Just when I was missing the old Vegas

Ah, the halcyon days of above-ground nuclear testing. I used to sit at Grandpa's feet and listen to the tales of mushroom clouds and viewing parties on Fremont Street. He'd smoke his Chesterfield Kings and absentmindedly scratch the spot on his neck where they'd removed the tumor.

"You saw it before you felt it," he'd say.

Oh, to be alive then. I was only around for below-ground tests. They'd shake the windows in my house and the light fixture above the kitchen table would swing. The news would tell people to stay away from windows in tall buildings, and if the wind changed you'd better stay indoors. It was so exciting.

So you can imagine the thrill I felt when this graced the paper:

'MUSHROOM CLOUD OVER LAS VEGAS': Comment causes a chain reaction

Mushroom cloud? Coooooool.

A government official's comment that a 700-ton blast scheduled June 2 at the Nevada Test Site would send a "mushroom cloud over Las Vegas" set off a firestorm on Thursday even though state officials signed off on the experiment in January.

Talking to reporters at the Pentagon, James Tegnelia, chief of the Defense Threat Reduction Agency, said, "I don't want to sound glib here but it is the first time in Nevada that you'll see a mushroom cloud over Las Vegas since we stopped testing nuclear weapons."

Tegnelia said the test, called "Divine Strake," [Strake? Is that a typo?]is part of an effort to develop weapons that can destroy underground bunkers storing nuclear, chemical or biological weapons.

. . .

The mushroom cloud image disturbed Rep. Shelley Berkley, D-Nev. She took to the House floor to sharply criticize Tegnelia for his comments.

"It's bad enough that we didn't get prior notice and ... obviously, the congressional delegation wasn't briefed, but the people of the state of Nevada haven't been briefed either," Berkley said.

As it turned out, Berkley and the other four members of the congressional delegation were notified about the planned explosion in a Dec. 19, 2005, letter from the National Nuclear Security Administration.

In addition, Nevada Department of Administration official Zosia Targosz said in a Jan. 9 letter to the NNSA's office in Las Vegas that "your proposal is not in conflict with state plans, goals or objectives."

Berkley spokesman David Cherry acknowledged Berkley was notified last year about the blast.

"But the notification did not include phrases like 'mushroom cloud over Las Vegas,' " Cherry said.

Sen. Harry Reid, D-Nev., issued a statement calling Tegnelia's comments "irresponsible and inflammatory." Reid said he would press for a briefing from military officials.

So they voted for the cloud before they voted against it?

Sen. John Ensign, R-Nev., was traveling and could not be reached for comment. His spokesman, Jack Finn, said Ensign's staff have contacted officials at the test site and the Defense Threat Reduction Agency.

Reps. Jim Gibbons and Jon Porter, both R-Nev., issued statements saying a report in November indicated there would not be a safety risk or adverse environmental impact from the test. They added they will continue to monitor the situation but raised no objection to the proposed explosion.

Tegnelia said the Russians have been told about the test.

Well I'm glad the Russians know. At least someone isn't surprised.

Darwin Morgan, an NNSA spokesman at the test site, said the detonation will occur in a pristine area about 90 miles northwest of Las Vegas.

Pristine? Go to Google Earth, search for Mercury, NV and scan a little bit northeast. It looks like a few hundred square miles of desert came down with a case of leprosy.

The 700 tons of ammonium nitrate fuel oil will be poured into a 30-foot pit that will be dug above one of the test site's tunnels, Morgan said.

Berkley said Tegnelia told her the mushroom cloud that results from the blast will be visible from Las Vegas.

But while he acknowledged there will be a mushroom cloud, Morgan said surrounding mountains are likely to block the view from Las Vegas.

Morgan also said it is "highly unlikely" the blast will be felt in Las Vegas.

"The most likely scenario is that someone in Indian Springs might hear something that sounds like distant thunder," Morgan said.

Morgan described the blast as "an open-air experiment."

So we go from a mushroom cloud over town the leadership didn't know about to a mushroom cloud over town they DID know about to a mushroom-ish (maybe an oyster mushroom instead of a portabella?) cloud that none of us will see accompanied by a blast none of us will feel.

What a letdown.

"The test site is a user facility for the national labs and the Defense Department and the Defense Threat Reduction Agency. This is what we do -- high hazard operations."

In other words, calm the hell down. They do haz-mat training out there. They do other blasting out there. They store lower-level radioactive waste and high-level medical waste out there. I know. I've been out there and that's just the stuff they tell you about on the tour.

