate remake?"

"Yup," she agreed. "That's who he's not but I was thinking he was."

 A few nights later, she said, "Hey, remind me: who do I think he is? I mean, I know he's not, but who do I think he is?"

And this time my mind was a blank. Because we'd now watched several episodes and now he was who he was for me and I couldn't see who he wasn't anymore. 

So naturally, I googled. And autofill informed me that Antony Starr looks like...Scott Speedman? 

No, he doesn't. I mean, yeah, okay, he kinda does, but nowhere near as much as the guy I couldn't think of any more. 

So I left it blank and hit enter. And on the first page of results is a hit that says Antony Starr looks like Ray Stevenson. Which, again, yeah, okay, I can kinda see that. Only not really, not nearly as much as he looks like the guy I couldn't think of any more. 

And then I remembered. And as a service to others, I'll just leave this here. 

  

You're welcome. 

(He does kinda look like a much smaller, younger Ray Stevenson.)

***

[UPDATE AUGUST 2019: yeah, he was pretty incredible in The Boys, no? And barely recognizable to someone who'd seen him in Banshee. So. Good.]

Waiters Who Are Nauseated by Food

So. I have recently learned that, staggeringly, inexplicably, horrifyingly, a pair of loyal Left o' the Dialians have never seen this following clip, the first time Steves Carrell and Colbert appeared on television together. Naturally, I decided this Would Not Do and must be Rectified Post-damn-Haste. 

You're welcome. 

(I love the way Carrell's eyes go utterly dead at the word "specials.")

Newmit!

So the other night I tell the 3-year-old to go pee, which he knows means he's about to get ready for bed, a prospect which pleases him not at all.

"Newmit," he grumbles. Then, pleased with it, he mutters it again several more times, sending his three oldest sisters and his mother into near hysterics. 

"Newmit," of course, being a combination of "Newman," my most common expletive, and "dammit," the runner up.

Now it's Top Management's most favorite curse word. Newmit.  

Newman!

His Pain

I feels it. 

What's That Line Now?

I've never even heard of this show. Is it still on? I know not. But I know I surely do dig this clip. 

Stephen Colbert’s The Wørd: Priceless

So my second-favorite Catholic had a piece last night which was great, even by his standards: 

Folks, everybody knows I’m a huge fan of market forces.  It’s always bugged me when people say you can’t put a monetary value on human life.  Of course you can!

That’s why I demand ransom for the release of my summer interns.  Pay up, mom and dad!

Well, it turns out there is an exact monetary value of human life.  It is a number calculated by government actuaries based on risk assessment and payroll figures that is used to decide whether life saving regulations are worth paying for.  For example, let’s say there’s proposed legislation that will require inspecting possibly tainted Chinese shrimp.  And, let’s further say that regulation would cost $100 million, and if you don’t inspect the shrimp, 100 people could die at a seafood restaurant.

Now, if you value…if you value those 100 people at a million dollars each, the benefit is equal to the cost, so the regulation’s worth it.  But, if you value them at less than a million dollars each, well, the cost outweighs the benefit.  Now, I happen to think—and this is just me—I happen to think tainted shrimp adds an element of danger to the appetizer course.  It’s like skydiving with cocktail sauce.

Now, the Environmental Protection Agency uses numbers like this to decide whether to regulate things like pollution.  And five years ago, they estimated that a human life was worth $7.8 million, but recently they lowered that to $6.9 million dollars.  

That’s right, under the Bush administration, human life has become a million dollars cheaper.   
 This…this is great news. Because the lower the value of human life, the less it pays to protect it with regulations.  That might be why last week the EPA chose not to regulate greenhouse gases.  It’s just not worth it with human life at such bargain basement prices.

But we can get those prices lower.

By devaluing life, they’ve made it less likely to regulate water and air quality.  And the worse the water and air quality get, the less life is worth living, which further devalues life, which makes it even less likely to regulate water and air quality.  It’s like the circle of life.  

And that’s great, that’s great.  You see, while they may have lowered the value of a person, the EPA has given us something worth a lot more.  Because a human life: $6.9 million; gaming the system to protect industry from safety regulations: Priceless.  

WGA

Solidarity with my brothers! (And sisters!)

Word.

Top Ten George W. Bush Moments

From this year's White House Correspondents' Association dinner.

It's really good to see Tony Snow's up and around.

Also, Number Eight? So should have been in the Top Two. Although it's hard to argue with a loogie.

I Don't Like Katie Couric

I’m sure that’s going to cause her to lose oh so many nights of sleep.

I used to like Katie Couric. This may have been due to the fact that throughout the 90s—I have no idea when she first became a well-known television personality, nor when she first came across my radar, although I suspect the former was several years before the latter—I saw, I’d guess, maybe an hour of her per year. For the first five or so years of that decade, I didn’t have a television set, so I wasn’t really likely to spend much time watching television. And even once I did get a set, it was old and small and the power button had to be taped down to keep the damn thing turned on, [insert joke here] so watching wasn’t a regular occurrence to me. And even after we got a nice new set (thanks Diane and Murray!), I never, ever turned it on in the mornings. [insert joke here]

So, you know, Katie and I weren’t all that well-acquainted. But what wasn’t to like? She was cute as a button and pert and perky and I've always been fond of her first name. Didn’t know her well, but what I knew, I liked.

Yeah, not so much no more. Here's a bit of her interview with Elizabeth and John Edwards:

Katie Couric: Your decision to stay in this race has been analyzed, and quite frankly judged by a lot of people. And some say, what you're doing is courageous, others say it's callous. Some say, "Isn't it wonderful they care for something greater than themselves?" And others say, "It's a case of insatiable ambition." You say?

Katie Couric: Some people watching this would say, "I would put my family first always, and my job second." And you're doing the exact opposite. You're putting your work first, and your family second.

I’m not the world’s biggest John Edwards fan, although most of the stuff about him that makes me uneasy is markedly different from most the criticisms I've heard of him.

But this one? You gotta be kidding me.

First of all, this is her decision, not his, so whenever anyone talks about him using his wife's illness for political gain, the immediate response should be a very polite, “shut up, you mindless idiot.”

What the hell do people expect Elizabeth to do? Go lower the blinds, close the curtains, climb in bed, and lay there in the dark until she dies?

She’s got cancer. She’s had it before, so she knows what it means. One of the things it means is that her life is going to be more difficult than before—probably quite a bit. But it’s not over, not yet and hopefully not for a very long time. And to that end, studies have shown that keeping active, in fact, is tremendously beneficial for your health whilst undergoing treatment.

And you know what? When you’ve got cancer, life goes on. You still have to pay your bills and clean the house and run errands. You get up and get dressed and brush your teeth and go to work and come home and maybe watch some TV and go to bed and do it again. And in there you’ve got chemo or radiation or surgery or some combination of all three. But the laundry still needs to be done. Maybe it’s harder to do it, or it needs to be done more often, or you get the laundromat to do it, but somehow, you need to get the clothes cleaned. Even when you have cancer.

So. Her job is helping her husband get elected president since she clearly believes he’s the best possible candidate. Will she succeed? I don’t know and right now I don’t particularly care. But she’s doing it because it’s her job and it’s what she believes in and what parent wouldn’t want the best possible candidate to be the President of the United States? In that sense, she is unquestionably putting her family first.

Here’s my question for you, Katie: I know enough about you to know you’ve got at least one kid and maybe more. I also know enough to know that when you were on the Today show for ten years or whatever, you had to be at work at something like six o’clock in the morning.

So who got your kid up for school? Who fixed him or her breakfast and got him or her dressed and make sure he or she got on the bus on time? Because clearly it wasn’t you.

Because you were already at work.

Because you chose work over your family.

Right? Isn’t that your point?

And in the end, it doesn’t matter whether that’s what you really think Elizabeth Edwards is doing or whether you’re just parroting repulsive talking points that started being bandied about within minutes of Elizabeth's announcement. Either way, you’re uniquely unsuited to do anything but defend those kinds of reprehensible smears. And if you can’t do that, you’d be much better just shutting the hell up.

This Is What's Wrong with Our Country

Seriously, no exaggeration—this truly may sum up everything that's the matter with this great nation of ours:

NBC’s Nightly News devoted 14 seconds to Iraq compared to 3 minutes and 13 seconds to Anna Nicole [Smith]. CNN referenced Anna Nicole 522% more frequently than it did Iraq. MSNBC was even worse — 708% more references to Anna Nicole than Iraq.

The lop-sided coverage largely ignored many key developments in Iraq, including the sixth downing of a U.S. helicopter in the past three weeks, the allegations that a deputy Iraqi health minister was aiding a Shiite militia in its attacks against U.S. troops, and the death of four Marines.

Did you know Anna Nicole Smith had died?
Did you know that six US helicopters have been shot down in Iraq in just the past three weeks?
Which have you heard more about?
Which is more important: i.e., bigger news?

Let's mention that again: six US helicopters have been shot down in Iraq in just the past three weeks.

At this point in time it's unclear whether the insurgents have new weaponry or simply new tactics. Either way, big honkin' news, considering that IEDs have made helicopters the safest way to travel in that region.

Or they were.

I think it may very seriously be time to investigate revoking or amending the broadcasting licenses for the networks. Let FoxNews keep going, since at least it doesn't even pretend to be news, any more than Entertainment Tonight does, but yank NBC's Nightly News and its repulsive ilk right the hell off the air.

…okay, okay, okay, I don't think I really mean that. But, dammit, I'm so tired of this.

Call Me Sir, Dammit!

Okay, so that's actually from Ferris Bueller's Day Off. So frack me.

You scored as Capt. Lee Adama (Apollo). You have spent your life trying to life up to and impress your Dad, shame he never seemed to notice. You are a stickler for the rules. But in matters of loyalty and honour you know when they have to be broken. Capt. Lee Adama (Apollo) 88% Tom Zarek 75% CPO Galen Tyrol 63% Lt. Sharon Valerii (Boomer) 56% President Laura Roslin 56% Dr Gaius Baltar 38% Number 6 38% Commander William Adama 38% Col. Saul Tigh 19% Lt. Kara Thrace (Starbuck) 6% What New Battlestar Galactica character are you? created with QuizFarm.com

Okay, so if I could have chosen any character from the show, this would indeed have prolly been the one.

But my daddy loves me! He does! He does!

Lobotomy Wins!

