Snap Judgement: Fox Business Network

Once upon a time I used to sit in an office and buy and sell stock. And by buy and sell stock, I mean watch CNBC all day. Not because I liked it, but because it was on, blaring down upon me from multiple ceiling hung TVs every second that I was at work.

Not that I didn't like CNBC. In fact, over time, their cast of characters became like my co-workers. Joe Kernen was always telling me what he did over the weekend -- although it didn't bother me because he was a pretty entertaining guy. Mark Haines, he was jolly. And David Faber, maybe a little too much of a know it all, but "the brain" didn't seem to mind when I turned away from his latest hard-hitting investigation to play freecell on my computer.

It was a special treat when Kudlow and Kramer stopped by, especially if the Fed had done something to get them riled up. Then there was Maria Bartiromo, aka the "Money Honey." I thought she looked like a goblin, and would loudly express this critique anytime she popped onto the screen. "No she is hot," my real-life co-workers would protest, from all corners of the room. "If you like goblins," I would respond. That exchange never got old.

I say all this because earlier today I checked out the brand new Fox Business Network, which has set its sights squarely on CNBC. I watched for an hour and that was enough to confirm they did things like have a crawl with stock symbols on it, cover the opening bell, talk about stocks, sprinkle in some jokes and light banter, feature a female reporter who wouldn't look out of place in soft-core porn, and interview "experts" who made rough prognostications on general market trends. Just like CNBC would.

Imitation is a good start. Fox News was able to quickly distinguish itself and eventually come to dominate the small pie that is cable news by offering a different political perspective. There is no such magic bullet in the minuscule (a few hundred thousand, tops) pie that is financial news. Here it is bears vs. bulls and, at least in the long run, most are bulls.

From what I've read, FBN is taking a more "main street" approach than CNBC does. That is they are targeting regular investors, not just Wall Street grunts. It could have been a function of this particular morning's market, but I did notice a high percentage of easy to understand phrases such as "Yahoo," and "IBM" and "Warren Buffet" being tossed about.

But for legitimacy and optimal audience FBN is also going to need to capture the attention of the pros.

Actually, the reason I watched CNBC everyday at work was because I couldn't easily reach the TV and had no idea where the remote control was. Even if I were able to, switching the channel would put my section out of sync with the other sections in our office.

To be successful FBN is going to have to have a lot folks find the remote or stand on their tip-toes. It's a difficult task, because people are lazy and can become quite attached to their daily squawkers.

But given the money, time and avenues for promotion and partnership -- the Wall Street Journal, for example -- Murdoch, Ailes and co. have, I would be as reluctant to pick against the long term prospects of FBN as I would the stock market.

Snap Judgement: Superbad

I've always figured the big difference between going to high school now and when I attended not so long ago would be the cell phones. The enormous amount of time and energy my friends and I spent tracking each other down to coordinate the who, what and where of our weekend nights (and to coordinate the coordination) would have been reduced to moments on the fly if we all had the hand-held communication devices of today. With the time saved, I would have left high school a far superior video game player.

So it was like they had me in mind when Superbad opened with a cellphone conversation. The topic of discussion was of the other phenomena that didn't exist in the near past of my teenage years, but is now ubiquitous and perfectly in-step with the high school lifestyle: Internet pornography.

Although, after the updates in the first scene, there is almost nothing in Superbad that couldn't have taken place when I was a Walt Whitman Viking, or in the celluloid world of teen sex comedies -- such as American Pie or Fast Times at Ridgemont High -- of summer's yore.

In the latest version, the three less-than-popular protagonists decide the best way to end their secondary school dry spell is to ply their fantasy girls with mankind's favorite social lubricant.

Their journey for alcohol takes on an almost search for the ring type intensity, and much of the movie is spent in action adventure mode as three boys on a quest to be the heroes of Friday night encounter vicious thieves, playful cops, jealous boyfriends and sentimental but tuneless cocaine snorters.

They eventually succeed, but their brief moment of house party super-stardom ends with a cautionary message concerning booze that would be right at home in an after-school special.

Still, everything finally works out, and, like in all of the genre, this is a sweet, good natured film.

And a very funny film, although most of the best set pieces had been pre-released through Youtube. A marketing technique that -- while clearly responsible for Superbad's huge first week haul -- does take away from the actual in-theater viewing.

Superbad is also a lot less raunchy than those clips led me to believe. I guess in this age of Internet flesh and discussion of Internet flesh, a movie is not going to be able to sustain the audiences interest with dirty talk or glimpses of Phoebe Cates emerging (NSFW in a 1982 way) topless from a swimming pool.

Check it out, if just for the acting of Michael Cera, who, at 19, can already be described as the Marlon Brando of awkward pauses and nervous improvisation.