I will agree with one thing: If it's not going to cause a "mushroom cloud over Vegas," then clamp down on the hyperbole. People don't understand. You say "mushroom cloud" and people automatically think "nuclear." Unless you want Martin Sheen and a bunch of other anti-nuke types making things at the NTS gate messier than normal, tell the frickin' truth.

And to our "leadership:" Stop being a bunch of grandstanding, inane asshats. You just end up looking more vacuous than you normally do.

One more thing, O Defense Threat Reduction Agency [when did THIS agency come about?]: next time you say we're gonna see a mushroom cloud, you'd better deliver.

Spring doesn't start . . .

. . . until Saturday.

Saturday at 7:30 am (!) my boy will play his first rookie league baseball game. It's machine pitch, so it'll be interesting.

After that, we'll be here. Cubs v. Padres, at our gorgeous AAA baseball stadium. Blankets on the right field berm and friends all around.

I can't wait.

Something incredibly cool

Singer Tom Jones Is Knighted

I love it. I can't wait to see him in his next engagement here in town.

Breaking emissions standards . . .

. . . for the sake of advertising:

World's Largest Buffet coming to Vegas

Where else would you expect to find the world's largest buffet, but right here in the buffet capital of the world! In honor of its 75th birthday, the antacid company Alka-Seltzer is attempting to make the record books by creating the world's largest buffet.

The attempt will be made at the Las Vegas Hilton Tuesday. The hotel's buffet will set out 500 items for the event being kicked off with the first bite taken by comedian Kathy Griffin.

And then, the combination of thousands of humans' worth of methane gas plus Kathy Griffin's incessant chatter (which is composed mostly of heated carbon monoxide) will be released into the atmosphere over Southern Nevada, opening a 4-mile-wide hole in the ozone, raising our average summer temperature to 112 degrees Fahrenheit.

Thanks a lot, assholes.

Las Vegas Events

Forget the overpriced concerts at MGM Grand Garden and House of Blues.

I'm doing THIS:

The 3rd Annual Modern Drunkard Convention

When: Friday June 23rd through Sunday, June 25th.

Where: The Celebrity Ballroom, Las Vegas, NV.

What to Expect: Three solid days of heavy drinking and full-bore entertainment Emceed by Titsa Galore, including:

Bands
To be announced shortly.

Burlesque Troupes
Ooh-La-La!
Oracle Dance Troupe
More to be announced.

Plus
• Liquor Olympics
• Clash of the Tightest Drinking Contest
• Soused seminars
• Films
• Karaoke
• Panel Discussion
• Booze tastings
• Heavy drinking
• Debauchery
• And much more

How much: Convention passes are $49. In addition to three days of gala entertainment, the pass also entitles you to free gear, including:

• Limited Edition Modern Drunkard Convention T-Shirt
• 17"X24" Convention Poster

Panel discussion? Karaoke? AND debauchery?

Goodness, I love living here.

Gorgeous photo site

While I'm chasing down my myriad job duties, enjoy this.

I've always been fascinated by mental hospitals, and look at most rundown places as fabulous locations for something.

This photographer, using natural light, has taken mostly beautiful but sometimes disturbing pictures in abandoned institutions.

hat tip to my buddy, Dunny Bunny

Puppy Blogging

Cass
Originally uploaded by shansarver.

Well, everyone's doing it.

So this is Cassie, two Fridays ago. And I swear, I don't abuse her. She gets that long-suffering look whenever I take the camera out.

A Miracle!

TomKat
Originally uploaded by shansarver.

"Whoa! Look what happens when I whack off into a cup!"

A woman of many hats

And all of them are too tight.

Blogging will dwindle the next few weeks while I wade into television commercial production. I'm not doing one spot, or even two. Right now, I'm trying to coordinate five six.

All this while I continue my main job, which is advertising copywriter.

This involves switching gears between Flighty Creative and Bean Counter so often, I fear I'm going to burn out my transmission.

Does anyone know how to clone oneself?

And if so, can I leave the "fat" gene out of the new one?

As I approach 37

Reality check #22

I was coloring my hair yesterday and had to leave the stuff on an extra 10 minutes "to cover resistant grays."

Hail Xenu!

Just thought I'd come right out and say it.

Read this, and join the anti-ElRons.

Hat tip, Pints.

A Tribute

A good family friend has died, and while he was a giant in this town and more well-known figures will weigh in on his passing, I want to contribute in my own small way.

