The Hell With It

Unbelievably (or perhaps not so), the legal proceedings regarding last year's name alteration of the Los Angeles Angels of Anaheim are still ongoing. If Anaheim wants to think of itself as a metropolis, you'd think it would apply itself to more useful pursuits, such as widening the bottlenecks on the I-5. But now another baseball team is struggling with its nomenclature, and as an elegant counterpoint to the Angels, it's the Tampa Bay Devil Rays. Ownership there has decided to drop the team nickname to either "Rays" or something entirely different (like Doormats or Manatees). Whatever, the major objection is the inclusion of "Devil" in its name, even though Devil Rays were the fish supposedly being celebrated.

This is most likely a loony obsession of some fundamentalist interests who, realizing they can't disinter Terri Schiavo or force Proctor and Gamble to change its logo, instead targeted another embarassment this state had to offer. (Hey, how about Katharine Harris?) The theory, I guess, is that summoning demonic spirits through the word "Devil" has kept the franchise cursed and lowly. After all, since it joined the Major Leagues in 1997 along with Arizona, the Diamondbacks have already won a World Series (rattlesnakes being cool, I guess) while the Devil Rays have emerged from the cellar only once. I guess this is a theory about as plausible as Intelligent Design, so the President might back it up. But to my mind the poor showing of the Tampa Bay team might have a bit more to do with inept ownership, an inferior stadium, Lou Piniella's inability to handle pitchers, and the fact that the Rays face the Yankees and Red Sox 38 times every season. Nor does it explain how the Jersey Devils won the Stanley Cup, or the Duke Blue Devils the NCAAs.

This foolishness is another offshoot of the supernatural idiocy pervading our culture. As a confirmed skeptic I feel largely about the Devil and I do about God. They're both interesting fictional characters whom a large swath of Stupid Humanity believe in literally, like Santa Claus, the Terminator and Jack Bauer. Far be it from me to suggest that God (to which you add a latter to make "good") and the devil (from which you subtract a letter to make "evil") might just be metaphors of the moral yin and yang of our human urges. Nah, that's too intellectual an interpretation. The majority of morons who make up our species would rather believe in their very real essence and literal influence. I know of an educated woman who totally freaked when she received a credit card whose last three digits were "666." Bet it didn't stop her from seeing "The Omen," though--which I hear is being remade this year, along with other '70s masterpieces like "The Poseidon Adventure," "The Pink Panther" and "When a Stranger Calls." Well, as Ross Perot liked to say, "The Devil is in the details."

Meanwhile we have those divine images popping up on grilled cheese sandwiches and taco stands, and the awful silhouette of Satan as captured in the billowy smoke emerging from a burning World Trade Center. Not to mention those poor children who rent out their bodies for Satanic possessions in hopes of subsequent movie deals. And what of devilled eggs , Cruella de Ville, little Red Hots, the Satanic Verses, "That Old Devil Moon" and my favorite snack food of all time, Drake's Devil Dogs? Sorry, Pat Robertson, but I think Devil's food cake is yummier than Angel's food cake. That's probably enough to consign me to the nether regions when I expire, but I'm a Jew anyway, so I wouldn't have anywhere else to go.

Educated Guesses

An interested relative, impressed by my dead-on predictions concerning Aaron Boone and "24" ex-President David Palmer, has posited that perhaps I am psychic. No such luck, honey. I believe I have had one unusually prescient dream that could border on the psychic and that was nearly forty years ago. (I dreamt my college basketball team--a national power--would battle another local team later that season, even though they were not scheduled to meet, and would lose in an incredible rout; and that's exactly what transpired, 90-47).

I don't totally disbelieve in psychic phenomena, given the untapped, mysterious capacity of our brains and the possibility that there are eleven dimensions wrapping around each other and doing all sorts of mischief, but my skepticism is more persuasive. I do believe, however, in the ability to make educated guesses based on experience and knowledge in a particular field. Aaron Boone was primed to do well because he was unheralded and underrated and a pitcher might lose concentration when facing him, as Tom Wakefield did in 2003. Palmer was a Dead Duck as soon as he signed a contract for another show.

I usually employ a similar skill in forecasting the winners of Hollywood awards. I've won my share of Oscar pools thanks to insight into not only the quality of films but the emotions with which the Academy voters make their choices, as well as past patterns of selections. At this juncture of the Oscar season, with the preliminary votes in and the nominees to be announced on Tuesday, I feel the urge to predict again. At this juncture I have screened all the prestige films with the exceptions of "Walk the Line" and "The New World," so I feel suitably prepared to speculate about the nominations.