But don't worry if you miss it. They will be making movies just like Superbad long after high school kids are able to get the latest scoop on Friday night's goings on through a computer chip implanted in their brain.

Snap Judgement: When Larry met Paris

Forgive me for thinking an interview involving Larry King -- a senile old man who last night confused Ringo, the funny Beatle, with George, the dead Beatle, -- and Paris Hilton, who is
Paris Hilton, might be somewhat entertaining or at least highly lampoonable.

Boy was I wrong. On both counts. And anyone who disagrees should probably be kept away from too much growing grass or drying paint.

OK, the part when King referred to the notes Paris kept in prison as "extraordinary" (they weren't) was kind of funny.

Under the microscope of an hour long interview it turns out that Paris is neither particularly dumb nor remotely interesting. Despite a limited vocabulary she's actually fairly articulate, but in an unexciting media savvy sort of way. King, who must have agreed not to ask her about her famous sex tape, couldn't even get Paris to admit to taking more than the occasional drink, let alone reveal details of the party lifestyle that fuels the world's fascination with the heiress.

King's best half-hearted efforts didn't compel Paris to dish on other celebrities, or cry, or acknowledge a devastating Adderall addiction King was oddly obsessed with, or talk of saving the world, or even seem all that regretful for a crime that, I guess, nobody should feel all that sorry for committing. King did skillfully get Paris to concede prison can be scary at first, and that she has been "changed" by her experience.

The biggest loser in this much ballyhooed snooze fest was Anderson Cooper. Since Cooper's show follows King's, he was tasked with leading a panel discussion wrap up of what may have been the most boring interview in the history of (semi) intelligent lifeforms. I can't say I stuck around to see what Cooper was able to do with it. If you did, God help you.

Snap Judgement: The Sopranos

As I type this, HBO's web page for The Sopranos, as well as every fan message board for the series, is currently unavailable. Flooded, no doubt, with viewers trying to figure out what just happened.

Right now the registered user who got on to the Wikipedia page of The Sopranos is suggesting Tony was shot in the back of the head by one of the suspicious customers in the diner, and that the screen then went blank because the show was from Tony's perspective and thus ceased to exist at the point of his death.

I guess that could be the case -- I do recall a couple discussions Tony had about the incomprehensible suddenness of being whacked. But, really, the show wasn't completely from Tony's perspective, so this explanation seems a bit of stretch. In fact, the Wikipedia entry has already been changed to suggest a more ambiguous ending.

As evidenced by the episode tonight, a large part of what made The Sopranos so appealing was its mix of the exotic mob lifestyle that so few could relate to with the mundane domestic lifestyle which we could all identify with. At times -- especially during the two seasons leading up to this final one -- there was too much domestic focus, and the series lost its punch.

The show regained its mojo in the final nine episodes, as we were treated to the downside of the criminal enterprise: The all encompassing fear and paranoia that takes over when things, inevitably, start to go wrong.

Still, to the end, the kitchen talks and the trips to the therapist were at the heart of the show. The Sopranos wasn't the first popular mob fictionalization that brought to life the family with a lowercase f. But neither Goodfellas or The Godfather had the space of 80 hours to flush out the complexity of family ties like The Sopranos did.

Because of the length of the serial and the depth of the audience involvement in the characters (due to excellent writing and acting), The Sopranos was about as voyeuristic as a high quality work of fiction can be.

The key to series's success was you didn't feel like you were watching a movie or a TV show. Rather it was like you were spying on a familiar group of intertwined people through a peephole. Perhaps mindful of this, and therefor not feeling beholden to the traditional story arc, Sopranos' creator David Chase decided to end the show by simply, abruptly closing the peephole.

So we will never know if Tony was gunned down by the man drinking coffee, or the gangstas closing in on the table. It will always be a mystery as to whether Meadow's inability to parallel park saved her from a hail of bullets, or if it merely made her a few more minutes late for onion rings with her three closest relatives.

Just like we will never know if there is still an indestructible Russian madman terrorizing the woods of South Jersey. Or what became of Furio. Or the conclusions of any of the numerous plot lines that were introduced but, once they veered from the view of the little hole we were all allowed to stare through, were never revisited .

I'm not going to deny tonight's episode left me unfulfilled. Although I can't claim to be surprised the series ended like it did.

And I can't say David Chase and company hadn't spent the last eight years thoroughly preparing us the final moment. We will never know the fate of Tony, but we can be certain that, in the end, we all got whacked.

* Anybody who has spent time in fratty bars knows that the DJ usually plays Don't Stop Believing during the run up to last call. Was that why David Chase chose the Journey hit to usher in the end of The Sopranos? Reading way too much into things is fun.

Snap judgement: American Idol

Although I am fan of America and singing, I had never seen American Idol. That is not to say I don't have a substantial body of knowledge pertaining to the show. American Idol is a viewer participatory competition with real time aspects to it. It also dominates the ratings with its rapidly growing audience. This combination results in it getting covered like a sporting event, and a consumer of media like myself can not help but being attuned to its goings on.

Already up to the waist in American Idol, last night I decided to take my maiden hour-long swim.

The show started by introducing us to a rather unusual contestant. A young Los Angeles man who had, oddly, taken on the mannerisms and demeanor of a wild panther. Despite his handicap, panther man expressed his desire to make his mark as a singer and dancer and in a host of other entertainment-related fields generally closed to members of the big cat family.

His first step was to impress the judges of American Idol. He stalked around the stage, growled and violently hooked his imaginary claw at imaginary threats. I was wondering if he would sing and finally, with prodding from the judges, he did.

I've never really thought much about it, but if a panther was to sing it would probably be in a high pitched rapid fire falsetto -- which he'd alternate with primal hisses. And that's exactly what this panther man did.

I didn't expect the judges to pass him to the next round. America is not ready for an idol so genuinely feline. But I was surprised by the curtness all the judges -- not just Simon Cowell -- dismissed him with. The guy really was like a panther. I would have at least expected an acknowledgement of his uniqueness.

Although maybe the chimera contestant is commonplace. If so, I could see that getting tiresome.

Grease star and pop singer Olivia Newton-John made a special appearance last night as a guest judge. Newton-John is the granddaughter of Noble Prize winning quantum physics pioneer Max Born. Fascinating lineage aside, I can not imagine anyone contributing less to an hour of television than Olivia Newton-John did yesterday.

Going forward, the show followed the expected formula of a quick back story followed by the audition. About half the applicants were good and half really bad.

As for the really bad, I was expecting having-fun-with-it bad. The kind of bad that made William Hung an international sensation for a week or two a few years back.

What I got was tragically delusional bad. The kind of bad that starts with singing worse than me in the shower and ends with begging and hysterical tears.

There is nothing fun about that kind of bad. I would rather be forced to spend the day staring bums in the eye than have to watch a sobbing, crestfallen 18-year old girl be told her voice is an act of aggression (and agree completely with the assessment.) If this is the appeal of the show, they may as well start broadcasting Gitmo interrogations.

Not all the tears came after bad auditions. There was one almost touching moment when some old codger who had to petition to be on the show -- there is a 16 to 28 age limit -- sang a song for his "lady friend" recently deceased. He was a good singer, and his performance triggered unrestrained weeping in Paula Abdul.

I found something out about myself last night. When Paula Abdul cries . . . let's just say it wasn't my manliest moment.

The hour ended with hijinks born from an inside joke I didn't get. The judges all chased each other around the studio, at one point almost knocking over host, ever-tanned Ryan Seacreast, who no longer employs the "Seacreast out" catchphrase. I heard people found it annoying.

For the most part, I hated my hour with American Idol. I will never watch it again. Its popularity is grotesque and scary. Even more so than the hideous man-beast hybrids I now find myself imagining.

Because I don't like to end a post with such negativity, I will note that the girl who was runner up last year is very nice looking.

Snap judgement: Two new sitcoms

Besides The Office -- when I remember to -- I don't watch any of the current network sitcoms and haven't in many years. Although sometimes, usually during a sporting event commercial break channel surf, I will land on an anonymous network sitcom. When I do, I often stay for a minute or two and generally find that most of the jokes and gags that fly by are mildly amusing. Once in a while I'll even let out a cackle.

So I figure sitcoms are, on a whole, funny, and if I ever got to the point in my life when I needed a regular infusion of humor between 8 and 10 on weeknights I'd become a sitcom watcher.

I decided to put my sitcoms are funny theory to the test last night. I was going to be watching Notre Dame get blown out for their seven hundredth straight bowl loss anyway, and had been well-informed -- through a drum-beat of promos during other bowl games -- ABC would be premiering two sitcoms at 9:00 and 9:30.

The name of the first sitcom was to be "Let's Rob Mick Jagger." Only Mick Jagger objected to having his name attached to a sitcom and it was changed to "The Knights of Prosperity."

"Let's rob Mick Jagger" nicely sums up the plot of the first episode. A janitor, played by "that guy" actor Donal Logue, is sick of his station in life. Even though he is a native born white American with the verbal wit of a sitcom writer, the Queens' native is forced to clean bathrooms for a living. Watching television, he sees Mick Jagger showing off his opulent 52 million dollar Manhattan apartment and decides to rob it.

