YOU CAN’T ALWAYS GET WHAT YOU WANT, HILLARY

It’s been a while since a non-incumbent major ticket presidential candidate has stirred up as much enmity as Hillary Clinton.  I certainly wasn’t a fan of George W. Bush when he ran originally, but it took the first term of his presidency for me to develop the visceral dislike I – and millions – harbor toward him now.  But, somehow, Hillary has already managed to generate that kind of heat, not only with Republicans, but among many Democrats.  Which is somehow…impressive, in a really macabre way.

And while some would say a Hillary Clinton presidency would be fitting retribution for 8 years of W., it’s never a good thing when a President invokes such strong negative reactions from a sizable portion of the country.  It’s a terrible feeling to despise your President.  It may be a sign of democracy’s success, but I wouldn’t want a sizable minority of the country to go through the same thing next time.  And I don’t think Obama and McCain would polarize us nearly as much.  

I know it’s unfair to Clinton to a degree, because she’s toting a lot of her husband’s baggage.  But you don’t get to be President just because you really, really, really want it, as we learned from Bob Dole, Adlai Stevenson and Alf Landon.

Sometimes you need to take your ego out of it.  Richard Nixon did just that when he chose not to dispute the 1960 electoral results.  Al Gore fought the good fight in 2000, then gracefully conceded, even if he did go on to a rather annoying Hollywood existence.  Hillary should follow suit, even though I think there’s little chance she will. 

The irony is that the people Hillary wants to help the most are the ones facing the greatest risk if she stays in and loses in November.  They, and the rest of us, deserve better.  

CELL PHONES ON PLANES

The best urban myth in the world is about to be proven false (no, not the one about the guy with the hook, the guy who’s hiding in the backseat of your car or Paul from The Wonder Years being Marilyn Manson – that one’s actually true).  It’s the one where use of a cell phone on an airplane interferes with the magical instruments which keep you aloft.  Apparently, Emirates Airways is now allowing passengers to use their phones mid-flight. 

This was a case where a lie (you’re fucking with our navigation) was clearly preferable to the truth (feel free to move about the cabin and irritate everyone on the plane).  While there may be some merit in getting the guy in the next seat to stop talking to me and make a phone call, instead…he’s still talking.  And he’s still going to be irritating, but now it’ll just be louder and more repetitive. 

I’m not a big cell phone user.  Very few people need to be reachable 24 hours a day.  And most who do tend to scare the shit out of me.  (President Bush, Diane Sawyer)  Anyone older than 25 spent more than half their lives relying on land lines.  If smokers can wait an entire flight to continue killing themselves, cell users can wait that long to talk. 

So I’m begging the FAA to keep lying to us about the cell phones.  Because sometimes the truth doesn’t set us free as much as set our one last nerve on edge.  No phones on flights will keep my skies much, much friendlier. 

JOHN ADAMS AND GODSPELL

As of this moment, I’ve seen two episodes of “John Adams” and two words spring to mind:  “overwrought” and “melodrama.”  I didn’t want it to be this way, and I hope episode 3 changes my mind.  But good Lord those people – filmmakers and revolutionaries – need to lighten the fuck up. 

It’s not the acting, although David Morse does play George Washington like he’s, well, retarded.  I actually really like Paul Giamatti in the title role, which is amazing, because I haven’t liked Paul Giamatti since “The Negotiator.”  I’m part of a very small minority who hated every moment of “Sideways” that he was in.  (That pinot noir scene went on and on and, yeah, GOT IT.  He’s the grape.  Move on.)  As an actor, he makes Al Pacino a minimalist.  But somehow, he’s really good in this.  Laura Linney, as the 18^th Century Barbara Bush, is also quite good with a part that basically limits her to wise counsel, hardworking housewife and smallpox experimenter. 

Tom Wilkinson does another great American accent as Ben Franklin, although the writers have done him no favors by including every aphorism Franklin ever came up with, regardless of whether they fit into the actual conversation.  Stephen Dillane is a hot, shy (?), Thomas Jefferson, who apparently not only invented the modern office chair, but brought it to Philadelphia, although I’m not exactly sure why.  It’s sort of like the writers – and I’m certainly not blaming the book – felt we needed the Cliffs Notes on other Famous Americans of Revolutionary War Times.  If I don’t see Betsy Ross walking by with some needle and thread, I’ll be mighty disappointed, indeed. 