"Brokeback Mountain" is the shooest of the shoo-ins, and the likely winner. It has a breakthrough story line, is very well-scripted, acted and shot, and has been ignored by cultural yahoo President Bush, which makes it even more lovable to Hollywood. The other nominees will be, in descending order of likelihood, "Crash," "Munich," "Capote" and "Walk the Line." I include "Walk the Line" because it is the only prestige film tht doesn't leave you craving a stiff drink or a Zoloft, and reportedly has two very fine performances. Films that could sneak into the top five are "Good Night and Good Luck," "Syriana" and "King Kong." I'd like to see "A History of Violence" get recognized, but it may be a little too unsavory for the mainstream. This is a film so forthright and uncompromising that when a little girl gets targeted by a villain, he actually blows her away.

The strongest category this year will be Best Actor, and although Heath Ledger, Joaquin Phoenix and David Straithairn all acquitted themselves excellently, no one soared like Phillip Seymour Hoffman in "Capote." I will be stunned if he does not win, although a split vote among all the biographical renditions may pave the way for Ledger. The fifth actor will be interesting, perhaps Vigo Mortenson for "A History of Violence" Best Actress is rather weak this year, lacking a Meryl Streep or or Julianne Moore. Felicity Huffman is the odds-on here, with Reese Witherspoon a second choice. There will be some sentiment going to Naomi Watts for "King Kong" and perennial Judy Dench for the larky role of Mrs. Henderson. But Huffman, whose transsexual characterization never seems strained or overwrought, has amassed all the historical elements for a win--unrecognizable appearance, convincing transgender (the Swank effect), and popular national sentiment owing to her TV career (the Helen Hunt effect). Either Gwyneth Paltrow in "Proof" and Tilda Swinton in "Narnia" may make the slate as well.

Best director will almost certainly go to Ang Lee, popular and courageous (and he deserves it for the performances he wrenches out of his young actors). Spielberg, Peter Jackson, maybe Paul Haggis and possibly George Clooney will earn their gift bags. Clooney will likely get nominated for his role in "Syriana," though it will be more likely if it is a featured role. Likewise, Ralph Fiennes, who had a very active year, could sneak in a Best Actor nod for"Constant Gardner" or even for his supporting role as Voldemort in "Harry Potter." His co-star in "Gardner," Rachel Weisz, is likely for Supporting, as is Catherine Keener in "Capote." "Brokeback" will also be represented by much of its cast, including Michelle Williams and probably Ledger's boy toy Jake Gyllenhall, positioned smartly though inappropriately by that film's producers as a featured actor. There's a lot of buzz over an actress in "Junebug," Amy Adams, but few have actually seen this indie, including myself.

I've more to say later, including my perosnal capsule reviews and personal picks, but that will wait until after I can gloat from the accuracy of my 28-year Hollywood insight.

Politics and Religion, Sigh

Two recent editorials in the L.A. Times provide support and advocacy to positions I've espoused in my blog, and are worth mentioning here, though their slants and substance provide no great dispute. The first, which appeared today, describes an Emory University study that measured cerebral activity of individual men reacting to a political discussion. It found that brain areas devoted to the emotional response were highly engaged, while the lobe that is the seat of rational response was hardly stimulated at all. Ergo, the unsurprising conclusion that in political discourse and persuasion it is not the logical mind that is aroused, but the emotional needs of the listener.

This finding helps explain a lot, including why Eisenhower beat Stevenson and Bush "edged" Gore. Also, why some otherwise intelligent friends and relatives of mine, representing both extremes of the political spectrum, espouse ludicrous, intellectually indefensible positions ranging from "All people who oppose Bush hate America" to "Republicans are primed to impeach Bush because I want them to." It's as frustrating to engage such illogical passions as it is to argue about which baseball team or actor or fast-food chain is the most despicable. Emotions are the residue and descendents of our reptilian, ancestral fight-or-flight survival mechanisms, powerful and overwhelming. The savvy politician understands this and cynically exploits human weakness to his or her end.