He then informs everyone he meets of this decision. Terrible criminal strategy, which would be totally excusable if it led to comic situations. Unfortunately it doesn't. The janitor puts a crew together, yada, yada, yada and by the end of the episode they haven't robbed Mick Jagger -- or made anyone laugh.

Mick Jagger, on the other hand, is a riot. With perfect Spinal Tap aplomb Jagger appears in a series of cameos where he takes a camera crew on a MTV Cribes-like tour of the 52 million dollar apartment in question. Although, since he didn't want his name on the show, I doubt Jagger will be appearing every week.

The next show was called "In Case of Emergency" and it starred Jonathan Silverman of Weekend at Bernie's fame and David Arquette of having two famous sisters and an even more famous former-sitcom-actress wife fame.

"In Case of Emergency" didn't have much in the line of a fancy "let's rob a rock star" plot, but it did cram an admirable amount of sight gags, fat jokes, crude sexual innuendo, ethnic stereotyping and physical violence in to its first fifteen minutes.

Then it started to fade, or maybe 45 minutes of sitcom watching was enough, but I didn't make it the end.

In short, I'm not as confident as I was before that sitcoms are universally funny, I have gained new found respect for Mick Jagger's comic chops, and I am pleased the Fighting Irish of Notre Dame are still exactly what everyone outside of South Bend thought they were.

Snap judgement: The K-Man's apology

Michael Richards, the actor who played Kramer on the legendary sitcom Seinfeld, got himself in hot water over the weekend for an out-of-control, tourette-like racial tirade (NSFW) against two black audience members who had been heckling him during a comedy club appearance.

This triggered our latest national obsession: The apology demand. Whether it stems from a verbal attack on a different ethnic group or a slur against the intelligence of our troops, nothing unites the nation (or the nation's press and chattering class) more than forcing a boldface name to confess his verbal sins and throw himself at the mercy of a judging public.

While I must confess I don't really care if Richards apologizes or not, I was very interested in how he would go about apologizing. As an actor, Richards is known for making strange choices with his characters. Would the same hold true for his apologies?

The answer is yes -- and delightfully so. Others may disagree, but I've already elevated Richard's performance last night on Letterman to the gold standard of celebrity apologies, for the following reasons:

Timing: News of the weekend tirade broke at about 9 AM on Monday. By late afternoon Richards was taping his apology on Letterman. It helped that his close friend and career-enabler Jerry Seinfeld had already been scheduled as Monday's Late Show guest. That's just luck. But no one ever said luck doesn't play a role in a great apology.

Appearance: Because the show Seinfeld remains king of the syndicated re-runs, Michael Richards is still fresh to television audiences. The Richards of ten-plus years ago, that is. Richards has lost hair and weight in the interim. His surprisingly gaunt, balding appearance on Letterman backed up how stressed out and devastated he claimed to be.

Anachronistic racial terminology: During his apology Richards repeatedly refers to blacks as "Afro-Americans." While far short of a racial slur, "Afro-American" is not the kind of language anyone who has consulted a publicist or speechwriter would use. This gave the apology an air of heartfelt sincerity.

Rambling crazy talk: Part of Richard's explanation for how the incident happened is that when he gets on stage he can get out-of-control. So why not throw in a little crazy talk during the apology to drive that point home? I knew what Richards was getting at when he invoked comics helping Katrina victims. But the way he said it didn't make a whole lot of sense.

Volume control: In a move more five-year old than professional actor, Richards speaks louder and louder the more bothered he gets. This effectively infantilizes Richards and makes him seem less responsible for his actions.

A little help from your friends: Michael Richards is not that famous. Jerry Seinfeld is. To have Seinfeld frame the apology, admit he was sick about what Richards said, and tell the world that he still "loved" Richards was highly beneficial. Bonus points for Jerry almost choking up.

Before Seinfeld, Richards was best known for his work with the mysterious prankster Andy Kaufman. While I still think there is a chance this whole thing was a staged event befitting Kaufman's spirit of provocation, last night Richards effectively convinced me he was sorry for something.

Snap judgement: The Borat Movie

Sacha Baron Cohen's smash hit Borat: Cultural Learnings of America for Make Benefit Glorious Nation of Kazakhstan was able to dominate the news cycle in the run up to its release. It has been in the spotlight ever since, lately with a report that Cohen, in Borat character, was assaulted in New York, and with the news of lawsuits both tricked Eastern European villagers and fooled American frat boys are bringing against the film's producers. (We're not that different after all!)

There has also been a parade of ruminations from reviewers and public intellectuals on what the movie and the movie's success means: Are Americans gullible fools? Could there be pogroms in the "exceptional" USA? Is the whole thing a joke, and the laugh is on the red states?

I watched the hilarious film last night and can report that not only aren't these questions answered but they aren't even addressed. Anyone who says otherwise either didn't see the movie -- but did see the harder-edged Borat sketches on the Ali G show -- or brought their own preconceived notions into the film and didn't bother to consider what was happening on the screen.

The only broad conclusion I could draw from Borat, the movie, is Americans are very tolerant of a foreigner and his odd customs until those odd customs breach human decency, and then they begin to lose patience with the customs and the foreigner. Not exactly an earth shattering revelation.

The film did contain one truly shocking scene involving a prolonged, very naked wrestling match between Cohen and his rotund male co-star. Even if you know it's coming and expect the worst, you will not be prepared for what goes on. I always thought the hands-over-the-eyes move was an affected one. Now I know it can be an uncontrollable impulse.

Cohen is doubly blessed as a wit and as a fearless physical comedian. He leans heavily on the latter in Borat's feature film debut. It's not necessarily a bad thing: If the film's ratio of laughs to minutes was any higher, the audience would have trouble breathing.

Actually the dumb-downed Borat's success in America and everywhere else does suggest something surprising: If properly marketed, a remake of The Three Stooges could also strike world-wide box-office gold.

If properly made, it could be pretty darn funny too.

Snap judgement: 2006 Midterm Elections

The Democrats have taken the House and, unless Conrad Burns has a "secret plan" to make 2000 votes appear out of thin air, the Senate too.

They won the House with ease, and should end up with a net gain of 31 seats. They achieved this by:

A) Capturing the districts that have been trending Democrat in presidential elections but still had a Republican representative. These seats -- mostly in the Northeast -- should remain blue for the foreseeable future.

B) Winning all of the unusually large number of scandal-ridden GOP seats. Apparently bribery or girl choking doesn't mix well with an unpopular president. In absence of more bribery or choking the Republicans should be able to win back most of these seats, which tend to be in solidly Red districts, quickly

C) Grabbing seats throughout the Midwest by running socially conservative candidates. This was the difference between an OK day and a big day for the Democrats. Rahm Emmanuel deserves a lot of credit for recruiting the right kind of candidates for the right kind of races. If the House resists acting on the instincts of what should be a very liberal leadership, it can make these seats part of a long term (but tight) Democratic majority in the House. If they can't resist, these seats don't stay blue for very long.

The Democrats were a little lucky to grab the Senate. Good candidates and Bush's unpopularity got them to the door, but it was the stunningly incompetent campaigns of George Allen and Conrad Burns that let them in.

If there is any silver lining for the Republicans it appears they are a step closer to making Florida a permanent part of their South plus Texas electoral vote fortress. They also, all things considered, didn't do that poorly in Ohio. In fact, they held more vulnerable congressional seats in Ohio than in any other state.

We'll be hearing a lot more about Florida and Ohio next time there is an election.

Snap judgement: The Departed

Yesterday it got to the point I had convinced myself instead of firing Joe Torre and trading A-Rod, a despondent George Steinbrenner had decided to go all-in and all-out and just plain attack America.

Those are some crazy thoughts to be thinking. Keep going down that road and the next thing you know you're a liberal arts professor at some podunk state university.

To clear my head I did something I rarely ever do: I walked over to the cineplex and took in a movie.

The Departed had garnered great reviews -- many were dubbing it Scorcese's best work since Goodfellas -- and it was last week's surprise box office winner. The movie earns most of its praise and the star studded cast shines while having a great time with their Boston accents.

It was shot as if it was two different movies. The first half was all quick jumps from subplot to subplot, like an Altman film. Only there was no uniform length to the scenes -- some would be as short as a few seconds. This was less annoying than it would seem and actually quite fluid. The technique brought me up to speed with the characters and never once did I feel lost.

The second half was a straight-forward crime thriller with lots of twists at the end.

Although the biggest surprise of all was how funny this movie was. Matt Damon and Leonardo DiCaprio do the heavy dramatic lifting, but Alec Baldwin and Mark Wahlberg -- playing deliberately over-the-top law enforcement types -- steal every scene they are in. Wahlberg is especially hilarious. As it did with Baldwin, I think Hollywood is discovering even though the former (and always) Marky Mark can be a passable leading man, he's masterful in supporting roles.

The Departed's biggest name is Jack Nicholson. He based his character on the notorious Winter Hill Gang boss Whitey Bulger and plays the mobster in typical high-octane Jack style. Yes it's fun to watch -- Nicholson couldn't be boring if he tried, but this film is so busy and full of other good stuff at times Nicholson's antics and the way the action slows to capture them can be distracting.

I'd watch any Scorcese movie just for the music. While music doesn't play as big a role in The Departed as in some of his other work, there are a couple of well-placed Rolling Stones songs, a Van Morrison cover of Pink Floyd's Comfortably Numb I need to find and download, and some punk rock bag pipe stuff I'm also going to look into.

My biggest criticism of the film was the audience -- myself included -- laughed twice at the end during parts that weren't meant to be funny. On IMDB there is a whole thread about this phenomena. Apparently it's happening everywhere.

That's the risk you run when you make an oft-funny movie that concludes with a bunch of serious, but ridiculously rapid fire, twists. Despite the bad taste this left in my mouth, I'd recommend The Departed -- which should be heard from many times on February 25th -- to anyone. Not just those who need a head clearing distraction.

Snap judgement: Bill Simmons on the TV

It has become vogue, among espn.com's Bill Simmons's 18-35 male demographic, to say or write something along the lines of "The Sports Guy used to be great and he got me into writing/blogging/fantasy football/David Ortiz/Texas hold 'em/the OC, but now he sucks and just recycles old columns."

To drive this point home a write your very own Sports Guy Column generator is floating around the Internet. It's kind of a reverse Mad-libs deal and, if you have about 15 minutes, it works surprisingly well.

While I agree Simmons tends to touch on the same themes and uses the same format over and over he is also burdened with having about five years of intensely scrutinized about-weekly "8000" word columns. (Another of his not-so charming attributes is he rarely gets through a longer-column without a bragging reference to its massive word count.)

Despite his volume and repetitions, I continue to read almost every word Simmons writes, still think his ability to mix sports and pop-culture is second to none and remain surprised when one of his columns doesn't make me laugh aloud a few times.

But there has been something eating me about Simmons lately: He continues to offer Bill Simmons the man, not the talented writer, as a male etiquette expert in situations like a fantasy football draft, a blackjack table, a night at the bar, a relationship etc. Yet, I don't think he has ever made the case that he is worthy of handing down these Miss Manner-like scoldings to the less-socialized.

What makes Bill Simmons unusual among "celebrity sports columnists" is he almost never appears on television. The only time I have seen him on TV was one of those VH1 I Love the (insert the decade) programs. He was just on screen for about ten seconds and I don't remember what he commented on. Either his clip was shot in a studio with different lighting than all the other commentators or the CRT radiation from the monitor he has been sitting in front for the last decade has rendered his skin translucent, because he appeared as hair floating ten inches above a headless body.

I would have thought his move from Boston to LA a few years ago and his affiliation with late-night host Jimmy Kimmel would have produced more TV appearances but, so far, none that I know of.

So it was with great anticipation I watched Bill Simmons' appearance on the Colbert Report last night. Would he be the comfortable-in-his-own-shoes man's man he suggests in print or the squeaky-voiced geek many suspect he is in person?

So excited was I for the prospect of an answer to this transcendent question I put post-it's stating "Comedy Central" and "11:30" all over my apartment to neutralize my habit of forgetting to do things I fully intend on doing.

My was I disappointed. Not in Simmons, but in the interview as a vehicle to solve the Bill Simmons' mystery. It was only couple minutes long and Colbert, as is his act, spoke over Simmons the whole time.

Simmons' hue was more normal. His voice was a little squeaky, but he did speak confidently. When he was able to complete a thought -- he offered an anecdote about Bush throwing out the first pitch in Yankee stadium after 9/11, there was the obligatory discussion of Red Sox nation, and a quick suggestion of how to improve USA Basketball -- he was mildly insightful. Yet nothing was revealed or solved.

Although I fully expect a 8000 word report next week, complete with a checklist of how to behave as a guest on a talk show.

Snap judgment: Snap judging Katie Couric's debut

I don't watch the morning or evening network news and didn't start last night so much of this Katie Couric hoopla has gone right by me. My only opinion of Couric, the carefully presented celebrity personality, is that she reminds me of a chipmunk. A fairly attractive chipmunk, but a chipmunk nonetheless.

The CBS-manufactured hype surrounding Couric's first night in the CBS Evening News anchor chair has compelled just about every television critic and cultural commentator to go through her debut with a fine-toothed comb -- with some of them drawing fairly broad conclusions.

While I understand it wasn't the reviewers' decision to make this an "event," as an event, was it really any different than the first game of a just-up-from the minors hot-shot shortstop with a long career in front of him?

Maybe not exactly the same-- there were also non-Couric changes to the newscast's format -- but a lot more like the shortstop than the movies, television shows, books or even political speeches these journalists would typically be reviewing. Rendering some of the more definitive conclusion I read out of place, and almost inappropriate.

Also, since much of the controversy surrounding Couric focuses on whether or not she has the gravitas to pull off the evening news, isn't a day in which the biggest story was the death of a crocodile hunter a tough one to solve anything relating to this debate? Cronkite had the Vietnam war and Watergate to prove his mettle. If he didn't he wouldn't be Cronkite.