I think what bothers me most are the oppressive score; the heavy-handed directing, with the inexplicable shaky camera shots; and way too many scenes of Paul Giamatti in winter on that horse.  I’ll keep watching, in part because Playtone also did “Band of Brothers,” which barely edges “The Wire” out for the best thing on television ever.  But I hope this picks up.  Quickly. 

So, if I haven’t already spent enough time trying to convince my TiVo I’m not gay, I may have another battle on my hands, since it just recorded “Godspell” without my permission.  It was on TCM, my channel of choice, which might explain it.   

“Godspell” and “Jesus Christ Superstar” were both released the same year, making them the “Armageddon” and “Deep Impact” of 1973.  What was it about the year, that apparently Hollywood decided one big-screen musical version of Jesus’ life just wasn’t enough?  It’s hard to think of that happening today.  But don’t suggest it to Mel Gibson, just in case.

Victor Garber is a stunning, young, kinda hot, fairly gay Jesus.  If you’ve never seen the movie, it’s like “Hair,” but with less Vietnam and more Jesus.  And, if I had to guess from the actors’ dazed looks, more behind-the-scenes drug taking.  

It also reinforced my anti-hippie feelings.  There was like a decade when sales of deodorant and shoes must have plummeted.  And even though I’m generally in agreement with the peace and love theme, I prefer it to come with cleaner and better smelling messengers. 

“John Adams” and “Godspell.”  Just another traditional holiday weekend.    

RUNAWAY BRIDE’S GROOM WEDS STATIONARY BRIDE

John Mason, the guy the Runaway Bride ran away from (and how humiliating for him), just got married.  I was hoping against hope it was to Lisa Nowak, the crazy astronaut, but, alas, it wasn’t to be.   

First of all, how many crappy jokes did this guy have to endure as the day approached?              

DUDE:  Hey, John, do you think this one will…            

JOHN:  Yeah, GOT IT.   

Of course, had I been invited to the ceremony, I would’ve been the one whispering in the bride’s direction “Go.  Go now.  Do it now.”  Which is yet another reason to never invite me to weddings.  Or, really, anywhere.

And why is it we always blame Jennifer Wilbanks in this situation?  Besides the fact she’s a liar and quite possibly racist.  John Mason may be a fine man, but the thought of marrying him apparently freaked out Wilbanks enough that she ended up inspiring a multi-state dragnet.  So, I’m thinking John may have one or two annoying habits.

As for Lisa Nowak, while I’ll be the first to admit she went to some extreme lengths to eliminate the competition – ADULT DIAPERS!  My favorite detail in any story, ever.  I don’t even care if it’s true.  Sometimes the myth is enough (i.e.:  I like thinking Al Gore invented the Internet.  Puts a face to it.)  – I’ll also go on record as being sure the guy astronaut in that triangle was one smug prick, even before this whole episode.  And now he’s probably considerably worse, since he actually had some woman so in love with him she planned to kidnap her rival (the ultimate in mud wrestling fantasies), and so desperate she decided to forgo rest stops. 

Moral to the story:  Behind every lunatic woman, there’s a guy you’d probably punch if forced to spend a whole day with him. 

And I really hope that when John Mason’s current wife leaves him (only a matter of time), Lisa Nowak is out on bail.    

SHE’S NOT FAT, SHE’S ANGRY

So, Lisa Marie Presley Keough Jackson Cage (bet you forgot about that one) Lockwood is suing the London tabloid that called her fat.  On the one hand, she could be scoring one for the Big Girls, who’ve been called fat throughout their lives and never had the chance to profit from it.   

On the other hand, it could be looked at as a “fuck you” to the same, since she seems to be implying that calling someone “fat” is horrific abuse, which is a bit thin-skinned (stretched over a bunch of fat).  I mean, the woman allows people to call her a Scientologist, which is oh-so-much-worse. 

Normally, I have nothing but sympathy for children of celebrities, who don’t deserve the intense media scrutiny.  Angelina and Brad are fair game; their kids aren’t.  But if little Shiloh Nouvel ever starts wearing a vial of Maddox’s blood around her neck, she’d better expect the cameras. 

