The Forebode Warrior

I seem to remember that in the days immediately following the "assassinations" (see Chris Rock's definition) of worthless airbrush t-shirt icons Tupac Shakur and Biggie Smalls, one or two media outlets actually made the ill-advised decision to jump on the bandwagon of those asking the laughable question, "Did Tupac and Biggie predict their own deaths?"

As if it were somehow spooky that two thug-life dipshits whose nearly every song involved violence of one kind or another might've wound up being killed themselves at some point.

In the spirit of that kind of ratings-driven thinking, I give you last night's episode of Larry King Live (the show with the most unintentionally ironic name in television).

For an hour last night, Terri Irwin, the widow of Steve Irwin -- Aussie stereotype and notorious irritant to 93% of the animal kingdom -- had her own up-close encounter with the elusive Vampire Bat of Brooklyn, talking to Larry King about her life in khaki, as one half of the married team behind television's erstwhile most popular nature show. It was all to promote a book she's written about the intrepid adventures of her late husband, who was killed by a stray stingray barb while shooting a scene for their show along Australia's Great Barrier Reef.

It was pretty much your average interview -- until Larry began baiting Mrs. Irwin with the staff booker "pre-interview"-approved insinuation that Steve Irwin may have, like Tupac and Biggie before him, predicted his own death.

To this, Terri Irwin responded that yes, Steve had in fact foretold that he would "die young."

Larry, likely having just experienced mild incontinence, reacted with shock.

Terri nodded in quiet reverence.

So, just for the cheap seats, let's recap: a guy who, from his 12th birthday on, spent as much time as he could poking, prodding, and generally harassing every deadly creature on the planet once intoned that he probably wouldn't live to see old age.

Thanks Nostradamus.

Although I still believe that Irwin was, in fact, assassinated by that stingray.

Hey, if anybody had a good reason to...

No Residuals, No Peace

New York/Los Angeles (AP) -- The forecast is in from Hollywood: Get ready for a long, cold winter of repeats and reality TV.

Tuesday afternoon, the AP reported that Fox's "Back to You" and "Till Death," and CBS' "Rules of Engagement" will stop production and go on hiatus because of the Hollywood writers' strike. This a day after the late night comedy shows -- including those of Jay Leno, David Letterman, Jon Stewart and Jimmy Kimmel -- went into reruns.

Members of the Writers Guild of America went on strike early Monday morning after failing to reach an agreement with the major TV networks and movie studios on their contract, which expired Nov. 1. The WGA and the Alliance of Motion Picture and Television Producers, the group representing the major TV networks and movie studios, are at odds over how much of a cut writers should get for online distribution and DVDs of TV shows and movies.

According to experts, unless the two groups meet back at the negotiating table this week, the writers probably won't pick up their pens anytime soon.

Despite the dire predictions for television's immediate future, at least one business seems to be thriving in the wake of these most recent developments: the strike is said to be a boon to New York City's "ubiquitous, giant inflatable rat" industry. (See picture, to the left of slightly smaller rat-like creature Tina Fey.)

Listening Post

Although the "video" is nothing more than a still frame taken from the band's website, this song from Radiohead's new album In Rainbows is easily the best three-and-a-half minutes of music they've done in more than a decade.

Here's All I Need.

Who Sold the Dog Out?

I could go on for hours about the sheer perfection of every single facet of the controversy currently swirling around Duane Chapman -- better known as "Dog the Bounty Hunter," a name which is no doubt spoken by uneducated trailer trash with the same kind of fearful hush that the vampires in Blade mentioned "The Daywalker."

The fact that anyone is shocked to learn that a guy who wakes up every morning and immediately decides that he wants to look like a roadie for Molly Hatchet might be inclined to throw around a racial slur when he thinks nobody's listening is shocking in and of itself.

Also not surprising is all the bullshit outrage and phony self-righteous indignation that's coming from network executives who -- as in the case of irrelevant boob Don Imus -- knew exactly what they were getting when they gave Dog his own show and now have the colossal balls to suddenly feign a shred of decency and some semblance of standards.

And finally, anyone who was aghast to find out that Dog's own son sold him out to the National Enquirer hasn't been paying attention lately. This marks the third time in the past year that a kid has betrayed the trust of a father by taking what would've, and should've, been a private family moment and using readily-available new media to shame him into submission. Whether you agree with Dog's admittedly Deliverance-esque opinions doesn't matter in the least; it was never for you to decide in the first place -- not based on a personal conversation between father and son.

I've mentioned this phenomenon before; feel free to take a look: (Big Daughter is Watching You/05.04.07)

In a New York Minute, Everything Can Change

Sometimes, when things seem to be at their worst, the fates smile upon you -- and do they ever.

I just got some very good news.

More to come.

Untitled

I need to take a moment to apologize.

I'm well aware that lately this site has featured a series of little more than quickie posts and music videos. I admit that with everything that's been going on in my personal life, I really haven't been much in the mood to write. (It's not as if simply because some final decision seems to have been made that I've managed to put it all behind me and bury the hurt in a hole somewhere.)

I'm trying to change the situation though -- trying to get my sense of humor to come back and stay.

Please bear with me.

I'll have something more substantial to publish soon.

Listening Post

Since I seem to be reaching into the archives quite a bit lately -- time to loudly proclaim my love for an album that's one of the great unrecognized gems of the 80s.

Most people who grew up when I did remember Wendy and Lisa as the guitarist and keyboard player (respectively) for Prince's band at the time, The Revolution.

In the latter part of that decade though, they ventured out on their own and recorded several spectacular records; the first was a self-titled effort which to this day stands as one of my all-time favorite albums.

This was Wendy and Lisa's first solo single: Waterfall.