Religion is, of course, the first cousin to politics, and they connive together, like members of a Mafia family, to reach their goals through manipulation of fear and hate among the insecure and gullible. Hatred in particular is a powerful motivator, especially when yoked to ignorance. This leads me to the second persuasive editorial, from two weeks ago, pertaining to the human disgrace of anti-Semitism. Of course I'm preaching to the choir here, since most of my seven readers are either Jewish or Jew-friendly (oh that there needs to be a phrase like "Jew friendly.") I wrote recently that of all the prejudices in the world, anti-Semitism was perhaps the most vile. It's not that racism or homophobia are less repugnant. But anti-semitism represents every wrong-headed instinct that impedes and undermines civilization.--the tendency to scapegoat rather than accept personal responsibility; the need, out of envy, to marginalize a subculture whose intellectual achievements far outweigh their numbers, and whose moral insights have provided the spiritual foundations for three billion persons.

A few names, just for the sake of argument: Abraham, Moses, David, Solomon, Elijah, Jesus, all the Apostles and Everyone who wrote the Bible, Maimonides, Freud, Disraeli, Marx, Gershwin, Modigliani, the Rothschilds, Mendelsohn, Sondheim, Bellow, Rodgers and Hammerstein, Salk and Sabin, Leonard Bernstein, Laguardia, Arthur Miller, Pinter, Mailer, Oppenheimer, Kafka, Bob Dylan, Irving Berlin, Ted Koppel, Barbara Walters and Alan Greenspan. Not to mention baseball's first DH, Ron Blomberg, and me. And the anti-Semites might want to check out Jewwho.com for a more elaborate list. I need not make a further point, but that does not stop the amazing durability of anti-Semitic mythology that billions of people still espouse, from the fictional "Protocol of the Elders of Zion" to Holocaust deniers to those who blame Neew York Jews for 9/11.

The editorial made an interesting historical connection of anti-Semitism to the most heinous regimes of history, including the Nazis, of course; the Czarists; the Inquisitions; and modern-day Iran and the scheming leftist dictators in South America. In the words of the author, Andrew Klavan, "All bigotry is wrong, but there's something about this particular form of prejudice that is weirdly reliable as a sign of deeper wickedness. Perhaps it's because the Jews contributed so much to humanity's moral code that to hate them as a race is to despise the restraints of morality itself....True, virulent anti-Semitism is such a good indicator of the presence of evil that I'm tempted to believe that when God made the Jews his chosen people, this is what he chose them for: to be a sort of Villainy Early Detection system for everyone else."

Whether or not God is the agent worth crediting for anything, the fundamental point Klavan makes is defensible in a rational, historic perspective. But what is truth and reason in the face of emotional susceptibility and institutionally established ignorance? In this "modern," regrettable era, the reptiles seems to be in ascendance again, and the owls in tactical retreat.

Idolotry

Fox Network had a very good week last week, premiering its two flagship series with great style and popular receptivity. "24" continues to build audience rather than diminish, even as its plot machinations begin to fall into predictable patterns. And "American Idol," opening with its earliest elimination episodes, is also doing spectacularly. Well, if cynics like me tune in, there must be something to the phenomenon. I was offput when host Ryan Seacrest in his opening spouted the line "'American Idol' has become an integral part of American culture." I sneered at what I thought to be specious hyperbole. Yeah, America has produced Mark Twain, Edgar Allan Poe, George Gershwin and "American Idol." Take that, history. And the word "integral"--wow. Is it true that American culture cannot survive without this program?

But the more I watched the opening sequence, with its flashy production values (even more spectacular on hi-def, though nothing looks quite as good in HD as Jay Leno's LA skyline backdrop), and its teeming hordes of contestants, I began to wonder if there was something to the outrageous claim. It's easy to consign "American Idol" to the tradition of Major Bowes, Ted Mack, and "Star Search," each previous generation's talent jamborees. But none of them approached the scale and impact of this series. And none of them had the gumption to mine the dark side of the talent quest, which is so well-served in the audition phase of each season.

Here's where Chuck Barris, in eclipse media-wise but now hopefully hunting down Bin Laden, ratcheted up the interest through his celebration of talentlessness in "The Gong Show." A cleaner Howard Stern, he knew that exposing the underside of the American Dream could evoke laughter and contempt and all the things that make shadenfreuden worth experiencing. The "American Idol" producers cleverly mine that disdain for the average clueless American in these audition episodes, which like every car wreck and dog-and-pony show, present us with an irresistible cavalcade of freakishness. It astounds me that tens of thousands of wannabes show up at each audition. It's mind-blowing just imagining the process of winnowing down the contestants to those who make it into the final judging of Randy, Simon and Paula. I've discussed this with one of the show's apparently bountiful production staff and to no one's surprise he informed me that the screening is intense but aimed toweard true entertainment value. Quality voices are passed along, as well as a critical number of stupefying dufeses.

As a humanist I am then torn between sympathy for these naive, hopeful everypersons pursuing an impossible dream, and anger at the idiocy of their ambitions and self-aggrandizement. Here's where "American Idol" does reflect an American Experience. It used to be everyone aspired to be president; now just as many wish to be Ruben Stoddard or Carrie Underwood, and their parents and grandparents cruelly encourage this delusion. Well, people buy lottery tickets and root for the Cubs. In America Hope is certainly eternal.

"American Idol" also resonates more than earlier talent shows because the audience is so heavily invested in determining the outcome. All other programs had their closed set of judges; for this one, we get to vote. I don't have the statistics, but I gather that fifty million votes or so are cast through the ease of phones and web connections. Of course there are a lot of repeat voters, which, like the baseball all-star game balloting often skews the results oddly. But this is Democracy in Action, and as American as apple fritters and Nascar.

Which leads me to an interesting thought, which is that the electoral process of "American Idol" might be adapted to our Presidential elections. It can't be more lame or outmoded than the Electoral College, which is responsible for the historic mess our nation has been thrust into this decade on the international stage. But suppose an election were held which contested ten candidates, five Reps and five Dems. Each successive vote would eliminate the candidate with the fewest votes. Ryan Seacrest or someone more substantial, like Dave Letterman, could announce the decision and escort out the loser in a blaze of color, and perhaps the loser could sing a closing anthem. Wait a second--Showtime already did that on a reality show called "The American President." Life and art, hmm. They both suck.

Character Assassination

In this age of Tivo and DVRs an issue has been raised among media writers as to plot revelations in episodic TV. When is it journalistically permissible or responsible to reveal plot developments on a show that sits on many viewers' hard drives? Film critics have respected their readers and the filmmakers by never discussing major plot twists until the DVDs have at least been removed from the "New Release" sections of Blockbusters. Now that Blockbusters is almost an archaic reference, and TV programs can be downloaded onto computers and cellphones, a different paradigm exists. But I believe, perhaps too conservatively, that as soon as an episode of TV airs live in the last American time zone, its plot details are public domain. So I will be discussing the opening episode of this year's "24" as though all my seven readers have already seen it. If not, I'll provide a failsafe SPOILER ALERT, so skip the next paragraph.

I had another Aaron Boone "prescient" moment when discussing this season's developments on "24" with my brother, also a big fan of the show (along with a whole chunk of Americans who enjoy its proto-fascist slant, whether or not they lean that way themselves). I hadn't read any plot points about the premiere, but I suggested tht Dennis Haysbert's character, President Palmer, would probably be disposed of. My reasoning was simple--the actor had been signed on to another series so he would not be readily available later on to save the day, as he did last season. Plot considerations aside, contract negotiations are the greatest cause of character mortality on series television. I turned out to be accurate, as he was gunned down in the first five minutes of this season's melodramatic 24-hour crisis. I was not surprised, then, by the subsequent killing of Michelle Dessler, heroine of three past seasons, in the next five minutes, though I'm not sure what Reiko Aylesworth's agent has in store for her.

It occurred to me that for fictional characters, "24" is the most treacherous series ever. Of course all the major villains (except Mia Kirschner's elfin assassin "Mandy") have met their ends. But the protagonists have been equally unlucky, from Jack's wife to various CTU chiefs and agents (some of which Jack had to off himself) to the two mainstays from previous seasons. This produces good storytelling but undermines one of the sources for audience loyalty, which is emotional investment in characters. It will be harder now to watch the first season's myriad attempts to avert Palmer's assassination, as well as all those seasons when Michelle narrowly escaped, knowing that they were doomed in the long run anyway. And I feel certain that when Keefer tires of the "24" schedule his character will receive a spectacular, world-saving send-off.

There used to be a concept called "false jeopardy" when conceiving episodic plots for either drama or comedy. Any peril faced by a series regular was certain to be overcome, and that character's condition had to return to the status quo, so plot contrivances that put characters in danger were innately artificial. Series regulars were icons of a sort, immune to the mortality that haunts our consciousness in the real world. The only fatalities allowable were villainous guest characters or underling day-players, like the notorious red-shirted ensigns on "Star Trek."

But after Vietnam and Watergate in the 70s, a certain "malaise" leaked into our zeitgeist, and death slowly began to seep in where totally unexpected. The downing of McLean Stevenson's plane on "M*A*S*H" was emotionally groundbreaking, even if only noted as an off-screen event that resolved why he would never return to Korea but instead would segue over to "Hello, Larry." "Mary Tyler Moore" strayed memorably into the acknowledgment of death in its famous "Chuckles Bites the Dust" episode, even though Chuckles was rarely, if ever, seen. One of MTM's alums, Valerie Harper, was killed off in an '80s sitcom called "The Valerie Harper Show," which created a lot of awkwardness. That was less a creative decision than a mandatory one, as the actress stormed off the set. But her character's demise was acknowledged on the revamped show, "The Hogan Family", so audiences would understand why Sandy Duncan was suddenly puttering around the kitchen in her perky way.

Strategic deaths began to seep into dramatic programming a bit later, usually for shock and publicity purposes. Steve Bochko surprisingly knocked off some popular cops in "Hill Street Blues," long before it became de rigeur to erase every season's Dennis Franz partner in "NYPD Blue." "Star Trek, the Next Generation" made an impact when it killed off security officer Tasha Yar in its thirteenth episode. Not only was this an impressive creative idea, but it led to some very good subsequent episodes when Denise Crosby returned in parallel dimensions and time lines, even as her own villainous Romulan daughter. Subsequent "Star Trek" series continued the trend, offing regulars Jadzia Dax on "Deep Space: Nine" and Trip on the finale of "Enterprise."

But the ploy sometimes backfired. When "L.A. Law" sent sharklike Rosalind Shays down an elevator shaft just as she was becoming dimensional, the show jumped the shark, losing touch with its audiences sympathies. That had to be another contractual hit, since Diana Muldaur's performance was superb and the conflicts she aroused were very compelling.

In the last fifteen years the shock value of the surprise character assassination has waned considerably. However, this makes for more credible plot development, since there is no longer false jeopardy. This applies certainly to all police dramas, science fiction, and espionage programs, where the creators acknowledge that the good are in equal peril. "Alias" has bumped off hero after hero, and J.J. Abram's subsequent success, "Lost," has become almost a guessing game for the next fatality. I feel sorry for Chloe and Edgar, deep into their tenures on "24," because they will be disposed of as soon as it convenient for the writers. I guess it's a tribute somehow to the mojo of that show that I should care at all. In these darker times, reflecting the Dark Ages into which the terrorists and the frenzied anti-terrorists who govern us have thrown us, our expectations descend into disconcerting territory.

Impeachment Follies

California Democratic representative Nancy Pelosi, the House minority leader, spoke at a gathering over the weekend that spent much of its time hooting her down. The hecklers were not from the VFW or the NRA, but were local Democratic partisans who became very upset when she declined to support their demand for the impeachment of George Bush. Pelosi urged them instead to devote their energies to winning congressional victories for the Democrats in 2006. This sensible, moderate reaction did not sit well with activists inflamed further by their group mentality. Eventually Pelosi won over the majority over but certainly there were many disgruntled Dems cursing her under their breaths because she was not the firebrand that, say, Howard Dean would have been. On the other hand, she is a currently elected official.

Calls for the impeachment of Bush are unsurprising given the degree of hatred he arouses in his opponents. Basis for impeachment is a little shakier, though a case can be made that his unilateral stretching of the War Powers act, the deceptive squelching of evidence countering his WMD rational for war, and the broad violations of privacy bring up severe questions regarding his Constitutional propriety. Unfortunately the Constitution does not prescribe impeachment for incompetence or stupidity, but for "High crimes and misdemeanors." Bush's offenses have certainly come closer to that definition than Clinton's misstatements and prevarications concerning Paula Jones or Monica Lewinsky, which had nothing at all to do with his job or the Constitution, nor led to the loss of thousands of lives and the desecration of America's image throughout the World.

I hold with those who believe we would be far better off without Dubya as President, but any energies applied to the Impeachment effort seem like a pointless waste, as I'm sure Nancy Pelosi realizes. Disregarding the problems that the impeachment process would entail, including the freezing of the wheels of government (as in 1998/1999, when time might have been better spent fighting incipient terrorism pockets), the end result of Impeachment would not likely create a more advantageous situation. Supposing Bush were removed from Office; that would only promote Dick Cheney to the titular role that he already is playing, since the neoCon foreign policy--along with its inclusion of the "Dark Side"--is essentially his creation. And if somehow Cheney, through medical reasons or Agnewesque criminal revelations, were to resign, that would put Dennis Hastert as the President. And if he bows out because of scandal there's Bill Frist, he of the questionable finances and long-distance diagnosis of Terri Schiavo. Then maybe Condy Rice. Oy. It'll probably have to go down to the Assistant Secretary of Labor before we can reach the Least Objectionable President. By that time I may even be available.