So Top Management and I started watching “Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip” a month or so ago, several episodes into the run. This weekend I noticed a “Studio 60” marathon was being run, so I DVR’d the episodes we’d missed. But I only caught the second half of the premiere, which means I missed the key rant they then spent the rest of the episode talking about.

God bless YouTube.

And the answer, incidentally, is: yes.

Duh.

Commercial Art

Well, it’s no surprise when Top Management beats me to the punch on something. But on a pair of videos I’d planned on posting about myself? I mean, that’s just rude. That hurts. That hurts a lot.

Okay, no it doesn’t, not really. The fact that she buried in the videos in a long post that’s much better and funnier than anything I could have written? Now that does hurt. But I resigned myself to accepting her far superior talent long, long ago. [The impossibly perfect wench.]

Anyhoo, here are the videos, both of which are pretty old and both of which I just discovered.

This first one is simply gorgeous, with a child-like air of wonder and just a tinge of melancholy…although maybe that’s just me. It’s a big file and it takes a while to load, but it’s worth it. also, I think the screen says it somewhere, but apparently, it’s real, and they used 10,000 of ‘em. (Is the ambiguity of that sentence a strong selling point?)

This second one…well, you’ve simply got to see it to believe it. It's also high-res, so it takes a while to load, but your life will be better forevermore. My stomach hurt after the first time I saw it and the second time I realized I was actually crying. What I wouldn’t give to have been in that room the first time it was screened for the clients…

The Worst Chrismahkwanzakah Specials Ever?

So I wrote a while back about our family's traditional Chrismahkwanzakah viewing. This year I Tivo'ed a bunch of Christmas specials, the ones we don't have on tape. The problem is that they don't always end right when they're supposed to—a television trend I'm really starting to hate—so most of them are missing their last ninety seconds—and them's some purty important seconds.

I mean, for instance [SPOILER WARNING!] when I had the foresight to check "Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer" before watching it with the kids, I found that our Tivo'ed version ends on the Island of Misfit Toys with the poor toys lamenting that, once again, Santa had let them down, left them hangin', in the lurch, both high and dry.

That's the way our version ends. Just boom, end o' tale, before the fat man shows up for his long-delayed slice of sweet and undeserved redemption. Sniff sniff, waaah, nobody likes, everyone thinks we're losers, the screen freezes and that's that. Happy Chrismahkwanzakah, kids! Sweet dreams! G'nite!

[Actually, I'm half-tempted to show it to the girls, just to see what their reactions would be.]

Anyhoo, here are some stunningly bad Christmas specials, even if you watch 'em all the way to the bitter end. (Or so others seem to think.)

You know Charlie and Snoopy and Linus and Lucy, Rudolph and Ralphie and Frosty and Grinchy.

But do you recall the most horrible holiday films of all?

Not every Christmas movie or television special becomes an enduring classic, destined for annual repeats and holiday marathons.

In fact, many of these ill-fated attempts at Christmas cheer aren’t even available on DVD. They’ve been forgotten like misfit toys, and justly so.

Here are our picks for the 10 worst Christmas movies and TV specials. Beware — they’re pure jingle hell.

Santa Claus Conquers the Martians
The Citizen Kane of bad Christmas films, this bizarre 1964 sci-fi fantasy finds Santa Claus being kidnapped by Martians to bring cheer to the children of Mars. One of the Martian kids was portrayed by a 10-year-old Pia Zadora, who “never got much taller,” according to the wisecracking crew of Mystery Science Theater 3000. Available on DVD, the MST3K version is a hilarious rip on the awful, low-budget film. “What is it?” shrieks an Earth girl being pursued at the North Pole by a Martian robot. “It’s a guy in a cardboard box with a coffee urn on his head,” replies MST3K’s Joel Robinson.

The Star Wars Holiday Special
If you thought Jar Jar Binks was bad, check out this 1978 CBS holiday special spinoff of the original Star Wars film. Better yet, don’t. “This is some of the most painful television ever created,” said a review on the Web site, Oh, the Humanity! Most notable for introducing the cult character Boba Fett, this special featured the film’s cast, plus such guest stars as Harvey Korman and Bea Arthur. Carrie Fisher, deep into her hard-partying days, sang a “Life Day” carol based on the Star Wars theme. “If this isn’t an argument for getting people off drugs, I don’t know what is,” the reviewer wrote. Bootleg clips can be found online at YouTube.com.

Babes in Toyland
The oft-filmed Victor Herbert operetta was translated to Cincinnati in this 1986 TV movie musical that starred Drew Barrymore, Keanu Reeves and Pat Morita. It featured “jaw-droppingly awful musical numbers,” according to eFilmCritic.com’s Collin Souter. Barrymore, who was drinking and doing drugs by age 12, played a little girl who bumps her head and wakes up in Toyland on Christmas Eve. “Historically interesting,” Souter wrote, “if only to gaze into Barrymore’s drug-addled, bloodshot eyes or to watch Keanu drive around in a pink, flowery go-cart … before singing about the joys of Ohio.”