First, the story on the street:

Entrepreneur, civic leader Tobman dies at 81

Herb Tobman, sporting an ever-beaming smile and offering a lighthearted joke on almost any subject, would hold court daily in the early 1990s at his Mr. T's Diner at 2129 Industrial Road.

Tobman, president of the Stardust hotel in the 1970s and owner of Western Cab Co. since 1968, would regale customers with his stories about working as a teenage bellhop in the Catskill Mountain resorts or of his early days in 1950s Las Vegas when he was a gas station attendant and star softball player.

"Herb Tobman was the king of Damon Runyun characters in a town of thousands of Damon Runyun characters," said Bill Shranko, director of operations of Yellow Checker Star Cab Co., and a friend for more than 25 years.

Tobman, who served on the Las Vegas Convention and Visitors Authority board in the 1980s and became a multimillionaire by buying and selling Las Vegas real estate for half a century, died Tuesday in Las Vegas of a heart attack, his family said. He was 81.

Services for the Las Vegas resident of 54 years will be 1 p.m. Friday at Palm Mortuary-Main Street, followed by a graveside service at Woodlawn Cemetery.

Tobman served a term on the Clark County Planning Commission and was appointed to the Las Vegas City Recreation Advisory Board after it was created, serving one year as chairman.

"Herb had a sense of humor for every situation - lighthearted or serious," Shranko said. "With a joke he'd make something serious seem lighthearted."

Former Clark County Commissioner Manny Cortez, a longtime president of the LVCVA, said Tobman "was one of the better thinkers" on the LVCVA board.

"Herb understood the big picture - he cut to the chase and got to what was important," Cortez said. "In the early 1980s, there were a lot of differences of opinion about the value of conventions. A lot of casino operators were mostly interested in visitors but not necessarily conventioneers. Herb understood the significance of convention business.

Sen. Harry Reid, D-Nev., said he was a youngster when he first met Tobman at the old downtown Squires Park ballfield where Tobman was a shortstop/catcher on the nationally respected Horseshoe Club fast-pitch softball team. The team featured Reid's brother, the late Dale Reid.

"Herb has been my friend just about all of my life," Reid said. "His personality was so strong. He was like a ballplayer who always kept up the chatter during the game. He was always talking it up for Las Vegas."

Tobman's son-in-law, prominent Las Vegas attorney John Moran Jr., said: "Men like Herb Tobman don't come along every day, and that's sad."

In 1974 Tobman was appointed president of the Stardust hotel. In the late 1970s, Tobman and his friend, the late Al Sachs, formed Trans-Sterling Inc., and continued to run that Strip resort as well as the downtown Fremont and Sundance hotels. They sold their interests in those properties in 1984.

Two years later, Tobman ran for governor on a ticket that included establishing a state lottery and toughening drug laws to include life in prison without the possibility of parole for those convicted of selling narcotics to minors.

Tobman raised $90,000 for that campaign, limiting donations to no more than $10 per contributor.

Born Dec. 20, 1924, in the Bronx, N.Y., Tobman joined the Navy in 1942 and served aboard the destroyer U.S.S. MacKenzie during World War II.

After the war, Tobman played semi-professional basketball with the New York Gothams and, after obtaining an $1,800 loan under the G.I. Bill, bought a New Jersey service station and a Long Island, N.Y., dry cleaners.

In 1952 Tobman sold those businesses and moved to Las Vegas, where he initially lived in an 8th Street boarding house while working as a service station attendant.

Soon after, he took out a $1,200 bank loan to open City Furniture Exchange. In 1955, after that store burned down, Tobman became general manager of the Moulin Rouge on Bonanza Road, the city's first integrated casino. Tobman also rebuilt his furniture store, which served Las Vegas for 20 years.

In 1971 Tobman was hired as general manager of the Aladdin Hotel, where he instituted a champagne dinner buffet.

Tobman was a licensed pilot. He owned at various times different models of Cherokee airplanes and recently bought a Beech King Air. However, when he turned 78, Tobman hired a co-pilot to fly with him.

Tobman also served as a chief deputy coroner and as a trustee for the Culinary Workers and Bartenders Pension Fund. He served 12 years with the Southern Nevada Officials Association, refereeing high school and college basketball games in the 1960s and '70s.

Tobman's civic deeds included serving as chairman of the Clark County Heart Fund, a member of the Elks and breakfast Optimists clubs, commander of the local Jewish War Veterans chapter and as a member of Temple Beth Sholom. He also was a co-founder of WestCare, a Las Vegas drug rehabilitation center.

An accomplished handball player in New York, Tobman took up racquetball in Las Vegas and won numerous tournaments, including the 1984 West Coast senior doubles championship.

Tobman is survived by his wife of 58 years, Jean Tobman; three daughters, Janie Moore, Marilyn Moran and Helen Martin; nine grandchildren; and a great-grandson, all of Las Vegas.

The family said donations can be made to WestCare Foundation, 900 Grier Drive, Las Vegas, NV 89119.

My grandmother worked for Mr T. as a seamstress at the resurrected City Furniture on Main Street when she came to town in the mid-sixties. My uncle, not even old enough to drive, would ride shotgun with Lightning. They'd go around town in a truck, picking up discarded furniture so they could refurbish it at the store and sell it.

My mother has worked for Mr. Tobman for 33 years. First as an upholsterer and later as the manager of his cab company.

When I was thirteen, I started working there in the summers or after school, helping out in the office or washing cabs. The year he ran for governor I helped hand-paint his campaign signs.

But none of these were just work relationships. The thing about Mr. T is that once you fell in under his wing, you were part of his family, and my family always felt that way. His daughters are my mother's friends. His wife is a graceful, compassionate, strong woman who we've always admired.

And none of this gets closer to the truth of how much this man was loved by us.

How can I possibly explain the hundreds of times over the years where a little conversation always got right to the root of what mattered to him most: "how are you? Really? Is there anything you need from me?"

Yet he had known tragedies no man should have to endure. He'd buried parents, siblings, friends, his only son and a grandson. But none of this hardened him. His only response was to become more tender, and more giving.

Mr. T. took in strays – not stray animals, stray people. Some would have said he was being taken advantage of, but he never saw it that way. Where he thought he could help, he would. Some did take advantage, but that never hardened his heart, either.

Over the years, the papers would report his quiet donations to homeless dinners or destitute families. And for every report that trickled out, there were at least ten instances where nobody noticed. Nobody but those he touched. If a family lost everything in a fire, he was there. If a patriarch died, he made sure the children would be okay. There are other instances that shine in my mind, but to write about them would violate those private, silent agreements: "take this, just between us."

It was his way, which was also the Old Vegas way. He is Old Vegas to me, with all the ways it used to be here – all the old places, the old signs, the roads and homes that have been plowed over to make room for what we are now. He is intertwined with all the sights and sounds of my childhood.

This city has lost something we can never get back. His spirit, his no-nonsense approach, his straight talk. And his heart.

Maybe this very personal story can explain better. My grandmother died with a terrifying suddenness January 9, 2004. Within two days, Las Vegas native (and giant) Judge Myron Leavitt died. Their funerals were on the same day, at the same time. Mr. Tobman was chosen to be a pallbearer at the Judge's funeral, so we understood that he wouldn't be at my grandmother's much smaller goodbye.

I stood at the door of the chapel, greeting people, when he walked up with his wife Jean. Nothing that day had made me cry. Until then. I remember saying "I thought you'd be at Judge Leavitt's." He replied, "I wouldn't miss my chance to say goodbye to my friend Mae." I don't think truly understood his heart before that day.

I keep coming back to that, because his heart was larger than life. And in the end, it finally gave out.

Tomorrow, Mr. T., I won't miss my chance to say goodbye to you.

Programming Note

Comedy Central just played the "Chef Aid" episode of South Park and now I've just watched Chef ask everyone to suck his "salty chocolate balls."

You think it may be in honor of this guy?

And the Scientolocrap is up all over the Comedy Central South Park site.

EATAPETA

Remember, guys. Today is International Eat An Animal For PETA Day.

If it had a face, have at it.

I'll be spending my lunch hour at the delightful TC's Rib Crib, a fabulously homey place owned and operated by a family of Louisiana transplants. They'd been driven here by Katrina, so eating there feels like a good cause, too.

It doesn't hurt that their BBQ kicks butt. Pork butt. With lots of sauce.

Sirhan Sirhan

So, he's up for parole.

Fat chance.

Funny story, though:

My mom was 19 years old, and living in the L.A. suburbs. She had been out that night with one of her friends. When they got to the friend's home, her mother was a babbling wreck. When the girls asked what happened, she cried out,

"Oh my GOD oh my GOD! Rosie Greer killed Bobby Kennedy!"

She was, needless to say, a little confused. Understandably so, since she'd seen the whole thing on TV and Rosie was right there.

But no. Rosie and Rafer Johnson actually caught Sirhan Sirhan and sat on him until someone took him away. It's probably one of Rosie's best tackles.

And at the local hockey game . . .

