Thus severely straining the definition of the word 'bravo'

This Wednesday you'll be able to tune into the new "Battle of the Network Reality Stars," in which fake celebrities desecrate another of my fond childhood memories. (Just like that darn Johnny Knoxville.) But what's surprising to me is that this sham of a show is on Bravo. Didn't they used to have classier programming? I mean besides the "Colombo" reruns.

Now they run the likes of “Being Bobby Brown,” which I’ve watched several times and which, as far as I can tell, is about the Houston-Brown family going out to dinner. OK, that’s not all it’s about. Whitney also wears funny hats.

If someone can explain to me what's going on in that family, and also why I'm strangely drawn to their off-kilter antics, please do. Meanwhile, I have one question: Dionne Warwick, why didn’t you warn Whitney? Some psychic friend you are.

Unfortunately, that date stamp hurts like the dickens

Shhhhh! You might wake our Muslim!

Well, I suppose it was only a matter of time. It seems libraries have started lending out people. Thankfully for humanity, it seems this library, which is in Holland (motto: "Wackier than Belgium") is not lending people out for odd jobs or activities I can't mention without setting off the adult content filters. Rather, it's doing it to challenge stereotypes. That was my next guess.

According to Ananova.com, "People can borrow gay people, gypsies and Muslims for an hour and talk to them about their lives." Says the director, "Clients can lend out a Muslim woman in a head scarf and ask her the questions they wouldn't dare to if they met on the street." Presumably questions like, "Is that your protective dust cover?"

I jest, but I think this type of program is important and has vast potential, even outside Holland's borders. For instance, here in America I hear they're considering the same concept with Hooters waitresses.

This week's column: Putting his bare foot forward

You may have read my column a few weeks ago in which I declared I had never worn flip-flop sandals. By “you” I mean the handful of people who read this column who are not my mother or a frustrated copy editor who’d rather be working on his novel.

Anyway, that column garnered a sizable response from readers concerned that my aversion to flip-flops was some sort of cry for help. In fact, the column hadn’t been in print for more than 20 minutes when I got an e-mail from someone named Barefoot Ted, who offered the following piece of advice: “Dude, take off your shoes and learn to live a little.”

It’s a simple statement, but I have to say it came as something of a wake-up call. I was particularly moved by the way Barefoot Ted referred to me as “Dude” — it was like he was admitting me into his inner cabal, offering me a glimpse into the very heart of his Barefoot Tedness.

To read the rest of this week's AT LARGE by Peter Chianca, click here.

In a related story, Michael Jackson has admitted to being a little weird

I'm so sorry to be the one to have to tell you this ... I hope you're sitting down. It seems that, well ... Courtney Love has admitted to using drugs.

I know, it's disillusioning. Sigh ... This is just how I felt when I found out Liberace was gay.

They were finally issued after months of grueling tests with Christina Aguilera

You've got to hand it to the British. First they made all those amazing advances in tea, and now they've issued their soldiers germ-fighting underwear. If only I'd had those in the fifth grade, my entire social life might have been different. I'd rather not get into the details.

But the underwear does more than keep germs out of your underpants, which, frankly, would probably be enough. According to a representative of the Ministry of Defense, the underwear "is coated to prevent bacterial infection and we have tried to arrange the seams so that they don't chafe." This would come in especially handy in foxholes, or for civilians, spending an entire playoff season glued to your couch in the same shorts and lucky "Pat Patriot" T-shirt.

Meanwhile, it's safe to assume that terrorists are cursing this blow to their plan to give the entire free world a nasty rash.

It's amazing the things they can do with computers these days

I don't know about you, but if I were Jeffery Scrotum Bag Barnes, I'd sue somebody. And avoid eye contact with the postman.

So Johnny, if you're ever exposed to gamma radiation and turned into a hulking monster, remember, that's no reason to be rude

Mmmmm! Hamburgers make Hulk forget he's
a mindless creature consumed by rage!

Now, if I remember my comic books correctly, the Incredible Hulk was raging, violent maniac, prone to smashing anything (cars, buildings, that supervillain with the huge forehead) that got in his way. So should I find it disturbing that there appears to be a series of children's books in which the Hulk helps kids learn good manners? In a treehouse? While eating hamburgers and french fries? With "Spider-Girl"?

I'm against the whole thing. First of all, Hulk wouldn't be caught dead in a treehouse, unless he was smashing it into little splinters in a gamma ray-induced explosion of anger. Second, he wouldn't say "please" or "thank you" under any circumstances; he would say "Hulk smash!" Or if it was the TV show he would say "ARRRRRGHHH!" But not in a polite way.

All I know is, if the Hulk of the comic books, or the TV show, or the horrible movie in which Nick Nolte turns into a giant, energy-sucking jellyfish, acted in a polite manner, that wouldn't have been good for anybody. Except possibly those people who kept beating up Bill Bixby every week.

Could be Jesus ... Could be Gabe Kaplan. You make the call.

Now, I'm no theologian, but even if I was I think I would be hard pressed to figure out why Jesus has taken to appearing on pierogis. If the question is, "What Would Jesus Do?", is it really possible that the answer is, "Appear on a Polish dumpling in Toledo"?

What's even more disturbing, though, is that the pierogi in question has been snatched up by GoldenPalace.com, the same Internet casino that bought the cheese sandwich that looked like the Virgin Mary. If Jesus were among us today, I don't think he'd like the idea of Internet casinos any more than he liked money lenders hanging around the Temple. Actual casinos he probably wouldn't have a problem with, because at least at those there's a floor show.

Anyway, all I know is, if Jesus shows up on a knish next, I'm going to be really confused.

This week's column:In N.Y., no west for the weary

Living so close to Boston, I can't help but feel connected to the early history of our country. Bostonians are acutely aware of the path our Founding Fathers took toward independence, primarily because it's conveniently painted red so you can find it again if you take a detour to ride on the Duck Boats.

But one era I don't feel in touch with is the Old West - this despite the fact that my daughter's new idol is none other than Charles "Pa" Ingalls of "Little House on the Prairie." (Whom I recently discovered took his family to the Kansas prairie to escape the hustle-bustle of ... Wisconsin? That Pa really must have had a really low threshold for hustle-bustle.)

So with Pa as inspiration, last week I took my family and headed west. To New York.

To read the rest of this week's AT LARGE by Peter Chianca, click here.

It's a good thing he wasn't a Looney Tunes fan, or someone would be under an anvil right now

I always said those Stooges would lead to no good. If that boy had had access to a roomful of pies and a seltzer bottle, who knows what damage he could have done.

(I was always more of a Marx Bros. fan myself.)

As Chewbacca said when he was trying to repair the hyperdrive, 'WAAAAAUUUUUUGGGH!'

I don’t believe it. Somebody beat me to the idea of doing a one-man show that reenacts the entire Star Wars trilogy. And after all these years I’ve spent practicing it in the shower.

Still, I’ve got to hand it to Charles Ross, who seems to actually be making a living by acting out his geek fantasies, unlike that poor “Star Wars Kid” whose light saber battle was distributed all over the Internet a few years back. All he got was a painfully embarrassing adolescence. I mean, even more painfully embarrassing than all the other Star Wars fans.

Anyway, they won’t catch me off guard twice. The Star Wars idea may be taken, but watch for my one-man reenactment of the entire 1980s output of John Cusack coming soon to a theater near you. A few more months practicing holding that boom box over my head and I should be all set.

Scientists were apparently enamored of her luxurious long hair, which reminded them of Cher during the '80s

This world's not big enough for the both of us, Snuppy.

I can certainly see how someone might want to clone a dog. But this dog?

Seems to me one was enough.

What the boys didn't know was that Uncle Jesse was cookin' up a plan of his own ...

Now, those are Dukes!

Well, "The Dukes of Hazzard" is a huge hit at the box office, despite the fact that the guy who played "Cooter" on TV said that people should't go see it. Thus proving a cinematic truism: Nobody listens to the guy who played "Cooter."