Lisa Marie profited from the second-degree fame – how many record contracts do you think Lisa Marie Bezanson would’ve had? – and she married Michael Jackson.  Michael Jackson.  You have to know you’re never going to be able to fade into obscurity after you’ve, theoretically, slept with Michael Jackson.  Especially if you’re a grown woman. 

Plus, she’s pregnant, but that wasn’t all baby.  Unfortunately for her, Elvis’s dietary habits were rather famous, and it’s fair game to see if the giant pear falls near the tree.      

I suggest she stop whining, get better eating habits – I don’t think burgers piled high with everything are featured in the nutrition section of “What to Expect When You’re Expecting” – and get a better sense of humor.  

And when all else fails, she can enjoy her father’s other legacy: enough money to make Oprah look middle-income. 

GRUMPY OLD MAN IN THE WHITE HOUSE

Like just about everyone’s grandpa, John McCain has days when he, metaphorically, takes everyone out for ice cream, and moments when he tells you to be more goddam careful with his stamp collection.  If elected, there will be times when he’s the Grumpy Old Man in the White House. 

A look back at the past 50 years of White House personalities: 

Dwight D. Eisenhower – Benign Old Man.  From one of the most lukewarm campaign slogans in history (I Like Ike), to two terms of nothing much happening.  It must’ve been like buying Springsteen’s The Ghost of Tom Joad album.  You knew you owed him for earlier great deeds (Springsteen, Born to Run; Ike, putting WWII in the U.S. win column), but you also knew the best days were long gone. 

John F. Kennedy – Horny Young Man.  This would be like taking your favorite seduction song (for me, currently, James Brown’s Night Train), then playing it on a continuous loop for all occasions.  Sometimes it helps you get ready for the job interview/face down a missile crisis and sometimes it’s just not what you need at Thanksgiving dinner/covering your ass while trying to overthrow Castro.   

Lyndon B. Johnson – Crazy Middle-Aged Man.  This was like taking a good hard look at the Beatles.  Yesterday/Civil Rights Legislation.  The Long and Winding Road/Head Start.  Hey Jude/Anti-poverty programs.  Anything with a sitar/Vietnam. 

Richard M.  Nixon – Crazy Middle-Aged Criminal.  This was like letting your 21-year-old intern program your i-Pod.  Yes, there will be some cutting edge music that will change your life and create Soviet détente.  But there will also be an overwhelming amount of shit that’ll take forever to clean up. 

Gerald Ford – Benign Middle-Aged Man.  In the mid-70s, this must’ve been like  considering whether or not to play your sister’s Tony Orlando and Dawn’s Greatest Hits album.  You didn’t have to pay for it, and who doesn’t enjoy “Knock Three Times,” but some kids you know and like okay – but don’t love – are hanging out at the mall.  Decisions, decisions. 

Jimmy Carter – Middle-Aged Pessimist.  This was like the first time you heard “Roxanne” on an oldies radio station.  You still like the song, but now you just feel old. 

Ronald Reagan – Not Quite All There Old Man.  This is like what happened when Ticketmaster emerged, promising better concert experiences, then fucking you in the ass with all the fees.   

George H.W. Bush – Benign Late Middle Aged/Old Man.  In the ’80s, this was like Belinda Carlisle’s solo career.  You kind of understand why it happened, but not really.   

Bill Clinton – Horny Middle-Aged Man.  Again, this was some more Night Train, mixed with the soundtrack to Showgirls.  It was the best of James Brown, Little Richard and Jackie Wilson, along with the music they play at cockfights. 

George W. Bush – Middle-Aged Prick.  Wagner with some Prussian Blue.  

A KATHIE LEE FREE ZONE

Inspired by Kathie Lee Gifford’s possible return to television as the co-host of the fourth hour of the “Today” show, I’ve compiled a list of other things we really don’t need: 

A fourth hour of the “Today” show 

Weeping Brett Favre 

Teen pregnancy that looks kind of fun, whether real (Jamie Lynn Spears) or imagined (Juno) 

White House residents who have ever been Governor of Arkansas.  Or, just to be safe, have even driven through the state. 

Another fucked-up Florida election 

Up-to-the-minute coverage of the downward spirals of Lindsay Lohan, Amy Winehouse and Britney Spears.  However, if Dane Cook starts to look shaky, go for it. 