Christmas Comes to Pac-Land
This 1982 cartoon special starring Pac-Man and his family was a crass attempt to cash in on the video-game craze. It was named the second worst holiday programming ever, after the Star Wars fiasco, in Television Without Pity’s 752 Things We Love to Hate (and Hate to Love) About TV. “This holiday special’s across-the-board suckitude remains seared into our memories like a brand,” the authors wrote. Trying to capitalize on Pac-Man fever is one thing, they noted, but not when the poorly animated characters look nothing like the original. “How hard is it to animate a circle with a pie piece cut out of it?”

Jack Frost
Michael Keaton, as a mediocre blues singer who neglects his son, is killed in a car crash on Christmas Eve. How’s that for a cheery premise? But wait, it gets better. Keaton’s character, named Jack Frost, is reincarnated a year later as his son Charlie’s snowman. He attempts to make up for lost time with Charlie, which allows the makers of this 1998 slushball to shovel on the sentiment. However, he also has to contend with the whole melting thing. “OK, I’m back, but why a snowman?” Keaton asks. “Is it the name Jack Frost? Because that’s not even clever, that’s cheesy.” You said it, Jack.

Silent Night, Deadly Night
Forget the lump of coal. Naughty people get punished by an ax-wielding psycho wearing a Santa suit in this controversial 1984 slasher film, which prompted protests at theaters where it was shown. Heavy on bloodshed and gratuitous nudity, it was a box-office success and spawned four sequels. The story follows a young boy named Billy, who is fearful of Santa’s wrath. As an adult, Billy deals with his issues by donning a red suit and chanting “Naughty! Punish!” as he dispatches sexually active teens. “What’s next?” asked film critic Leonard Maltin. “The Easter Bunny as a child molester?”

Surviving Christmas
A contemporary stab at the worst Christmas movie of all time, this 2004 comedy starred Ben Affleck as a spoiled millionaire who hires a suburban Chicago clan to be his family at Christmas time. Ben forces the likes of Tony Soprano (James Gandolfini) to wear a Santa hat — but sadly, he doesn’t get whacked. “So dreadful, Fox released it theatrically in October just so they could put it out of its misery by releasing it on video the following December,” said eFilmCritic’s Souter.

Eight Crazy Nights
Adam Sandler’s 2002 animated gross-out musical-comedy celebrates the Festival of Lights, whose candles should have been used to torch the master print. Sandler provides the voice of Davey Stone, a drunk who is ordered by a judge to spend the holiday performing community service as the assistant referee for a youth basketball league. His redemption involves lots of potty humor, including one character rolling down a hill in a portable toilet. “A holiday film for the whole family,” wrote the Chicago Reader’s J.R. Jones, “provided the whole family is obsessed with human waste.”

Jingle All the Way
Arnold Schwarzenegger dashes through the snow on Christmas Eve in hapless pursuit of an action figure for his son. But laughs are even harder to find in this distressing 1996 slapstick farce, whose box-office failure started Schwarzenegger’s descent from A-list status. Now California’s governor, Schwarzenegger has yet to live down the holiday turkey. When his four ballot measures were rejected by California voters in November 2005, Tonight Show host Jay Leno quipped: “This has to be the worst day Arnold’s had since that movie Jingle All the Way came out.”

Kathie Lee Gifford’s Christmas specials
Regis Philbin’s former Live co-host starred during the 1990s in annual CBS holiday specials that featured her husband, Frank Gifford, and their children. Washington Post television critic Tom Shales probably clinched his Pulitzer Prize with his scathing reviews of them. Shales called 1995’s Kathie Lee: Home for Christmas, “a sickeningly saccharine vanity production that should really have been titled O Come, Let Us Adore Me.” Her 1998 outing, Kathie Lee Gifford: Christmas Every Day, led him to ask: “What’s the difference between the 24-hour flu and a Kathie Lee Gifford Christmas special? Twenty-three hours.”

Now, personally, I think those reviews are way, way off. I mean, sure, I've never actually seen any of the masterworks in question, but why on earth would that stop me from forming an opinion about 'em?

Because, please! Come on! I wanna know just what kinda crack-addled maroon wouldn't love to watch a young and coked-out Drew Barrymore cavorting with a young and florally-vehicled Keanu Reeves? Jeez louise, how can that possibly be anything but transcendent? Put those two together and you obviously can't help but think, "Now that's Christmas, baby!"

And there are actually people who think there's a war on Christmas because some folks prefer to be charitable and wish others a Happy Holidays. Why, all they need to do is look back upon these golden nuggets of cinematic goodness from yesteryear—and todayear, in some cases—and see that, if there is a war (and there's not), it started long, long ago. And the whole Happy Holidays thing? It ain't even a strategic feint, much less a skirmish.

Princess Leia singing? Oh, thank you, Kris Kringle! Obviously, you agree I've been very, very good this year.

Shut Up and Sing

Holy. Cow.

This is what happens when you consolidate power in the hands of just four or five enormous multinational corporations. They have the power to strip us of our rights to free speech, in effect.

There’s a new film coming out about the brouhaha over the Dixie Chicks criticizing President George W. Bush.

But NBC is refusing to air the ad for the film.

The ad isn’t being bounced for profanity, or nudity, or a call to violence.

No. It’s unacceptable simply because it criticizes the president.

Seriously. Variety says,

“NBC’s commercial clearance department said in writing that it ‘cannot accept these spots as they are disparaging to President Bush.’”

That’s not the land of the free.