Dick Cheney Hunting Vest Night Scheduled for March 17th

Good lovin' gone bad

Wow. Now THIS is a surprise:


Isaac Hayes Quits 'South Park'

Isaac Hayes has quit "South Park," where he voices Chef, saying he can no longer stomach its take on religion.

Hayes, who has played the ladies' man/school cook in the animated Comedy Central satire since 1997, said in a statement Monday that he feels a line has been crossed.

"There is a place in this world for satire, but there is a time when satire ends and intolerance and bigotry towards religious beliefs of others begins," the 63-year-old soul singer and outspoken Scientologist said.

"Religious beliefs are sacred to people, and at all times should be respected and honored," he continued. "As a civil rights activist of the past 40 years, I cannot support a show that disrespects those beliefs and practices."

And now, the rebuttal:

"South Park" co-creator Matt Stone responded sharply in an interview with The Associated Press Monday, saying, "This is 100 percent having to do with his faith of Scientology... He has no problem - and he's cashed plenty of checks - with our show making fun of Christians."

Last November, "South Park" targeted the Church of Scientology and its celebrity followers, including actors Tom Cruise and John Travolta, in a top-rated episode called "Trapped in the Closet." In the episode, Stan, one of the show's four mischievous fourth graders, is hailed as a reluctant savior by Scientology leaders, while a cartoon Cruise locks himself in a closet and won't come out.

Stone told The AP he and co-creator Trey Parker "never heard a peep out of Isaac in any way until we did Scientology. He wants a different standard for religions other than his own, and to me, that is where intolerance and bigotry begin."

To me, organized religion has cornered the whole "intolerance and bigotry" market. The Moos-lims riot over cartoons, the Catholics are still paying off the legions of the molested, Pat Robertson's simply being himself, and now Hayes.

Zealots piss me off. I don't care what God they love or alien overlord they hate. They're all scary, deluded fucktards.

And Isaac Hayes is officially part of the club.

A different look at Barry

This is one of today's top stories (at 1:00 p.m. PST):

Bonds Strikes Out in First Spring At-Bat

Of course, I giggled. It's far too easy to hate the man. And then almost immediately, in an uncharacteristic fit of charity, I thought of something else.

Barry Bonds is someone to feel sorry for.

While we can look at his arrogance, his nastiness to his fans, his disrespect for the legends that came before him, and his absolute trampling of everything good about baseball, we should also look at the other side.

He is one miserable person. He must not enjoy anything: not his kids, not the adulation (however misplaced it is), not even the game he plays for a lucrative living. The money he makes is only a yardstick of his worth when compared to other players. He spends all his time running from the press because he's lied himself into a corner.

Of course, he's brought this all on himself. But sometimes, you can look at a person who is thoroughly self-destructing and wish it were different.

I feel sorry for him because he can't – or won't – change. He'll always have this gaping hole inside him, and nothing will ever fill it up. If playing one of the best games on earth, and doing it well, and getting PAID to do it doesn't make him feel any better, then he's lost.

Ty Cobb, with time, found fans. A dirty but good player, a nasty human being, could only be appreciated after he was dead.

I wonder if Barry Bonds will even have that?

What I gave up for Lent

Being Catholic.

Top U.S. Bishop Accused of Sex Abuse

The claim was filed against the Roman Catholic Diocese of Spokane on Dec. 27 by a woman who said she was under the age of 18 when [Bishop] Skylstad sexually abused her at St. Patrick's Parish and at Gonzaga University from December 1961 to December 1964.

Okay, so it happened a long time ago. It's possible the man isn't guilty. It's also entirely possible that he IS.

The diocese is one of three in the nation that filed for bankruptcy protection to deal with claims of sexual abuse by clergy. Skylstad last month offered to settle with 75 victims for $45.7 million.

In fact, it seems even more possible that he is.

Victims of clergy sexual abuse have until Friday to file claims. Greg Arpin, an attorney representing the diocese, said there were a total of 135 claims as of Wednesday morning, including the original 75 who would be covered by the settlement.

Emphasis all mine.

I think some of these claims are bogus. But some aren't. It's dead tiring to keep hearing about Church abuses. It just never seems to end. Which means that the Church is still not at all interested in cleaning house.

Not that I'm surprised. Quite the opposite.

When I was a child, I loved the Church. I actually felt peace there. I know now that the peace came from the ritual, and that I never really felt God was with me. Because a child doesn't really understand that concept. With all their magical thinking, children equate God with superheroes and imaginary friends and unicorns.