PATRICK SWAYZE

“Dirty Dancing” was my coming of age movie.   It is one of those films I watch every time it’s on cable.  I have the DVD and even though it’s been a while since I’ve played it, I feel better just knowing it’s there.   

At the end of last year, I downloaded Solomon Burke’s “Cry to Me,” the 45 that falls into place when Johnny takes Baby’s shirt off.  It is my greatest desire – even greater than the one where Dick Cheney goes to prison – that one day, some incredibly hot guy will undress me to that song, before we have the kind of  sex that’s only possible with a great soundtrack and Hollywood lighting. 

I was no longer a virgin when I saw the movie originally, but it was my first taste of real eroticism, and, even better, it was smart and funny.  I laugh at that Ho Chi Minh Trail joke every single time.  And I learned that Frances Perkins was the first woman in the Cabinet.

You can’t help but cheer for the smart, slightly awkward girl who becomes a woman (every time I think of the phrase “becomes a woman,” it reminds me of the film in fourth grade that all the girls watched, which lives on in my memory mostly because I threw up in the middle of it.  Try living that down.)   It’s the ugly duckling transforming into the swan, and Jennifer Grey need only have looked at that final dance scene to realize plastic surgery would do much more harm than good.  She’s radiant and part of it has to do with Patrick Swayze. 

I was so sad to hear of Patrick Swayze’s diagnosis and hope he recovers fully.  I loved him in “Ghost,” velour shirt notwithstanding (Lesson:  Not only do you want to always wear good underwear in case of an accident, you should throw out all clothes you don’t want to spend eternity regretting).  But it’s “Dirty Dancing” that made him my prototype of who you wanted to not only throw you down on the bed, but to pull you out of the corner. 

Johnny Castle was sexy, all male, slightly dumb (which does have its place in the world of sex) and stood up for what was right.  And Patrick Swayze was terrific in the part (although I’m sure he’s much smarter than Johnny). 

I hope he gets through this.  I know I owe him and Jennifer Grey a tremendous thank you for opening my eyes so long ago.  And now, I’m going to watch that DVD yet again. 

MARINE THROWS DOG; WORLD ENDS

Yesterday, I was watching CNN – a news outlet I actually like very much – when one of the journalism personalities went all late-breaking-news on us that they’d just received some extraordinarily disturbing, graphic footage that they were, of course, itching to show, but not before cautioning another five hundred times that this was disturbing, graphic, late-breaking and on CNN! 

It turns out some fucking moron of a Marine (a group I respect very much, although this particular guy? Not so much) poses for a video, with adorable puppy in hand, then throws it like a football, accompanied by little yelping noises by the dog.   

Two things bothered me about this.  The first is that judging by CNN’s coverage, you’d think this was the worst news to come out of Iraq ever.  Which, no offense to the dog, it very clearly isn’t.  And second, if this footage is real, it’ll get more public outrage domestically than Abu Ghraib.  Which says so much about the American public, and not in a good way. 

Animal cruelty is one of the few areas where Americans just do not forgive and forget.  It’s basically that and pedophilia, and even then, it all hinges on just how much you like “Thriller.”  Everything else is pretty much okay.  Pete Rose will eventually make it into Baseball’s Hall of Fame because of the ameliorating effects of Indian casinos, online gaming and that stupid “Everything That Happens in Vegas Stays in Vegas” ad campaign.  Barry Bonds will get past the steroid controversy, and even though he still has that whole considerable “he’s an asshole” stigma to beat, eventually we’ll look back at him, not fondly, but with much less hatred. 

In politics, you can actually leave a woman to die and eventually become a senior statesman of your party.  Blow-jobs in the Oval Office, messy blue dresses and the misappropriation of Walt Whitman prepare you for a possible role as the nation’s First Husband.  Enabling Halliburton to bugger American taxpayers, a couple dozen heart attacks when you’re a heartbeat away from the Presidency and being just plain mean still get you two terms as Vice President. 

But throwing a puppy?  On camera?  What the fuck is this guy thinking?  He needs to be discharged just for being stupid. 

And CNN?  Don’t do that again.   Spend more time on why Iraq truly is hell on earth, and leave the rest to YouTube.