Ann Coulter, Evil Genius

Unless you've been asleep for the last two weeks, you've probably noticed that Ann Coulter has been on a whirlwind publicity tour that rivals the comeback effort of Britney Spears. I was late to work last Wednesday because I couldn't get in the shower until Ms. Coulter's interview with Matt Lauer on the Today Show ended. If you didn't catch it, Matt Lauer guaranteed his admission into heaven for making it through the interview without clocking Ann right in her skinny horseface. Matt Lauer was more patient than a pre-school teacher as he tried to coax Ann into rationally defending her position, only to be rewarded with her snide remarks and ridiculous generalizations that really had nothing to do with anything. For instance, she defended the fact that in her new book, Guilty: Liberal "Victims" and Their Assault on America, she only refers to Barack Obama as "B. Hussein Obama" by stating over and over that Barack Obama has stated that he likes his middle name. Come on Ann, its pretty apparent that you aren't calling him B. Hussein Obama because you hope to lauch the name "Hussein" into the 2009 Top 10 Baby Names List (Emma and Aiden were the top names for 2008. Hussein, surprisingly, didn't make the cut). My showerhead got an earfull as I responded to each of Ann Coulter's statements one by one. I'd like to think that I only attacked Ann Coulter's offensively conservative beliefs, but I am, after all, female, so I couldn't help but throw out some insults about her orange tan, fake blonde hair, and pretty apparent eating disorder. Granted, no one heard me, but I felt better after I picked apart everything Ann said point-by-point, and I reminded myself (outloud) that Coulter is a woman who would probably throw her full weight behind Palin 2012, and let's be serious...seriously?

Soon after my tirade, I came to a harsh realization: the joke is on me. Why? Because I want to buy her book. Incredible. She didn't publish this book for conservatives--she knows the smart conservatives think she's a blowhard publicity whore, and the conservatives who would get all fired up about the President-elect's middle name are likely not the types to go out and purchase Ann's book of misunderstood statistics. She wants me to hate her so much that I can't help but run out and buy her book so I can scream and argue and dissect her beliefs one page at a time. And I'm going to do it...I just don't know how. I really can't march into my neighborhood Borders at the edge of Boystown and slam Ann's shiny hardcover down on the counter because I would get bitch-slapped by either the clerk or his boyfriend before I had the the time to explain how I vote. I can Amazon the book but where am I going to read this once I somehow purloin it? (Purloin: to appropriate wrongfully and often by a breach of trust. I chose this word carefully.) Most of my reading is done in public (the gym, the airport, etc.). I can't possibly be seen reading this in public because it would totally destroy my street cred. But I just can't help it -- I have to know what she says in those pages so I can tell someone - anyone - exactly how wrong Ann Coulter is.

So, if you happen to see someone with her nose buried in Ann Coulter's smut, try not to judge. It might be me, and you won't want to disturb me lest I decide to tell you EXACTLY WHY Ann Coulter is ignorant and judgemental and incorrect about everything and damn it I spent $30 on this book when I already knew that.

American Idol Starts Tonight

Tonight begins the eighth season of searching for a singer. This show, a modern version of what The Original Amateur Hour did on radio about seventy years ago, is one of the money making marvels of our time. First, how many of the seven winners can you name? I'll list them in a minute.

This is the show that partnered a semi-well known old rocker, a washed up singer/dancer and an unknown, egotistical record promoter and turned the synergy into a top tier entertainment brand. It's only part of the empire, though. American Idol is a spinoff of the British "Pop Idol" that hit the airwaves a year earlier. There have been "Idol" shows in more than 30 countries.

1st Season Winner: Kelly Clarkson

Judge number one is Randy Jackson. Randy is 52 years old, married twice, divorced once, father to three. He's played bass for a lot of famous bands, produced hits and has a radio show. He also has the most annoying affectation as he calls everybody dawg.

2nd Season Winner: Ruben Studdard

Judge number two is Paula Abdul. She's 46, used to be a Lakers cheerleader, has had six number one records, two marriages and two divorces. She's pretty wacky, but she's sold 56 million records and thinks she can sell more. If you saw the video for her last effort, it's likely that the number isn't going a lot higher anytime soon.

3rd Season Winner: Fantasia Barrino

Judge three: Simon Cowell, is 49, has had success and failure and then more success in the music business and now earns 40 million bucks a year just from Idol. He's also produced a number of shows on his own, including the highly successful "America's Got Talent".

4th Season Winner: Carrie Underwood.

Judge number four debuts tonight: Kara Dioguardi, age 38, has been a success as a writer, producer, singer, TV producer and now the injection of new blood into the show. Watch to see how the chemistry develops.

Winners 5, 6 and 7: Taylor Hicks, Jordin Sparks and David Cook.