The former Cooter's problem was that based on a script he'd seen, he thought the new version did too much sexing up of the wholesome family show he'd been a part of. (You know, the wholesome family show about moonshiners who may or may not have been in love with their barely dressed cousin.) Not having seen it I can't speak to whether or not it's trashier than the original, but I think it's safe to say the fans concerned that it might overdo the psychological ennui can breathe a sigh of relief.

Personally, as someone who after watching the show at age 11 has spent the rest of his life battling the urge to enter and exit his car through the window, I tend to agree with Cooter that the original is not to be trifled with. (I think we can all agree that Johnny Knoxville is no Mr. Tom Wopat.) But I'm still glad it's a hit, if only because that could possibly lead to a big-screen "BJ and the Bear."

Casting suggestions, anyone? I see Nicholson as Sheriff Lobo.

This week's column:Science sticks it to the dieting craze

I’d like to announce that, for the first time in recently memory, I’ve managed to drop several pounds. (By "several" I mean more than two, less than a regulation-sized bowling ball.)

Unfortunately, it seems my timing couldn’t be worse. After spending weeks dropping the weight by giving up some of the little treats that I love so much, like insatiable binge eating, I read that I could have done it by just getting a needle in the stomach. And you know that old saying: Who needs a healthy diet when you can get a needle in the stomach?

Yes, Reuters reported last week that researchers at Imperial College London believe an injection of a natural digestive hormone into the small intestine could actually help people lose weight. Primarily obese people, but remember, studies show that in America that will soon include everyone except Paris Hilton. (And how long can she hold out? One Big Mac and she’d probably blow up like the blueberry girl in Willy Wonka.)

For the rest of this week's AT LARGE by Peter Chianca, click here.

Like 'City Slickers,' except I'm coming from a suburb

Off, inexplicably, to a dude ranch in N.Y. for three days with the family starting tomorrow. I know I am in fact a dude, because about 20 minutes after my recent column on the dangers of flip-flops was published, I received an e-mail from a gentleman by the name of Barefoot Ted that read, in full, "Dude, take off your shoes and learn to live a little."

Apparently Barefoot Ted likes to climb mountains without shoes on; this reminds me of the people who insist on climbing Mt. Everest without the little oxygen tanks. They all need to get in more.

Regardless, if I wind up riding a horse, barefoot, bareback or otherwise bare, you'll read about it here this weekend. If I get trampled, you'll know why you haven't heard from me.

No matter what, she was a huge improvement over Buddy Hackett

Put it back on, Lindsay! Put it back on!

Took the kids to see "Herbie: Fully Loaded" today, and I can't help but wonder: Why did that nice little redheaded Lindsay Lohan get all skinny and blonde on us after this movie came out? She was cute as a button riding around in that funny little car, with her freckles and actual human eyebrows. (I'm also wondering ... Nobody could ask Dean Jones to be in this thing? It's an insult.)

Anyway, I realize she was already on the road to Britneydom when she took her clothes off for the cover of Entertainment Weekly last year, but maybe there's still time ... Lindsay, if you're out there, go back to the red hair and the normal-girl proportions. We'll still love you! (And whatever you do, stop going to Tommy Mottola for image advice -- he's a dirty old man anyway.)

This week's column: Flipping out over footwear flop

You probably noticed that I hadn’t weighed in on the controversy over the Northwestern women’s lacrosse team wearing flip-flops to meet the president. This is because I’ve been carefully considering the issue, and also because I know the average women’s lacrosse player could take me in a fight, even without the stick.

Still, I’ve decided that I really must speak out and declare: Flip-flops are just wrong. Not necessarily for meeting the president — with his track record, he’s lucky anyone visits him at all. No, I’m against flip-flops in general, because I believe it’s fundamentally wrong to declare two slabs of rubber and some string to be actual footwear. What would Florsheim say?

Granted, I’m no expert, being as I’ve never worn a flip-flop in my life. I suppose there’s a chance that if I did I’d be overcome by exhilaration, reveling in the freedom I felt as I skipped down the road in my practically-bare feet, my rubber slabs slapping the ground like hands joyously smacking against a bongo drum. But I doubt it.