But a priest, on the other hand, is someone a child is taught to trust, and to believe in as God's representative. God the Father sends this man to look after you on His behalf. This is the closest a child comes to knowing God face-to-face. What a responsibility the priest has. And how despicable that some of those men would abuse that responsibility so thoroughly.

Worse than that is how the Church hierarchy hid it.

My hatred of the Church is personal. I tried as an adult to love the Church, and to believe in the community even though I knew how badly out of touch the Vatican was. I had real affection for Pope John Paul II, but had a hard time reconciling his good points with his rigidity on homosexuality and birth control. It was disturbing to see how greedy the parish was, with the constant pleas for money. Most of the homilies were about giving – not of time or of self, but of money.

Still, I got married in the Church. When Conor was born, I had him baptized Catholic.

And then the year I got divorced the priest sex scandals hit critical mass (no pun intended). That following Easter, as the news was full of reports that the Church actively covered for their pedophile priests, I learned that, as a divorced person, I wasn't allowed to take communion at the holiest time of the Catholic year.

That was when I gave up being Catholic. And they can't have my son, either.

Maybe someday Conor will choose a religion for himself. Maybe he'll choose Catholicism (kids DO have a knack for doing the opposite of their parents). But at least he'll do it as an adult, with his eyes open. For now, there's no way I'm feeding my little boy to that monster.

And I see, again, no reason to change my mind.

Kirby

One of my favorite players. Gone.

He had such joy for the game, loyalty to his teammates, and grace for his fans. When he could no longer play, he lost what he loved best.

That he couldn't live without the game is the saddest thing of all.

Peace now, Kirby. You'll be missed.

And Jack is Jack (and other matters)

Thanks be to God.

He's so no-bullshit, which is what I need right now.

Best picture?

Excuse me? Jack almost had a heart attack, as did everyone else in the theatre.

Crash.

Well, hell.

Hell.

I'm going to reiterate, then, what I said before with the disclaimer that I'm uninitiated: must a Best Picture nominee have shock value now? Are we all supposed to be reacting against complacency? Are we all supposed to be shaken out of our worldviews?

It's no surprise that people don't usually go to the movies for that purpose. So will the Oscars continue to lose relevancy with the moviegoing public?

That's all I heard this week: is Hollywood losing middle America? No. But those aren't the movies you've seen honored tonight.

Pink Panther? Cheaper by the Dozen 2? Have at it, Kansas. The rest of us thinkers are going to the art house.

The dichotomy that separates voters into wide, generalized swaths is the same that Hollywood panders to. In the end, the Oscars are Red State v. Blue State. And the Oscars are blue through and through.

The Hollywood Dream Factory is fracturing. Different dreams for different dreamers. And with the continuing rise of cable and TiVo, it's harder than ever to capture the dreamers' attentions. The successful indie film may be nearly dead. Not because it's hard to make them – quite the contrary. With the advent of the digital camera and easy editing programs, making a movie has rarely been simpler. But to get that movie out to a wide audience, to get any sort of notice, you need part of the Factory behind you. So the indie goes to the festivals, hoping to get picked up by part of the Dream Factory. And at that point, the indie vision gets picked apart.

The true independent filmmakers may now be the ones who can do whatever they wish: Spielberg, Coppola, Lucas, Scorsese. And God help us all, Woody Allen.

I'm stating the obvious. Of course. Then again, I have been drinking vodka since I sat down this evening.

So I'll end the rambling here. Good night, everyone. And good luck.

Tom Hanks looks like a serial killer

But I'll still watch him present.

Director. Let's take a deep breath.

Ang Lee. Hm. Now we all know how the rest will go.

His speech is – wow. All about "de gay mens and womens whose luff is denied by society." Oh, but he rallied. He made it for his recently deceased father. I can imagine that love, any love, would touch him.

Forget I said the word touch.

Into the nitty-gritty

Adapted screenplay.

The Oscar goes to Larry McMurtry and Diana Ossana for the script from Annie Proulx's short story. I'm not at all surprised. And THANK YOU Larry McMurtry for talking up books. It's getting easier for people to get their "reading material" audibly. Or in the form of a movie. I agree, Larry – let's read!

Original screenplay goes to Crash. Haven't seen it, but want to. I've heard, though, that it takes every race-centered sensibility we have and lays it bare. And yet, people act as if this is the first movie that's done this. And we all know it's not. Please, everyone . . . take a movie on its damned merits – acting, cinematography, storytelling arc – and then judge. I'm tired of the "groundbreaking" flick being a darling because it's so very shocking to our fragile little systems.