I'm not crying for Couric's mostly poor to mediocre early returns, but if the punditocracy thinks Katie Couric's performance on the CBS Evening News is worthy of their attention they should also revisit the topic in a few months when she has established more of a body of work.

*After reading about ten reviews, it seems like half the reviewers got this, and held off straying too far from straight reporting, and the other half reviewed like it was the final word on Katie Couric and nighttime news.

Snap Judgement: Wal-Mart

I spent my hiatus at the family summer home, with the family. It was uneventful, save one very important new experience.

Wal-Mart is the largest retailer in the world. Yet, I had never seen the inside of the mega-store. Neither had my father or my brother. My mother claimed she had, but I think she was just showing off. (I have a sister too, but she lives in a land far, far away.)

The purpose of our trip to Wal-Mart was to procure the appliances and accessories necessary to complete a renovation of the summer home. The nearby city/town that housed the Wal-Mart shall remain nameless; but I will reveal its inhabitants fret and vent whenever a national magazine suggests where the quality-of-life conscious American should and shouldn't reside.

Like any American, I am apt at measuring large things by "football field. " At first glance inside a Wal-Mart, it became clear this particular unit of measurement was not sufficient.

I would have to up-shift my basis to "aircraft carrier."

I am not apt at measuring things by "aircraft carrier," having never been on one. So, let's just say if our aircraft carriers are anywhere near the size of this Wal-Mart, we had no need to annex Hawaii.

My family fanned out to search for a microwave and a television, among other things. I feared I would never see them again. Luckily, after 31 years of parenthood and 35 years of marriage, the folks have a sixth sense that allows them to locate their children and each other in large, maze-like structures. I would be remiss if I didn't mention yelling is incorporated into this sense.

I am sure the uninitiated are wondering what exactly can be purchased at a Wal-Mart? That is not the correct way to phrase the question.

Properly, it is "What can't be purchased at Wal-Mart?"

From what I could gather that would be an exotic pet, a four-year college education, and an eight-ball of cocaine. Everything else is available, often packaged in "lifetime supply" quantity.

Much has been made of the low-wage Wal-Mart pays its employees. Despite this, I found the Wal-Mart staff to be cheerful and attentive. The fact that much of the information they gave out was wildly inaccurate can be attributed to the unusual size of the store -- did I mention it was large?

In a relatively short period of time we found everything we needed and then some. There had been vaguely threatening talk of buying me a shirt appropriate to an unexpected "fine dining" outing that had been scheduled for later in the week. That purchase didn't happen, not because Wal-Mart's dry goods were deficient, but because Wal-Mart sizes their shirts in an alien (Arkansian?) numeric system.

We also hit a bit of snag in the checkout line. The checkout-lady became involved in a intense, time consuming, Bingo conversation with the woman in front of us. We waited that out, and made-up for it with a charming conversation we had with the same checkout-lady about the bowling league her husband was in.

I've heard Wal-Mart is destroying the quaintness of small town life. All I can say is I've never had a charming conversation of any kind with a check-out lady in the big, fancy cities I have lived. Rather than destroy, I would argue Wal-Mart is "encasing," Small Town, USA.

In an island nation-sized shell.

I haven't even mentioned the prices yet. They are INSANE (in a good-way.) I would recommend Wal-Mart on the prices alone. But when you throw in the scope, selection, the eighth-wonder size and the possibilities for anthropological observation, I end up highly recommending Wal-Mart to all.

Living year-round in an area where a Wal-Mart is easily accessible? That's another post for another day.

Snap judgment: The View

Regular readers of JSB know I've been watching the World Cup during lunch. I obviously haven't been following the tournament closely enough because I had no idea there weren't any matches scheduled for today. I figured this out only after toggling furiously between ABC, ESPN and ESPN2 for a good five minutes.

In absence of soccer, I settled on watching The View. Yesterday and this morning there was all sorts of hoopla surrounding a Barbara Waters/Star Jones feud that seems to have resulted in Jones abruptly quitting the show. How could I resist trying to figure out what the fuss is about?

Walters was not on the set when I tuned in 2/3rd's of the way into the hour-long show. It was mid-segment and a family of models were displaying the latest summer fashions. Co-host Elisabeth Hasselbeck, the attractive wife of the more hair/less playing time brother Hasselbeck, was seated on a couch, interviewing an older, blond stylist whose revelation that each outfit was less than 70 dollars made the audience coo.

The stylist was also having some kind of effect on Elisabeth Hasselbeck. Elisabeth appeared flustered and couldn't stop touching her hair. The bar-room psychiatrist in me couldn't help thinking she might want the older woman's hotel room number. The more it happened, the more uncomfortable and weird it became to observe.

