Idle threat of the week

Back in April the Don Imus controversy allowed Al Sharpton to do the two things he loves best: Get on television and act as an unelected spokesperson for black people.

It was his greatest triumph. Not only did he accomplish (at least temporarily) his goal of forcing Imus's ouster, but, unlike his previous attempts at racial adjudicating, this one didn't end with seven people dying in a flaming building or the high profile humiliation of the supposed victim Sharpton had rushed to the aid of.

Still, the whole affair seemed a little off to those of us who spend time in our pajamas staring at computer screens. "Nappy headed hoes," while certainly an impolite slur, would barely raise an eyebrow if printed on the Wild West-like Blogosphere. Even if it was in reference to a bunch of hard working student athletes who probably overcame lots of treacherous obstacles on their way to hard-earned success.

Since much of the Internet's raunchiness is fueled by advertisers hawking novelty T-shirts and dating services -- and is enjoyed by people who drop all kinds of vulgarity and crude stereotypes in their own comments -- it doesn't seem like there is a whole lot anyone can do to change or shame this anything-goes culture.

Sharpton, in all of his self-aggrandizing glory, thought he caught a rare break on this front when TMZ, a website owned by media giant Time-Warner, called Beyonce a "Roboho" in reference to a futuristic and revealing outfit the singer wore to an award show.

Last week, when he learned of the corporate cyber-characterization, Sharpton fired off a missive to TMZ, demanding an apology or else, and stating: "It's intolerable to think that TMZ.com would find humor in calling Beyonce -- someone who symbolizes the strength, dignity and uplifting of Black women -- a "'Roboho.'"

What, you never heard about this? That's because nobody cared. In fact, the only publicity it received was when TMZ printed the letter and gave its readers an opportunity to mock Sharpton.

While one could correctly point out there is a difference between calling a entertainer (or an entertainer's outfit) a "roboho" and calling an unknown18-year old a "nappy headed ho," I think this episode shows that, at least for the foreseeable future, the Interent won't be regulated in any way shape or form.

For his humorous attempt to do so, Al Sharpton has captured Idle Threat of the Week for July 9th to 15th. Proving, whether he likes it or not, Sharpton might be best at providing low-hanging fruit to those of us who need to figure out something to blog about.

Where have you gone Paulina Porizkova?

Back, many years ago, before everything got so glossy and semi-nude, the Sports Illustrated swimsuit issue was a check-for-it-in-the-mail big deal. This year, even though she is more of a celebrity than a swimsuit model, Beyonce is the cover girl. Maybe that's the direction SI has been going lately. I wouldn't know, with the flesh-filled Internet distracting me. But I do smell synergy.

Anyway, the designers got it right putting her on the cover sideways. Wouldn't want a repeat of this.

In care you're wondering, Paulina Porizkova went into the domestic embrace of Cars' frontman Ric Ocasek, and the crazy kids have beat the odds and remained together ever since -- happy Valentine's Day. They met 23 years ago on the set of the video for Drive. Which was the only one of Cars' big hits the late Benjamin Orr, not Ocasek, sang.

Death watch: Two down and one to go edition

Death is a famously holiday averse fellow, and while you've been opening presents, stuffing your face with food, searching for after-Christmas bargains and preparing for New Years, the beat goes on for the angel with no body-fat and a scythe.

Last night Death snagged himself the biggest holiday prize of all: A United States President. Gerald Ford had already captured the admiration of Death Watchers everywhere with his grace and resilience* in face of mounting evidence of his impending demise. At 93, Ford was and will remain the longest living President in US history. George Herbert Walker Bush edges Jimmy Carter to grab the title of "oldest living President."

Like he always does, Death came in on Christmas. This year it was James Brown who paid the ultimate price for Death's workaholic tendencies. I don't have a lot to say about Brown because he was the "Godfather of Soul" and I find too much soul overwhelms me -- and by too much soul I mean any more than is in that Backstreet Boys' song you hate to admit is pretty good.

Nevertheless, James Brown's over-the-top style spawned some solid parodies I was able to appreciate, including this classic skit from Eddie Murphy.

Any Death Watcher worth his or her salt knows death comes in threes. Taking the star-power of Ford and Brown into account, the chances of Fidel Castro and Dick Cheney both making it to 2007 would now seem quite slight.

But I see that Castro's doctor, after months of stonewalling, has claimed the Cuban leader's health is improving. And, since nothing clears the arteries like the thrill of a lesbian birth, the US Vice President is also likely in the clear.

Over the next few days I'll be watching Donald Trump, who could be cracking under increased stress, Vladamir Putin, who may have handled poisonous material, Terrell Owens, who craves attention at all costs, and Beyonce Knowles, whose face is falling off.

* In a finale tribute to Ford's sticktoitness, the author of his Washington Post obituary died, himself, almost a year ago.

Bonus video: More fun with Gerald Ford obits from Dana Carvey.

Now that's just not sexy, not sexy like it should be

I recently recommended, to maintain her 2006 search engine success in '07, Beyonce needed to involve herself in a plastic surgery scandal. Holding no ill-will towards the R & B star, I meant the kind of scandal in which a celebrity suddenly gets a lot better looking and the rest of us fervently try to pinpoint why.

I'm not sure if this constitutes a "scandal," but the activity in Beyonce chest region shoots cold water on that smouldering gaze she is going for upstairs.
If it's any consolation, in a hundred years her decomposing corpse will be adorned with two-good-as-new -- although oddly different shaped -- chemical compound-filled plastic bags.