And Woody Allen was nominated for Match Point? AAAAAAAAAAAAAA! Everyone knows how I feel about that one. If you don't go to last month's archive, 'cause I can't link on the fly. Suffice to say that it blew large, dull, dreary, stilted chunks.

A horrible moment just occurred

You know how those commercial breaks will have a couple of spots locally-produced?

I just saw one of mine.

I DON'T WANT TO THINK ABOUT WORK RIGHT NOW!

Gawd! I'm going to give a ration of shit to our media buyer tomorrow.

Another cigarette

And another Miles post.

In the meantime, Best Actress was awarded.

What should have happened, happened.

Beautiful, adorable Reese Witherspoon. Now her stock has risen exponentially. It will be incredibly interesting to see what she does next.

And now for best performance by a gay man

...impersonating a straight man: John Travolta, for the last 20 years.

All of these gay guys playing straight guys playing gay guys. Does anyone, really, believe Phillip Seymore Hoffman, Jake Gyllenhall or any of these drama club Drama Mamas are really straight? Not,of course, that there's anything wrong with that. What's really wrong, I guess, is that they're still compelled to lie, just to keep working. That's the prevailing wisdom in Hollywood, but since when have they ever been right? People get it now more than ever. The real crime, it seems to me, is the condescending lie. The way politicians, actors and those in positions of authority feel they can't let us in on the truth.

Best Actor

I never saw – who did presenter Hillary Swank come with?

Phillip Seymour Hoffman for Capote. Eerie.

Terrance Howard for Hustle and Flow. Wow.

Heath Ledger . . . oh, stop!

Joaquin Phoenix for Walk The Line. Another frickin' wow.

David Strathairn for Good Night and Good Luck. I can't help rooting for how very solid he was. I love Murrow.

And . . .

Hoffman. Am I a bit disappointed? Of course. Am I surprised? No – because he got the IFC Best Actor award. And right now, I don't know why I'm disappointed other than because it's just so expected. The only thing that would have been more expected was Heath Ledger.

God love him, though, he's actually surprised. He really didn't expect this. You can tell that he hoped, but didn't dare dream. And his speech is so sweet, and so complimentary to his mom. You just can't find a single thing wrong with that.

Still, I wish Strathairn had gotten it.

Best Foreign Language Film

Too bad nobody normally gives a shit.

I, after watching the man who accepted the Oscar, want to see the movie.

Speaking of foreign language . . .

Ziyi Zhang is absolutely breathtaking. It's horrible to make her speak English, but cute in a way.

And isn't it so very funny that a Chinese girl played a geisha? I remember her saying somewhere that she didn't want to always be the prostitute character. Then she plays an "entertainer" in House of the Flying Daggers (which is still stunning) and a geisha.

It seems to me that those, unfortunately, are the only places for women in Asian theatre.

Best Original Song

I hate this category. None of them are usually worth a damn. And my retinas are STILL singed from Dolly Parton's performance.

OMFG! The PIMP SONG!

When on EARTH did this turn into the American Music Awards? This is absolutely gorgeous! There wasn't a single tux in that acceptance party.

And Jon Stewart is cracking up. Me too. And he's not shying away! Jon Stewart is the best thing to happen to this show in years.

You know it's 2006

when an Oscar-nominated song is called "It's Hard Out Here For a Pimp."

The censor-guy in the booth is having a biatch of a time with this one. He missed the first bitch-bleep.

I'm watching the dance routine and I have to wonder: when did HBO's 'hos from The Point get here?

The Spots

Must I mention that Oscar spots are nearly as much as an event as those for the Super Bowl?

Here's how we know this: M. Night Shama-lama-ding-dong got an imcomprehensible but well-done :60 for American Express.

And then Kodak (who's always got something because they're big into film stock) has something that just tries to pull at the heartstrings and ends up pulling my finger.

But they spent a lot of money on it, so let's give it a disproportionate amount of attention rather than recognizing it as the total schlock it is.

See? Just like the Super Bowl commercials.

So I went outside for a quick lung dart . . .

. . . and Miles guest-blogged.

And I can't top what he just wrote. Damn him.

Robert Altman getting an honorary Oscar is so right. And just like his movie making, his speech is extemporaneous, beautiful, and so full of the joy he feels at just being there.

He has his whole family in a box off to the side, and what a motley gorgeous crew they are. And they're all swelling with pride for him.

He's just mentioned his heart transplant: that he's got about forty years left on it.

We can hope.

