But she shouldn't worry, since I'm sure they'll never make it onto the Internet

I've given this some thought, and I've decided not to believe the Vanessa Hudgens naked picture rumor for the following reasons:

1. It started in the National Enquirer. I'm not sure when legitimate news organizations decided that it was OK to refer to things reported in the National Enquirer as if they actually existed in reality, but it's proof positive that Dan Rather really is better off installing cable for Comcast, or whatever he's doing now.
2. Anyone with the nickname "Freaky Math Girl" is way too smart to send naked pictures of herself to Zac Efron, knowing all reasonable means of transmission are being monitored around the clock by Rupert Murdoch.
3. I prefer to think of the "High School Musical" cast as being made of smooth plastic, like Barbie dolls.
   

And he'll start by giving Oprah a car like Travolta did

You heard right: Clinton (Bill, that is) is going on Oprah. According to an e-mail Oprah sent to her book club, the occasion will mark "The first interview about his new passion!" Which, given some of his old passions, is a frightening thought.

But it turns out that passion is "Giving," both the activity and his new book of that same name. But in between his talk of philanthropy, what dirt will he spill? What bombshells will he drop? And most importantly, what will be the next Book Club pick? (Offhand guess: It will be long, and involve depressing foreigners.)

Meanwhile, count on Bill to reveal any number of the following:

• “That whole Vince Foster thing? All Hillary.”
• “During the ’92 campaign, James Carville and I would take turns making Jerky Boys calls to Ross Perot … We’d picture those ears of his turning all red and just laugh and laugh …”
• “Al Gore: Worst guy to get stuck next to at a party ever.”
• “Bush’s dad told me he wet the bed. No, not when he was a kid.”
• “I did have sexual relations with that woman. And that woman. And that woman. And … [tape runs out]."

What, you're telling me Mark Hamill was booked?

Let's face it, NASA needs some good P.R. -- between the astronauts wearing diapers and plotting murders and the ones getting toasted on flight days ("Drink up, dude, we're going to the frickin' moon!"), it seems we've forgotten what NASA is all about: spending billions of taxpayer dollars to take blurry pictures of, I don't know, nebulas.

So, what to do? I can see only two reasonable options:

1. Undertake an important, dramatic space mission that pushes the boundaries of known science and expands our knowledge of the universe; or,
2. Cheesy "Star Wars" tie-in.

And it probably won't surprise you to hear which one they've chosen. (Hint: Not No. 1.) Apparently, the space shuttle Discovery will take Luke Skywalker's actual (fake, plastic) lightsaber on its next mission to the International Space Station. And not only that: Chewbacca himself will hand the lightsaber over to Space Center officials. Which, of course, is ridiculous. Everybody knows that Wookiees don't use lightsabers.

All I can say is, I'm sure this will do wonders for NASA's tarnished image. Just like Major League Baseball's floundering reputation was saved by this.

They're fat, they're fat, we know it

OK, I understand that obesity is a big problem in this country, and that it won't be long before we're all waddling to work and getting stuck in door frames like Laurel and Hardy. But really, where are they finding the file photos to run with their obesity stories? I'm thinking specifically of this guy. It's like Uncle Fester exploded.

It's time we got a more dashing obese spokesperson. I think you know who I mean.

The days dwindle down, to a precious few ...

Yes, the calendar says that fall doesn't start until Sept. 22 or thereabouts (wait ... I may be thinking of Yom Kippur), but as we all know Labor Day marks the true end of the summer season. I know that personally, if I can't wear my white poly-cotton golf slacks and matching Clark Griswold loafers without risking derisive snickers down at the club, it ain't summer.

With that in mind, here is my first installment in what will no doubt become an annual "What I Did This Summer" series. And this one pretty much speaks for itself (literally, since I narrate):

'Radio Nowhere' ... and especially not here

Post a link to Springsteen's new single before it's officially released? I would never!

Hey, what's that over there behind you?

http://hypem.com/search/radio%20nowhere/1/

(You didn't hear this from me.)

It's wiggly annoying

Memo to Ticketmaster: I love you just as much as the next guy. I love the little indecipherable verification words, and the "Convenience" charges, and the extra buck-fifty I have to throw in for the Building Facility, since apparently they don't glean enough off the original exorbitant ticket price to be able to afford toilet paper.

But what I don't love is that you keep sending me e-mail alerts suggesting, nay, demanding that I "Don't miss The Wiggles!" Listen, Ticketmaster: Just because I bought Wiggles tickets five years ago doesn't mean I want to be prodded every time they come back to town. I'm sorry to say this, but ... We don't like The Wiggles anymore. We couldn't even tell you the name of the guy who replaced Greg. My kids have moved on! You should as well.

Um ... If Hannah Montana comes around, though, I'm in.

Back, and better than ever! Sort of

You ... yes, you! The old At Large Blog fan who took a chance and wandered on to this site even though I haven't posted anything in five months! Thanks for stopping by. How are you? Would you like something to drink? I have seltzer around here somewhere.

Just so you know, you can find my blog musings at two new sites: The Shorelines Blog (concentrating on the weird and wacky on Boston's North Shore, but venturing out into the real world more than occasionally), and also at OurTowns Tonight, the blog for GateHouse Media New England. Check 'em out! Somebody's got to.

And I'll be posting here more often too, because, well ... I feel horribly guilty. There, I said it. And just to prove I mean it, here's a picture of me as a Simpsons character: