I Read The News Today. Oh Boy!

Some guy paddled on a surfboard all the way from Sacramento to "the Bridge." (Probably not the Dumbarton Bridge though I'm not rushing to any more conclusions this week.) Initially I thought this to be a worthy "Top Story." If you think about the State of California you think of Sacramento as being upstate and inland; the Brasilia of North America; a capital city far, far away from its constituency located just ten nautical miles beyond a reasonable drive or a cheap flight. The road to Sacramento is devoid of radio signals worth a fine tune adjustment, scenery you're tempted to take in at less than 80MPH and any interesting people whatsoever. It's one of those go-to-the-bathroom-and-get-gas-before-you-leave-SF/Reno hauls on which the Highway Patrol can claim sole responsibility for any brake usage.

Because of the 911 and Davis administration disasters, California's terror threat level consistently vacillates between fushia and deep sunburn. Something awful is going to happen. We're pretty sure one man will be responsible. (A foreigner. Global reputations for violence and the highly-trained use of combat weapons. Barely speaks English. Very politically motivated.) Unfortunately, most people have accepted all that and just go on with their lives. Except for one man who must have been trying for so long to break away that he finally just grabbed the nearest thing which floated and paddled his way to safety!

Three cheers for the morning news. Today's top story is actually a metaphor for all of us. It's not too late to say 'No' to a Republican administration; to paddle away from Sacramento as it were. It's time we ---what's that? Tony Danza has a talk show now? He's the new Wayne Brady? Oh, no. There it is. The One of These Things Doesn't Belong Here melody I won't get out of my head until some reconciliation is made between network news growing a conscience and that same network putting Tony Danza on live television for 60 minutes each weekday.

For those of you in the back row… Foreigner, global reputation for violence, trained use of combat weapons, English-no and politics-yes were your red flag cues earlier. Tony Danza, unscripted, in your face for 300 minutes a week should be ringing all the same alarms --EVEN LOUDER.

With panel guests Jesus Christ, Buddah, Shiva, Muhammed and the prophet Moses, I would borrow money to increase any bet that religion doesn't suggest itself to Tony as a possible hot topic. I didn't catch the name of Danza's show but a hella obvious suggestion would be: If You Thought Wayne Brady Asked Stupid Questions, Wait till You See…


Any Nick at Night buff [insomniac] can tell you: Danza has never played a character that didn't come from Brooklyn, didn't lose his brains in a boxing match and wasn't named 'Tony.' Brady, though 86'd from daytime for not being as funny as Ellen or as black as Oprah, had improvisational skills Danza will never have and a physique Danza will never have again. Without his do-me-now dumb good looks (fully expandable to do-me-again for as long as the MUTE button stays down) the appeal of Danza's show can probably be previewed two channels over where embalmed-since-the-70's Danza co-stars Judith Light and Marilu Henner can be seen as their estrogen-only tee-vee selves. It's not pretty and the products they're hawking are guaranteed to work just as well on you.

Doesn't reality suck? Looking at it that way, we'll need to downgrade the morning news review from "three cheers" to "three strikes." Oh, c'mon, you knew it was coming! If you weren't overly-suspicious by the time "nearest flotation device" anywhere east of I-5 was still treading water seeking What's My Line? votes as a surfboard, you probably broke out of your own childhood before Nancy Drew and Hardy Boys could work their magic.

To make "Top Story" a news item must be bigger than a hurricane which just fatally hit shore, more popular than a rock star who just fatally hit the wrong vein, seen by more people than the sports figure who injured a home team fan with something from the visiting team's dugout. Alternatively, it can be exclusive information on a story every news team in the country is reporting on.

"What are the odds?" should be your primary filter, not "Who Knew?"

__________ (name of person), an isolated lunatic who _______________ (verb/past tense) his way out of ____________ (remote location)

is automatically assumed to be desperately seeking a fellow Democrat, homosexual, civil war addict he's pretty sure exists somewhere beyond

Happens every day; especially in California. Even if the individual is Mother Theresa, the remote location is death row inside a Taliban prison and her escape plot involves group sex with foreign army soldiers, crudely constructed wings not quite secured to her own arms when the time to leap 600ft. into a revolving chicken bucket came. It's not a Top Story until you're prepared to tell it no matter how it ends.

By 8:00am, the current channel's early show mirrors the excitement of its neighbors. Courtship is to marriage as a very witty prologue is to a dull play. Anything I was tempted to believe about the morning's Top Story and/or its excitement potential was a mirage.


As it Turns Out…

- "category five hurricane of the century" we were silently hoping would slam full-force into the Florida voting system and all those responsible for its shortcomings wimped out the moment it found the teensiest strip of unpopulated shoreline belonging to a state whose votes we've never counted anyway.

- The rock star that croaked wasn't Keith Richards, whose perpetually-queued-for-play videulogy will be appended with an additional accolade. Richards has both inspired and outlived another legend of Rock and Roll. This particular protégé was the third Ramones band member to climb the Stairway to Heaven, which means a reunion is now really, really out of the question.

- Speaking of final rests, the prosecution is again believed to be about to rest its case against accused murderer and total hottie Scott Peterson. The grizzly autopsy photo cards have now been played face up, accounting for all outstanding trump the brain-dead jury will be expected to include on its scorecard. Unless they believe it's possible the Defense could wheel out a cake which Lacy & a 2 year-old boy named Connor pop out of (very much alive) the Prosecution should rest now and stay at rest until the jury gets woken up to render their verdict.

- Another African-American sports star made another stupid move throwing a lot of his Wheaties Box limelight onto a jury box which could indirectly have a lot of influence over the story his baseball card ultimately tells.

kinda-trashy-looking plaintiff is expected to appear in court until the league he plays for wakes up and smells concession profits down, then throws the going rate of concession profits at whomever collects concession profits to make these incidents go away.

- Which it will. Somehow nobody loses (until the playoffs are over with. Get it?) And nobody gets called 'the 'r' word' [racist] and seldom is heard the 'n' word, either. WHEREFORE IT SHALL BE THEREBY UNDERSTOOD the plaintiff's peeps, defendant's dudes, ACLU, Policeman's Local 766 and anyone else keeping track will let this one drop; it aint never gonna come up again. Not even if -QUIET! Never means never!

"Of course he's innocent"

Even if he's not, nobody's interested in another side to the
story.


Speaking of players in a league of their own, I doubt anyone will ever explain to my satisfaction how it is the NHL is actually locking its players out of their own training camps, with the expected result of an entire hockey season that doesn't happen because an agreement cannot be reached over how to "fairly" divide the millions in revenues generated during the hockey season. I'm just a dumb beach blond from southern California so I'm sure there's a lot about hockey I'll just never understand -period.

BUT
- Has it occurred to anyone besides me:

- That this is the brand of bureaucratic bull the framers of our Constitution were so damned paranoid of?

- These decisions fell rather gently into the hands of the only people who can afford (financially, professionally, morally) not to have an NHL Season?

- The "pay or play" nature of professional sports contracts really refers to checks that'll clear the bank hella faster if the "play" aspect of that phrase were going on;

- Unable to practice (or God forbid! play) hockey for over a year, we may now hold tickets to a full season of games guaranteed less exciting than those played at the retirement village or in the vacant lot across from any K-4 public school northeast of Salt Lake City?

- Without hockey, most people's list of good reasons to put up with the snow shrinks --just like [other things do] in cold weather?

- For a professional sports league infested with players who'll easily have picked 5-10 fistfights each before pre-season play is wrapped, not much collective aggression is making headlines where it could really be doing some good. Lots of sitting around with arms folded across chests, nobody saying a word to anyone else. That's nice but what have you done with the REAL HOCKEY PLAYERS?!


THIS AND OTHER QUESTIONS FROM CHRISTINE AMMANPOUR WHEN CNN LIVE FROM HELL CONTINUES AFTER THESE MESSAGES FROM COMPANIES WHOSE FINANCIALS ARE SO HELLA LINKED TO PROFESSIONAL SPORTS THEY'LL BE GONE BEFORE THE SNOW MELTS.






- "Alright, Wolf. Tell me:

Who gave the only set of locker room keys to the only people associated with playing the game who don't use the locker room?

- Where are all the work-release convicts whose freedom violently depends on stadium concession stand employment going to get jobs?

- What are ESPN 2,3,4 and 5 going to do with the 45-60 hours of dead air that an absence of hockey broadcasts creates? Each week? Now that full contact sports options are distant rear view mirror objects, unseen cameras in smoke-filled billiards halls and poker rooms are busily meeting delivery deadlines of their own… Do the answers to "What's Left?" or "What Next?" leave you checking for camera phones whenever spontaneous recreation occurs?


Someday, maybe in our lifetime maybe not, the absolute bottom of the "Reality TV" barrel will get scraped. When it does, the entertainment industry will respond with deliverables only an intern from another department would attempt to search for traceable quantities of non-synthetic ingredients. The soil which so prolifically produced Real World, Big Brother, Fear Factor, Cops, the Bachelor(ette) and most of the appetites responsible for their success will be exported to a planet where spontaneous fertility is atmospherically

There will be no Brad and Jennifer, no tears shed, fortunes anticipated or mass media murmurs when and if calendar changes occur to the Affleck-Lopez event nobody cares about anyway. Angelina Jolie will still be hot; so will Josh Hartnet. To desire employment as an actor will take a school teacher's dedication but won't take home a paycheck quite as generous. Without strikes, unions, profitable response to temper tantrums, artistic moods, the creative process or evidence that anything important ever derived from any one of them, Hollywood will produce a lot of long-running shows like "Friends" where none of your central characters are unemployed, unattractive, unable to finish college, un-American, HIV+, HMO- or at odds in any way the audience's aversion to learning anything about the individuals who play those characters.

Recasts will eventually occur so fast at temperatures so cold, the Darren Stevens / Chris Partridge transplants will seem over-publicized and highly anticipated by comparison. To receive housing and other personal services, actors will expect a willingness to assist and community response formerly reserved for convicted child molesters with a dyslexic grasp of upgrading the warmth, understanding and close-knit community spirit of state prisons for that of the small town they grew up/were convicted in.