Please come to the theater, or we'll all die.

Notice all the whining about watching movies on DVD? Apparently that's the theme of the evening, and apparently everyone's been briefed. Please come to the movies at the theaters, please. We promise from now on that viewing epics like Deuce Bigalo: European Gigolo will no longer be interrupted by self-important fuckwads on their cell phones, nitwits talking to the screen and expecting a reply, or endomorphic cretins loudly unwrapping more goodies than Donald Trump's attention-starved kid on Christmas morning. Sure, we'll come to the theater...if I can bring a stun gun. And then there's this: If all these millionaires are pleading with me to do anything, it must be wrong.

Beauty

I could listen to Ithzak Perlman play "Yankee Doodle Dandy."

When he plays the sections of all the other nominated composers' music, I imagine they think, "God. I did a good job."

My heart beats a little quicker when I hear him play. And I remember his work on the score for Schindler's List and my heart breaks all over again.

So who will win Original Score? Based on Perlman, it should be Munich by John Williams. But . . .

. . . Gustavo Santo-whatever for Brokeback Mountain.

Mostly because of the love song, "Hide The Chimichanga."

Kill her.

Salma Hayek is too gorgeous to live.

Now excuse me while I go clean up the drool over on Miles' side of the couch.

Okay . . .

. . . so I wanted to know what Samuel L. Jackson was nominated for.

Or, rather, what the FUCK is Samuel L. Jackson fuckin' NOM.IN.A.TED. for?

Until I figured out it was his nomination for Pulp Fiction.

Full-Length Documentary

What a tough category. Murderball, too.

March of the Penguins. Okay. That's no real surprise. But why are these guys carrying stuffed penguins? Oh. There's a treaty involved.

And now to quote Miles: "I vill now go fuck ze penguin plushie, because eet make my deeck feel hard."

Such is the level of discourse in my home.

Lauren Bacall

Such incredible class. Her voice is still strong, but she's a little shaky. Does she has Parkinson's? It seems as if, poor thing, she falling apart as she does her "film noir" spiel.

This is the first time I've ever seen her falter so . . . as if age has finally caught up with her.

The Gods and Goddessess of Noir: Bogart and Bacall, Mitchum, Stanwyck, Robinson, Widmark, Hayworth, Turner . . . and – my GOD – Fred MacMurray. Those were the first actors and actresses to OOZE sex intelligently. In those monochromatic tones you'd find such heat. And that heat was worth killing for. Every crime was a crime of passion. And there were no real heroes. You felt dirty when you rooted for anyone. And when justice fell, surprisingly you didn't feel any better.

Those movies capture the gray areas of the real world more aptly than the anthems of the generation before.

Supporting Actress

And Morgan Freeman flubbed. With humor. God, I LOVE his voice.

Rachel Weisz!

"Known for her roles in The Mummy and The Mummy Returns."

What a graceful, beautiful girl. And what a graceful speech.

They just showed Jack Nicholson. You know he's thinking, "I'd do her."

Jon Stewart

"If we pull down this statue behind me [of Oscar], will democracy flourish in Hollywood?"

HA!

Steve Carrell and Will Ferrell

Are so damned funny. I love the fearlessness of these guys.

And am I totally sick to think that Steve Carrell looks totally hot with false eyelashes?

Makeup goes to Narnia. Thankfully it didn't go to Revenge of the Sith. Because makeup just can't cover bad acting.

And can someone get that guy to SHUT UP? His partner didn't get to talk at all!

Duck!

It's Russell Crowe!

Miles wanted to know how many man-hours went into the curl perfectly placed in the center of his forehead.

Jennifer Aniston looks amazing

Fuck you, Brad Pitt.

Just to let you know . . .

. . . my first vodka tonic has just been set at my side.

Writing, which was already suffering, shall get much worse.

Cartoon characters on the show

Always on the dumb side. But the effects are getting better.

And the "ducks never get pants" thing was funny.

The Wilsons

Luke or Owen?

For me, despite the crazy chin, it's Luke. What always puts him over the top is the episode of The X Files he did where he was the Texas sheriff vampire.

A half-hour late

I finally settled down in front of the Oscars.

It wasn't planned, believe me. I missed Jon Stewart's monologue. Damn. I also missed George Clooney's win.

What I didn't miss was Naomi Watts and Dolly Parton, who was singing her nominated song from "Transamerica." And couldn't believe what a festival of bad plastic surgery she is. OUCH! My retinas!

Oh, good. Jon Stewart made a Scientology dig. GO!