You can check the ad out here.

Well-made, but fairly innocuous, innit? Would you ever have imagined something like this happening?

Just when I think I've seen it all.

Had enough?

Two more weeks.

Steven and Stephen

Let me make something perfectly clear: I post too many YouTube clips. I can’t even begin to tell you how many I've decided not to post. That’s right--believe it or not, I sometimes exercise restraint.

But this? This cannot be denied. Jennifer the Wonderful hepped me to it. It’s highlights of Steve Carell and Stephen Colbert from The Daily Show. Oh my. It’s just so good. They’re like the John and Paul--or at least the Mick and Keef--of television comedy. [It is not safe for lil' chillens.]

And here’s the clip that got Steve Carell his spot on The Daily Show in the first place--two minutes, and he has but a single word, and yet he got hired on the basis of this one amazing (and revolting) performance.

I would be very, very, very unhappy if Top Management left me. But if it were for either of these guys (or Jon Stewart), well, at least I could understand it. I mean, I’d leave me for any of them.

Clarabell and the Captain

You know, I could have sworn I remembered watching this show. Since it went off the air eight years afore I was born, I reckon that’s not terribly likely. Did I see it in repeats? Why can I still sing the theme song?

Reincarnation?

I’m the reincarnation of a kid who watched Howdy Doody. How freakin’ sad is that?

And more stuff I never knew about Captain Kangaroo. Life continues to surprise.

Lew Anderson, 84, Clarabell the Clown and a Bandleader, Dies
By DOUGLAS MARTIN
May 17, 2006

Lew Anderson, whose considerable success as a musician, arranger and bandleader paled before the celebrity he achieved as Clarabell the Clown, Howdy Doody's sidekick on one of television's first children's shows, died on Sunday in Hawthorne, N.Y.

He was 84, but always felt he was around 25, his son Christopher said. His father died of complications of prostate cancer, he added.

"Well, his feet are big, his tummy's stout, but we could never do without," Buffalo Bob Smith and the Kids of the Peanut Gallery sang in appreciation of his character, in a baggy, striped costume, who communicated by honking a horn for yes and no, Harpo Marx style.

Other times, Clarabell the Clown made his feelings known by spraying Buffalo Bob with seltzer, or playing a trick on him that everybody but Bob figured out immediately.

Before there was Big Bird, Barney or SpongeBob, there was Howdy Doody and his friends in Doodyville. Baby boomers grew up with "The Howdy Doody Show," which began in December 1947 at a time when only 20,000 homes in the country had television sets. It was the first network weekday children's show, the first to last more than 1,000 episodes and NBC's first regularly scheduled show to be broadcast in color.

When it ended on Sept. 24, 1960, after 2,243 episodes, it was Clarabell who had the show's last words. Since until then he had only honked, they were also his first words.

The camera moved in for a close-up of Mr. Anderson, who had a visible tear in his eye. A drum roll grew louder and then died. With quivering lips, Clarabell whispered, "Goodbye, kids."

When Lewis Burr Anderson was born on May 7, 1922, in Kirkman, Iowa, nobody envisioned he would become a clownish celebrity. He was not the first Clarabell: that was Bob Keeshan, later known as Captain Kangaroo. He was not even the second Clarabell. That was Bobby Nicholson, who went on to play J. Cornelius Cobb on the show.

What seems certain is that Mr. Anderson was Clarabell for an overwhelming majority of "Howdy Doody" shows from 1954 to 1960. In the opinion of Buffalo Bob Smith, who originated and starred in the show, he was also by far the best, according to Mr. Smith's memoir.

Mr. Anderson's father was a railroad telegrapher. He began playing his sister's clarinet when she tired of it, and soon had his own band. He attended junior college in Fort Dodge, Iowa, and Drake University in Des Moines. He enlisted in the Navy during World War II and started a band between battles in the Pacific theater.

After leaving the service, toured the Midwest with bands, honing his talent for arranging and composing music. In the late 1940's, he joined the Honey Dreamers, a singing group that appeared on radio and early television shows like "The Ed Sullivan Show." The group appeared on a musical variety television show Mr. Smith produced for NBC.

When the Clarabell part opened up on Mr. Smith's other show, "Howdy Doody," Mr. Smith and the other producers asked Mr. Anderson if he could juggle. "No." Dance? "No." Magic tricks? "No." What can you do? "Nothing."

"Perfect, you start tomorrow," Mr. Smith said.

At first, Mr. Anderson saw Clarabell simply as a job paying more than $400 a week. Then, he began to be mobbed at personal appearances, and his fame lasted decades after the last broadcast. Mr. Anderson later profited from writing advertising jingles, but live music remained his passion. He formed his All-American Big Band, expert musicians from recording studios and Broadway shows, playing a book of 300 songs, a quarter of which he wrote himself. The band plans to play its regular gig this Friday at the Birdland jazz club in Manhattan.

In 1990 John S. Wilson wrote in The New York Times, "Mr. Anderson's band is not merely recalling the days of great swing bands; it is doing so with freshness, polish and originality."

Mr. Anderson, who lived in South Salem, N.Y., is survived by his wife, Peggy; his sons Christopher, of Ridgefield, Conn., and Lewis Jr., of Providence, R.I.; and five grandchildren.