A good friend of mine, who's hatred of Bush is about on par with a typical Fenway Park denizen's dislike of Arod, assumes that Impeachment is a likely and practical course for the year 2006. As he tried to explain to me, first Dick Cheney would resign (for whatever reason). The jJhn McCain would be appointed Vice President (by Bush, it would have to be). Then, because there is a tolerable Vice Presidential replacement, a la Gerry Ford, the Senate would be more likely to oust Bush. I put forth a few questions at this juncture. Namely, why Cheney would quit unless it were totally necessary. Why Bush would select the one person who would make him vulnerable for conviction. And why a majority Republican Senate would turn on their party's President, even if he is getting 41% public approval. I did not receive plausible answers to these questions, only wishful thinking. Hey, I wish I'd win the Pulitzer Prize for blogging, but it ain't gonna happen, and I'm not gonna obsess over it either.

Also, let's not forget how totally foolish the Impeachment hearings can be. I wonder if John Roberts, who would officiate, would wear the same funny robes that the late William Rehnquist wore, festooned with shoulder stripes like a peer in Gilbert and Sullivan's "Iolanthe." I admit that it might make colorful TV, especially on my new hi-def. And maybe the slowing down of governmental activity wouldn't be so bad, given the bolux of legislation proposed or enacted so far by this adminstration, from privatized Social Security to the elephantine Medicare D prescription drug program. And, oh yeah, the morass of Gulf War II. But in the end, we can all do more useful things with our time, and as for captivating TV, I'd opt for the lizards and tarantulas of Discovery's Hi-Definition Theater.

And in Religious News Today

Hardly anything important of a secular nature seems to be occurring lately, unless you count the Governator's motorcycle accident and resultant fat lip. This is a particularly Pat Robertsonian perspective. If God is not involved, than an event has no purpose. Robertson, who was once a serious Republican Presidential candidate, has recently (today in fact) been labeled "Off the deep end" by 87% of AOL correspondents. Even the Israelis, who have benefitted (temporarily, until the Second Coming) by the financial support of his band of Christian Fundies, have kissed him off, after he announced that God punished Ariel Sharon with a massive stroke for daring to consider Palestinian statehood.

The Israelis, of course, have reason to be sensitive, though the question always arises as to how intense their defensiveness can be before it becomes uncomfortably obnoxious. Still, the issue of worldwide anti-Semitism continues unabated, even worsening with the stupefying cavalcade of lies and revisionist history perpetrated by enemies as diverse as Iran and Mel Gibson's father. In some future blog I will enunciate why I believe that anti-Semitism is the stupidest and most self-defeating of all humankind's stupid prejudices, and says the worst about our species. But like cockroaches and Republican scandals, it just goes on and on. Yesterday there was a serial stabbing of twelve worshippers by a 20-year-old neo-Nazi in a Russian synagogue. Even though the entrenched anti-Semitism of the Russians has been swept under the rug to the extent that a Menorah was lighted in a Moscow square this year, popular idiocy persists, causing the Jews in the world to recoil and retrench in their firmness.

I'm not sure what Pat Robertson's take will be on the incident yesterday when 345 Moslem pilgrims were crushed to death on their annual Hajj as they tried to cross a bridge to attend a stone-throwing ritual meant to ward off the devil. It's really hard to write that sentence with a straight face, if one will pardon the mixed metaphor. I guess there could be several interpretations of the event. One is that there are now 345 fewer potential terrorists. Another is that it was all a part of the International Jewish Conspiracy as plotted by the Elders of the Protocol of Zion. Pat Robertson would probably declare that it is God's punishment for refusing to eat ham.

I'd like to know, what's with these catastrophic human stampedes? They seem to happen annually in Mecca. They are the equivalent of a bus plunges in India and tornadic wipeouts of trailer parks in Oklahoma. God surely seems to wake up on the wrong side of the bed a lot. If it isn't his doing, then maybe it's nature telling these people that they they shouldn't be having so many children or try to squeeze their teeming millions into inhospital climes or atop narrow rickety bridges.

Even more profoundly, I'd like to consider what the news would be like if either 1) there was universal tolerance of all religions, as supposedly proposed by their how-to manuals, or 2) religion were not god-oriented but nature-oriented, so that we all shared the same awareness of the greater powers that rule over us. In either case there would be no Hajj, no 9/11, no synagogue rampage, and best of all, no Pat Robertson. Or there would be as Pat Robertson, but he'd be doing what he seems better qualified for, which is serving up fries at Burger King.