Luckily, co-host Joy Beher cut in with a joke about the models and their coordinated outfits that went along the lines of "a family who dresses alike doesn't have to talk to each other."

The audience laughed. Elisabeth and the stylist laughed. I laughed. Good times.

For the next segment someone named Dr. Ian Smith, who had a technique for losing 9 pounds in 8 days, was announced. The audience squealed. Ian Smith, I ruminated. Why does that name sound so familiar?

Former Prime Minister of Rhodesia! (Still alive and kicking, btw.)

I didn't really expect that Ian Smith, but when a handsome young black man sauntered onto the stage I realized this was another Ian Smith I had prior knowledge of. In fact I had just read a gossip item alleging this Ian Smith was having a homosexual affair with New York Giant great Michael Strahan. The alleging was technically coming from Michael Strahan's soon-to-be-ex-wife during a contemptuous divorce proceeding, but they printed the allegations in a real, dead tree newspaper so there's got to be something to them...

The wife of a backup quarterback and the gay lover of an all-pro defensive end sharing the same stage? They should replay The View on the NFL Network!

Dr. Smith didn't have much to say. His diet sounded suspiciously like the Atkins diet and I thought we had stopped doing that when an autopsy discovered Dr. Atkins arteries were more clogged than the Lincoln Tunnel.

The highlight of the rest of the segment was a joke Joy Beher made about how much she likes to drink.

In the last segment Barbara Walters made her first appearance, sitting down round-table-style with her two remaining co-hosts. Maybe all the press about her feud with the departed Star Jones had got to her, because Barbara looked all serious and journalisty -- like she was really sitting down with Nixon and Kissinger. Walter's inquiring glare made Hasselbeck tap her fingers nervously, but Beher casually cracked more jokes about getting drunk. Leaving me to ponder if Beher just went where the laughs are or has a serious drinking problem.

That was it. The View is not targeted to my demographic and I will not be going out of my way to watch it in the future. Nevertheless, my twenty minutes with The View were highly entertaining and I recommend it to anyone who has the time and the urge to watch late-morning talk shows.

The best part for me?

No nauseating diving during lunch.

Snap Judgment: Lost

Last night I caught about eight minutes of the Emmy award winning drama "Lost."

Lost is often referred to as a "water cooler show." Which means people discuss the show the next day at work around the water cooler, or around the coffee maker, or maybe even at the urinal.

Despite its water cooler status, and my love of workplace procrastination, I had yet to see the show.

At first Lost was everything I hoped it would be. There was marching about in a jungle-like environment. There was dramatic yelling. A lot of sweating. I even spotted a hobbit, now almost full sized.

I have to admit, during the eight minutes I spent with Lost, I was also watching the Cleveland Cavaliers stunning Game 5 victory over the Eastern Conference favorite Detroit Pistons.

As I toggled between ABC and TNT I noticed something that began to bother me. All the (male) characters on Lost were sporting beards of some sort. This made sense. Anyone marooned on a Island for a few seasons is bound to run out of razors.

What didn't make sense was that non-marooned Cleveland Cavalier's center Zydrunas Ilgauskas was out-bearding all them all. And it was a decisive out-bearding.

Z was really showing the Lost guys up. The last time I had seen him he didn't even have a beard, and now Ilgauaskas was at the point he could carry the whole Lost cast around underneath his chin. In the age of the remote control, scheduling a Lost episode against a Ilgauskas playoff appearence was a terrible move on the part of ABC.

It looks like Lost has lost me.

Game 6 of the Eastern Conference semi-finals can be see Friday at 7 EST on ESPN.

Snap Judgment: Tony Snow

I caught about two and a half of minutes of Tony Snow's unveiling as White House Press Secretary. Snow, a journalist best known for his Fox News punditry, was combative and apologetic in his debut.

It has been reported Snow wants to make Press Secretary more of a "policy" position. With that in mind, I couldn't help thinking Snow was struggling between representing the President's agenda and making on-the-spot policy decisions. He seemed like he wanted to say "what he really thought" to his former colleagues. Hence the apologizing, the combativeness and the constipated look on his face.

If these two and half minutes are any indication of how Snow will go about his new job, it will be quite the contrast from Bush's first Press Secretary, Ari Fleischer, who succeeded in taking smug avoidance to its natural conclusion. Fleischer also bore a startling resemblance to then Atlanta Braves' right-hander Greg Maddux.

Bush's second Press Secretary was Scott McClellan. He must have resigned or been fired recently. I've already forgotten everything I knew about him.

But Tony Snow could be an interesting addition. A potential "wild card" if you will.

Maybe I'll be watching more press conferences.