In 1987 Mr. Smith recalled the day Clarabell said goodbye. Unlike the first broadcasts, which were live, it had been taped earlier. When it was broadcast, he watched it with his family. "I looked at my son and he was crying," Mr. Smith said. "I looked at my wife and she was crying. I went straight to the country club where I played golf and shot the worst round of my life."

Copyright 2006 The New York Times Company

Affirmative Action

Watched the series finale of The West Wing last night. Damn. I wasn’t ready for it to be over. Sniff.

And then this morning reality once more mirrors fiction. Turns out President Bush’s own body man, his own Charlie Young, is leaving the White House to go back to school.

Also like Charlie, President Bush’s personal aide, Austinite Blake Gottesman, once dated a First Daughter, in this case the luscious lush known as Jenna Bush. (That’s the blonde one.)

[Tiny and inconsequential spoiler alert.]

Unlike Charlie, young Gottesman isn’t attending Georgetown Law, but instead is going to be attending Harvard Business School.

Also unlike Charlie, not-really-all-that-young Gottesman (he’s 26), never actually graduated college, having only attended world-famous Claremont McKenna College for one year. [Snarkily says the guy who attended—and failed out of—a college that doesn’t even exist any more.]

And yet somehow, amazingly enough, our friend Gottesman got into Harvard Business School.

Huh. I mean…that’s just weird, innit?

I’d always thought Harvard Business School was, you know, considered fairly prestigious. As in one of the very finest schools in the entire world. I wouldn’t have thought they’d so much as glance at a guy who’d never even finished college.

Oh, but wait a second…it occurs to me that there’s a couple famous folks what gradumacated from there. Let me check…yes indeedy, it seems that President George W. Bush himself is an alumnus!

Well, now. What are the damn odds?

Remember: affirmative action is bad, verging on evil. When, that is, it helps out, you know…people of color. When it helps otherwise unqualified fabulously rich white guys and their pals, though, well, that’s just doing things the way God intended.

Doh!

Remember the kid playing "While My Guitar Gently Weeps" on the ukulele?

Yeah, this is just like that, only different.

The Real Office

See? This is why we live at the poverty line. Because our experiences working in offices weren't all that far from this. Actually, mine still isn't, and I'm the only one in the office these days.

I know it’s considered heresy amongst comedy fans, but I think the American version of The Office may be even better’n the British version. Don’t get me wrong, the British version was absolutely brilliant, but the US show is at least as good, thanks in no small part to the genius of Steve Carell. Admittedly, watching it’s about as much pure fun as undergoing major dental work without any anesthesia but, hey, you come out the other side better for it, right?

Right?

Please tell me I’m right. That eventually all this pain will pay off. Please?

A Comedy of Terrors
'The Office' May Be A Farce, but Fans Relate to Its Workplace Horrors
By Amy Joyce Washington Post Staff Writer Sunday, March 19, 2006;

Boss enters room: "Hey, everybody! I think we need a morale boost around here. Don't you? Come on! Come on over. Pull up a chair!"

[Office workers look at one another. Eyes roll. They awkwardly slide into place around a conference table.]

Boss to group: "I know I'm the boss, but that's not saying the rest of you don't bring something to the table, don't have some skills. Today I will tell you what you mean to this office."

[Uncomfortable glances between co-workers.]

Boss starts pointing at people, stopping at one fellow: "You've got a legal background. And you are our IT go-to guy."

Boss turns to Heather Boyce, an employee in human resources: "You bring nothing. . . . " Boss prepares to move on to next person.

Workers gasp. Some interject: "Wait just a minute. . . . " Boyce jumps in: "What are you talking about?!"

Boss stumbles. "Uh, well, I just mean you came straight here from college."

[ Silence. Boyce came to the office two years ago. ]

Boss: "But you've got enthusiasm! Yes, you bring enthusiasm."

After the impromptu anti-morale booster, Boyce retreats to desk to add scenario to the list of bad-boss tactics she and co-workers secretly keep.

* * *

No, this is not a script from the NBC comedy "The Office." It really happened to Boyce, who worked for this boss in Richmond several years ago. She has since moved on, thank goodness, but now religiously watches the show that started as a British comedy. The U.S. version of the show -- with comic god Steve Carell ("The 40-Year-Old Virgin") as boss of the Scranton, Pa., paper company Dunder Mifflin -- has just wrapped its second season. The show is a docudrama-style comedy that follows workers at the small office as they live out their dull days under the screwed-up management practices of Michael Scott, Carell's character.

"Now when I'm watching Steve Carell, I'm like, 'Ohmigod, that's my life,' " Boyce said recently.

"The Office": a sitcom that might as well be a reality show.

The uncomfortable silences. The constant awkward moments. Practical jokes, the office kiss-up, the bored office manager, the secret crush and the thermostat wars. Sound familiar?

* * *

HEATHER'S WORLD, TAKE TWO :

Scene: A local Mexican restaurant.

Boyce joins a group of employees and the boss at lunch to welcome a new co-worker.

Lunch is almost finished and it's time to pay the bill.

Boyce takes a few tortilla chips.

Boss watches. He reaches over and moves the basket of chips away from her.

Workers freeze in place, incredulous -- afraid to hear what is about to happen, but too entranced by his next move to look away.