Make Me Laugh

It's the "Second Season," as TV programmers like to call the renewal of regular programming after the Christmas hiatus and before the busy February schedule, skewed by Sweeps considerations and major events like the Olympics and the Oscars. It's also the time that pilots deemed risky during the September premier period are given a chance to grab viewers with their "novelty". Now that the Reality craze has subdued--leaving a few sturdy remainders like "Survivor" and "American Idol" to justify those recently-formed Reality Departments--and the procedurals have also levelled off, the execs have been greenlighting more and more sitcoms.

The hope is to find that one "Friends" or "Seinfeld" to cement an evening, as NBC used to do with "Must-See" Thursday shows, and then hammock the newcomers within the comforts of the network schedule (as though remotes, DVRs and TIVO still do not exist). Of course the PTB (Powers that Be), a la William Goldman's axiom, know nothing about anything. Rather than trusting their feel for comedy they rely on the most recent successful show runners and creators. This used to work when there were major talented lineages, moving from one classic to another, like the Norman Lear cadre of the 1970s, or the James L. Brooks/Ed. Weinberger/ Charles Brothers/Lee and Casey that took us on a line through "Mary Tyler Moore", "Taxi," "Cheers" and "Frasier." Some recent one-time smash creators like Larry David have found their voices in cable, and others, like Kevin Bright of "Friends," were never able to duplicate their success, devolving gracelessly through "Victoria's Secret" to that major bomb "Joey."

But still they try, and this season was supposed to mark the revival of the sitcom form. And while there have been highly touted premiers this year, like "My Name Is Earl" and "Everybody Hates Chris," most of the efforts are retreads of the familiar. I finally gave in, willing to bear any programming for the chance to see it in hi-def, so I braved NBC's recent Thursday line-up, promoted as a return to the heights of the Thursdays of the 90s. But with all the promotional vivacity in the world, it's not gonna score if it doesn't make me laugh. And familiarity breeds, if not contempt, then certainly ennui.

Of the four shows in the new line-up, the only one that elicitted any sounds from my diaphragm was "Will & Grace," whose sharp one-liners still have some zing. Debra Messing's terrific presence helped, especially when she tried to sing "Sound of Music" selections with a strident falsetto that was the vocal equivalent of Elaine's dancing on "Seinfeld." The show has long become a rather stale and repetitious minstrel show, and is in its twilight, but at least it has a sense of humor. After that I watched "Four Friends," the latest effort by Kohan and Mutchnick, the "Will & Grace" creators, but the pilot at least showed none of that show's insouciance. It was another portmanteau of "Friends" (Gen Y-ers sharing a gigantic partment in New York) and "Sex in the City" (four horny singles comparing notes). It's noteworthy only in some interesting casting. Seth Green, who made his debut as Woody Allan in "Radio Days," is now in his upteenth TV show and seems to be shrinking. Also present as his studly foil is the same actor who starred in last season's abortive "Committed." His squeeze in that show has moved onto a CBS procedural, but he's still stuck cracking unfunny jokes. It makes me yearn for Tom Poston, who spent "Committed" in a closet. Speaking of which, one of the friends was originally conceived as gay but the PTB (powers that be) shied away form this mix. This is crippling creatively, since that would provide some spark and conflict, not to mention an excuse to use a lot of jokes cut from eight seasons of "Will & Grace" scripts.

The 9-10 PM slot, filled heretofore by Trump's "The Apprentice" (and who'd a thunk the champion Randall would have proved to be such a selfish jerk?) is now occupied by NBC's marquee comedies, "My Name Is Earl" and "The Office." I've yet to cotton to "Earl," despite the earnest performances of its cast. Granted, the concept is original, but a little Trailer Trash goes a long way. These folks are just so fucking stupid. There is one sane character used for perspective, Earl's Hispanic maid friend, but she's not quite enough to serve as a good audience surrogate. "Earl" has a little merit, but no great raison d'etre, and not enough laughs to warrant appointment viewing. "The Office" is similarly droll, but a tad more successful because it's rooted in something familiar. Its brilliant casting, including Steve Carrell and a band of no-names, evokes a real sense of a depressing office. These folks look genuine, and their eye-rolling intolerance of their boss is believable. I recall working in a similar office in my summer-job days in New York, and being subject to the blatherings of my superior, whose name was Mr. Yurko. I silently started calling him "Mr Jerko" in my head, until one of the other workers confided to me at the water cooler that "Mr. Jerko" was his commonly used moniker. So I give "The Office" a B+ for comic authenticity, even if the humor is a little dry to excite more than a titter.