Now, I had planned to rip on the show, but in doing the research, found that Idol winners are selling zillions of dollars of records each year, Idol losers are starring in everything (Katherine McPhee is the best looking Idol loser) Idol judges have a bigger track record than I could have ever imagined and everyone in the world watches.

I got nothin'.

The Vagrant and the Fern

On one of our vacations, we took a cruise that docked in Miami. Our plans included an extra day at the end to hang out in Miami before returning home. We decided to spend part of the day at a beach in the renowned South Beach area.

It was not without some trepidation that the beach trip was agreed upon. I reminded the Mrs of the trip, years earlier, when we had spent some time in Miami, and decided to stroll through the park out to "World Famous Miami Beach". As we passed the outdoor shower area where beachgoers can rinse off the sand and salt, we were startled by the unpleasant sight of a free spirited chap who was partaking in his morning ablutions. Told otherwise, we had stumbled upon some yahoo, naked as a jaybird, soaping up his flabby ass etc. as if he was home in the privacy of his shower, which I'm guessing he didn't have, neither the home nor the shower. "Just keep moving, kids, wow, look at those waves! "

So, this time, as we drove slowly along Collins Avenue, I was on the lookout for unusual pedestrians. We were the second or third car in line at a red light when a rather hirsute and unkempt chap sidled up on the sidewalk alongside our car, wheeling his belongings in front of him. As we watched, he leapt backward (as well as a hobbling hobo in a trenchcoat can leap, more like a slow motion lurch) and began a tirade that was directed at a potted fern on the stairs of a residence.

The fern, a more resolute being than Hairy Harry, held its position, as Hairy railed on, his arms waving, his demeanor becoming more animated by the moment.

Ever the image of self control, the fern stood its ground. We had now held our observation position through several cycles of the traffic signal, evoking horns, hollers and gestures from the cars who passed us. This excitement served only to spur Hairy to greater levels of disenchantement with the fern, as Hairy seemed to think that passersby were supporting his argument.

Finally, Hairy threw both arms skyward in disgust, dismissed the fern, reclaimed his shopping cart condo and resumed shuffling. Amazed and highly amused, we drove on, having been grandly entertained by this singular display of disorientation.

Two stoplights ahead, and this is the absolute truth, an individual who could have passed for Hairy's long lost twin shuffled into view. There were no ferns in sight, but new Hairy II flew into a rage nonetheless and began his own highly animated tirade against an unseen antagonist. We didn't need a second show, so as the light turned green we headed on for the beach.

World Famous Miami Beach, that is.

Careful With the Cronies, Barack

I have been highly unimpressed with the reign of Arne Duncan over the Chicago Public Schools system. Most notorious among his "achievements" was the institution of the pay for grades program, where students get cash payments from the schools for each of their grades. CPS already has a big spending-per-pupil number, and this scambo doesn't do anything to improve it, in my judgement it just throws some hush money into the equation.

So I was rather disturbed to see that Barack was putting old Arne up for Secretary of Education. I know that Arne has a decent jump shot and he's an awesome rebounder, but after the White House basketball team finishes its season, there is some actual work to be done, and Checkbook Arne doesn't impress me as the guy to do it.

Then I caught a story in the SunTimes last Thursday that the CPS had spent $67,000 on expresso machines last year (along with some other interesting mal-administration, detailed in the audit), adding to the resume of Arne Duncan, Power Forward. Let's see, the CPS year in review...some loony preacher takes busses full of kids up to New Trier, cash payouts to kids, changing grades for athletes, spending $250,000 bussing kids into a school in Gage Park they weren't supposed to be in and expresso instead of algebra books. We're only half way through the school year, too, so there's surely more to come.

Arne might foul out early in this game. Maybe Barack should be looking for bench strength, say the accomplished veteran, Paul Vallas. I'm not sure about Paul's jump shot, though.

National Championship Trophy

This is The Coaches' Trophy, awarded annually to the winner of the BCS national title game, the national champion of the college football world. A trophy just like the one pictured here will go to the winner of tonight's Florida v. Oklahoma game.

The trophy is a handmade Waterford crystal football mounted on a mahogany base. It's valued at something like $30,000.

In the spring of last year, a high school football player from Plant High School (near Lakeland), who was taking a tour of the University of Florida, bent over and in the process butt-whacked the University's 2006 trophy off the table upon which it had been set.

The kid broke a $30,000 trophy. Insert here your own joke about dumb-ass, stupid ass, big-ass, etc.

It was insured. I refer to the trophy, not the infringing visiting buttocks. Apparently, two or three replacement crystal footballs are ordered each year from Waterford by the various schools who have one of these pricey baubles. Accidents happen. If I were in charge of a the safety of a $30,000 trophy, I would think that accidents should never, ever, happen, but I don't deal with enormous young athletes for a living, so maybe I'm being naive. If you would like, Waterford.com has mini versions of the football, four inches long, that you can own for $185, plus shipping, of course.

The kid hasn't made a college choice yet, but he is already famous.

That is all.