Boss, in sing-songy voice, to Boyce, who's soon to be married: "You want to fit into that wedding dress, don't you?"

Boyce, a size 4, stares at boss, slack-jawed.

* * *

Some people can sit back, watch "The Office" and think how great it is they don't have to work for that boss anymore. Others find comfort in that writers can channel their own office and turn it into something humorous. But for some people, the show plays way too close to home and represents all that is wrong in the work world.

"I know it's like a caricature of what's going on. But I got myself really frustrated because the situation's not too dissimilar. . . . The impact of their behavior is felt all over America. While the scenarios may be different, it was too close to home for me. I stopped watching," said Heather Bradley, a workplace consultant who deals with dysfunctional workplaces. "As someone who has the profession of changing the way people work, I can't watch the show."

But this is television . It's supposed to be fiction. It can't really happen in the real workplace, right?

"This parody is really just like a blown-out version of what we deal with all the time," said Howard Guttman, author of "When Goliaths Clash: Managing Executive Conflict to Build a More Dynamic Organization." Perhaps Dunder Mifflin could hire him: He is also a consultant who helps fix dysfunctional executive teams. And his work is never-ending. He could write an entire season of "The Office" from a week's worth of meetings.

The characters in the show might as well have been taken from our own co-worker rolls. And they probably were. Many offices employ at least one Dwight, the nerdy, wannabe boss who isn't exactly smart. He is a yes-man who will trip over himself while trying to get the boss's attention. In the meantime, of course, he annoys his co-workers. Then there's Pam, the receptionist stuck in a job she fell into. She's would rather be doing something -- anything -- else. But there's no hint of that ambition. You can almost see her thinking "I can't believe I work with these idiots" during most of the workday. There's also Jim, the guy who is similar to Pam -- and has a crush on her. He's smarter than his job requires him to be. People drive him nuts, but he deals with it by playing practical jokes. He particularly likes to taunt Dwight. There was that excellent phase he went through when he kept putting Dwight's office supplies in Jell-O.

But mostly, it comes back to the nightmare boss. He's the anti-P.C. guy. He is self-centered and thinks he is much more important than he is. Sexual harassment has no meaning to him. Think of the worst-case scenario when it comes to diversity training, and you've got Michael Scott. It is his personality that most resonates with real workers, who have more than their share of Michael-like boss stories.

* * *

ENTER VIENNA GOVERNMENT CONTRACTING FIRM:

Tan boss stands in middle of office. He has just returned from Hawaiian vacation with wife and has called employees into conference room. Employees, interrupted from work, gather around table and sit, looking cautiously from boss to slide projector warming up overhead.

Boss starts show: pictures from his two-week trip. Surprised employees look to him as he begins to talk about his flight, what he ate on his flight, his hotel, the bathrobe in his room. The beach. What he and his wife ate for dinner. . . .

Two hours later, boss still drones on.

Workers have heads in hands.

Pictures of boss and wife in bathing suits light up office wall.

Employees look at one another.

Clock ticks on.

* * *

Yes, in many ways, our lives at work are stranger than fiction. This lovely tidbit was brought to us by a now-ex-employee who worked in the Web development/programming group of a government contracting firm. Every time this boss returned from a vacation, slide shows "replaced our weekly staff meetings, and were mandatory," she said. She left that office about a year ago and spoke on condition of anonymity because she is still a government contractor. You never know: Even when a boss is a bad one, you might need him when another contract comes up.

"You start to think the whole world is a little crazy, and you're the weird one," she said recently, as she returned home from work. "Now that I'm in a better situation, I realize how crazy that was."

Clay Parcells is a regional manager with Right Management Consultants, a company that helps workers transition into new careers after they have been fired, downsized or let go. The company also counsels corporations on leadership development and talent management, among other things.

Parcells, like others in his industry, has a hard time watching "The Office." "I would hope . . . 'The Office' is not an example of what's going on in corporate America," he said. "Even though it's funny, I cringe when I see the show. I told my wife, 'I can't believe this program's going to make it.' "

Well, it has. The show has been picked up for a full third season of 22 episodes, which will begin in January. The show has that misery-loves-company feel. Who doesn't want to laugh about something that is similar, but maybe just a little bit worse?

* * *

GOVERNMENT CONTRACTING FIRM , TAKE TWO :

It's 2:30 p.m . Friday. Big Boss has again already left office and sends his workers e-mail, asking them to work during weekend. Again.

E-mail reads: "I have volunteered you to help set up the new computer system in our new office. Although you will not get overtime pay, it will be remembered in your review."

The "Office Dwight" hits "reply all" to e-mail: "I am very happy to come in over the weekend."

Scene change to weekend: Boss is, of course, not there.

Office Dwight to his very disgruntled co-workers: "It's so nice outside. We are so lucky to be here enjoying this beautiful view," he says as he looks out window onto parking lot.

* * *

Yes. Really. That same boss also loved to announce that he would throw a big office picnic. They assumed he was buying since he initiated it. A morale booster, right? Without fail, on the Friday before the picnic, he asked the workers what they planned to bring. He volunteered to bring some soda.

* * *

ENTER MARSHA RATTERMAN. SCENE: FIRST JOB IN A LIBRARY IN OHIO:

Belittled unendingly by her boss, Ratterman was scared to come to work. It made her physically sick. Her boss reminded her of Margaret Hamilton in "The Wizard of Oz."