But for guffaws, there's still nothing like 'The Simpsons."

Bowl-a-rama

Well, five days into the New Year and the news has ratcheted up with morbidity. Ariel Sharon has had a nearly fatal stroke and at least his political career is dead, which is a shame because he had actually transformed from a hard-ass to a moderate. Today's body count from Iraq included 130 more, most of whom were Shiites (or as Bush would call them, Shitties) attending a funeral. Then there were the twelve coal miners in West Virginia who were declared dead, then alive, then dead, then alive, then dead.

But it is too early early in this year's calendar to dwell on fatalities; I'm sure the year will provide enough tragedy to go around. I am still recovering from my New Year's hangover--or more precisely my Nyquil hangover, since I fought a stubborn virus that lasted through all the festivities. This provided me with more time to laze in my easy chair and partake in the extended novelty of hi-def TV. I was even motivated to revisit a seasonal pastime from my youth, the indulging in post-New Year Bowl games.

In the 50s, the New Year traditions were regular and reliably comforting. With the heat turned way up I'd cocoon in the den like any red-blooded Northeasterner and watch the Rose Parade at 11 AM (8 AM Pacific), followed by glimpses of the Sugar Bowl, Cotton Ball, Rose Bowl and the nighttime extravaganza from Miami, the Orange Bowl. There was no BCS Championship follow-up, no Fiesta Bowl, and practically no other post-season college games except the aberrant Gator Bowl, which had the audacity to run before the turn of the year. With the games pitting top-flight conference champions the match-ups were always exciting, and I even managed to muster up an occasional rooting interest.

The evolution of the Bowl games from major sporting spectacles to a panoply of seasonal afterthoughts mirrors much of the American sporting scene over the last fifty years. They have expanded as prodigiously as the major pro sports leagues. Therer used to be 16 Major League baseball franchises; now there are 30. The NFL had twelve franchises back then; now 32 and counting. The NBA and NHL have blossomed even more radically. I used to be able to recall the nickname of any pro franchise; now I can't discern from among the Predators and the Panthers and the Senators and the Cougars and the Heat and whatever the hell the Washington Bullets became.

But it's not the proliferation that is soregrettable, as the intense commercialization of the teams and their venues. I can recall when ballparks were named after the teams they hosted or the people responsible for their construction. Now every stadum is a Minute Maid or PacBell. Likewise, and even more heinously, the college bowl games, so attractively labeled by various fruits and flowers, now have to bear the titles of their corporate sponsors. The Fed-Ex Orange Bowl! The Tostito Fiesta Bowl! (okay, that makes a little thematic sense). I understand how corporate funding has come to play an essential role in underwriting sports events and arenas, but it sure undermines the Amateur Ideal.

So I give credit to Citigroup (perhaps the only time I'll ever do so) for allowing the Rose Bowl--the Granddaddy of all bowl games, the commentators used to declare--to retain its moniker relatively unscathed. Okay, they did officially call it the Rose Bowl Presented by Citi. But this has a prettier cachet than either the Fed Ex Orange Bowl or the Los Angeles Angels of Anaheim (and would you believe, that controversy will go on longer than the Iraq War).

Meanwhile, there was a game, with the National Championship on the line, and enough pre-kickoff hype to challenge the Super Bowl. I'd have enjoyed the sharp and vivid picture even without an accompanying contest of rare excitement and spirit. The Texas Longhorns came from twelve points behind with four minutes left to defeat the formerly undefeated National Champion USC Trojans. (Or was it the Enron Texas Longhorns vs. the Lucasfilm USC Trojans?) An amazing clutch performance by Texas quarterback Vince Young outshone the aggressive play of USC Heisman Trophy winners Matt Leinart and Reggie Bush. All three of them, in fact, could probably sponsor a bowl game or two in the near future with the pro contracts they have ensured themselves.

The USC disappointment shared the LA Times front page today with the Sharon situation. Had USC won, the Sharon item may have been relegated to Page Two. There is a certain gloominess regarding the locals' defeat, but that has been mitigated by today's glorious 80-degree weather and clear bright blue January sky that makes the day glisten as though I'd set it to the "vivid" color level on my hi-def. It's not much to go on, but for me it'll do. It's too early in the year to get depressed.