Ready to finally move on, Ratterman writes resignation letter. Fearing boss, she looks both ways, drops it on boss's chair and exits office.

Boss comes in, notices letter, marches out to Ratterman: "You're a smart aleck, and we don't need your kind in the p ublic l ibrary . Good riddance to you!"

Ratterman picks up her things, leaves library, and suddenly realizes that she has taken control of her life and it can now be better.

* * *

"I went on to better things and places," Ratterman said. "It's not perfect here, but no one is as bad as the Steve Carell character . . . or Dwight," who once told the women in the office that having a bathroom is a privilege.

On Thursdays, Ratterman always goes home to watch "her" show. It reminds her of where she has been and might shed some light on things that could be changed at her own workplace in Cincinnati. "I'll bet a lot of people think the show is completely over the top, and they have no idea how close to reality it is, unfortunately."

Ratterman has even created her own perfect ending to the show, should it ever go off the air:

"The final episode should show the employees being awarded some huge judgment following their lawsuit for workplace harassment, and the boss rolled up in a rug and thrown out in the parking lot."

My educated guess is many people envision that same thing as their very own happy ending.

Perhaps It’s Because I’m German

Or maybe it’s just that this is the perfect way to start your day. I know it was for me.

Top Management tried to wait until I woke up on my own, but she just couldn’t. She found this video courtesy Chris O’Donnell’s blog and simply had to share it.

And with excellent reason. It is all that is pure and true in this world wrapped up in one magnificent three minute bundle. It encapsulates the emotion of Capra, the depth of Ford, the energy of Hawkes, the introspection of Scorsese and the technical mastery of Spielberg. You may never be quite the same after viewing it, but fear not: you will be better for it. Oh, yes. You will be better for it.

When this world treats you hard and cold, remember this video and be warmed by the goodness inside each and every human being.

But none more so than in this man. This man with love for all humanity, and one heck of a sense of humor. No wonder my brethren love him so.

Not So Mad about Madden

I know this may be heresy as he seems to be one of the most beloved figures in America right now, and I know he’s supposed to be one of the major gurus in sports, but I think John Madden’s losing it.

I only watched bits and pieces of the game last night—when I went to bed Green Bay was still leading Minnesota—but I saw enough to hear Madden say some really stupid stuff. I mean, yeah, I know, he’s supposed to be one of the most knowledgeable and insightful commentators in all of sports. And I’m sure he is. I must have just missed those quips. Because here’s one I heard, right after Brett Favre had completed a pass for a big gain:

"See, that’s the thing with Favre. If you’re a cornerback and you’re gonna guess, you’re gonna have to guess right or Favre will burn you."

Really, John? No shit? You don’t say. Never mind a first-ballot Hall of Famer like Brett Favre. If you guess wrong with pretty much any NFL starting quarterback you’re gonna get burned. That’s how it works.

If you guess wrong with Drew Bledsoe, you’re gonna get burned. If you guess wrong with Drew Brees, you’re gonna get burned. If you guess wrong with Kurt Warner, you’re gonna get burned. If you guess wrong with Kyle Orton, you’re gonna get burned. Hell’s bells, if you guess wrong with Joey Harrington, chances are, you’re gonna get burned. Well, maybe not Harrington. No, you know what? Even with Harrington.

So, yes, John, if you guess wrong with Brett Favre, you’re gonna get burned. Thank you for explaining that. Now can you go over the whole thing about what a first down means? Say, how many points is a touchdown worth?

Sheesh. A color guy’s supposed to talk when he has something to say, not just to use up oxygen. Madden still knows more about the game than I ever, ever will. I just wish he’d show that rather than flapping his lips to kill time. Brett Favre was on the field. If you got nothin’ to say, then shut up and just let us watch.

Comedy for Those Who Think Suicide’s a Laugh Riot

NBC’s newest comedy is called The Office. It’s the American version of a British hit by the same name. I’d heard about the British show for years but never had the opportunity to see it, although everyone I spoke to who’d seen it reported that it was the funniest show ever. When I heard NBC was bringing it over, with an American cast, I feared the worst.

Those fears were alleviated, sort of, when I discovered that Steve Carell was the star. Carell, as all should know, is one of the two best correspondents The Daily Show ever had and seems incapable of not being hysterical. The question, then, was: would the show be worthy of him or would it merely be hideous to watch such a great actor brought down by awful material?

The answer is: I should have been afraid—everyone should—and it is indeed hideous to watch. Not accidentally, though: it’s hideous to watch because that’s what they’re going for. They’ve taken office situations that are too real and too familiar to be comfortable and juiced them up so much even Bud Selig would have paid attention. As one review of the original series said, the paradox is that its best moments are almost physically unwatchable. This is one of those shows you view through your fingers. It’s brilliant. It’s incisive. It’s so freakin’ painful.

I don’t know if NBC is going to keep it on Tuesday nights at 9:30—they tend to jerk their best shows around until they die a premature death—but if you get the chance to tune in, I most highly recommend it. I mean, seriously, after this rave review, what could possibly keep you from being glued to the tube at that time?

Do I know how to give something the hard sell or what?