To read the rest of this week's AT LARGE by Peter Chianca, click here.

I better shape up, 'cause she needs a man ...

Hopelessly devoted to ... well, you know.

So, why do you suppose I felt that odd rush when I got the e-mail from the Lowell Memorial Auditorium announcing an appearance by Olivia Newton-John on Oct. 20? Could it be I flashed back to when I was 11, sitting in the Cameo Theater in Brewster, N.Y. watching "Xanadu"? No, I'd pretty much successfully managed to wipe that from my memory. Maybe it's because I recalled "Timeless Tales from Hallmark," her 1990 TV series meant to to promote environmental awareness among children? No, I actually had no idea that existed. Her valiant battle against breast cancer? Admirable, but again, no. Hey, wait ... could it be ... That trampy black outfit from the end of "Grease"?

I'm so ashamed.

Well, what a coincidence -- that's the kind I have!

Good news: Scientists have discovered the existence of "good" bacteria that actually fights bad breath and stinky feet! So all of you sucking down Listerine Oral Care Strips like they were jellybeans, cut it out -- the bad breath- and stinky feet-fighting bacteria you kill may be your own.

According to CBS News, "More studies on the topic may lead to a natural way of reducing bad breath and smelly feet." No word yet on whether those studies will be able to determine why people in need of such remedies always sit next to me on planes.

But as scientists work to harness the power of good bacteria until millions of them can be held on little leashes and trained to attack and destroy all things stinky, you'll have to come up with another way to keep from offending people in your general proximity. For instance, "practicing good hygiene may help."

Ha ha! No, seriously, I'm figuring a needle in the stomach might be good.

Please excuse the intrusion. This may come as a surprise since you don't know me, but OW! OW! OW!

I'm not sure quite how to feel. On the one hand, when someone gets beaten to death in his own apartment, that's a bad thing. On the other hand, when that person happens to be someone responsible for sending spam to 14 million Internet users, well ... If you're not asking for a deadly beating, you must at least know you're at risk for some serious wedgies.

Apparently over in Russia, where the beating occurred, there were no such mixed emotions. Headlines there included “An Ultimate Solution to the Spam Problem,” “The Spammer Had it Coming" and “Ignoble Death Becomes Russia’s Top Spammer." Which tells you one thing: Russia needs a good New York Post. (Suggested headline: "WHAM, BAM -- NO MORE SPAM!") We can be thankful that the old Pravda's gone, though. ("Spammer happy and healthy, salutes Soviet ingenuity.")

So the question remains: Should spammers be put to death? The jury is still out, but the way I see it, if I get one more Cialis ad, no jury in the land would convict me.

Even though it's in Utah, he says he'll stop at three wives, tops

Oh sure, back when I was single all my friends said they'd help me meet somebody. "I'll set you up with my cousin, who has almost all her original teeth," they'd say. Or, "Would you like to go out with my wife's friend Marnisha -- she has two more weeks before she has to get back to the Israeli Army." Or, "I know a girl who's perfect for you; she's really, really desperate."

But for whatever reason, none of them erected a billboard in my hometown soliciting women to date me. And they called themselves my friends. Bastards.

Fortunately for Lance Archibald of Linden, Utah, his friends apparently care more for him than mine did for me. They have not only set up such a billboard, but also a Web site -- www.datelance.com -- to attract women for their 31-year-old and yet somehow unmarried buddy. Now, that's what I call friendship. No, I'm not crying ... There's just something in my eye.

Anyway, I hope Lance finds what he's looking for, namely, the type of woman who'd date a guy she saw on a billboard. Or, barring that, a woman whose friends would set her up with a guy they saw on a billboard. One of those two things.

Oh good! A needle in the stomach!

For a while there I thought I was going to have to exercise.

This week's column: A new spin on family vacations

In the endless litany of things that remind you that you’re getting older — your hairline, Top 40 radio, your body’s outright rejection of the Big Mac — I’ve decided that high on the list should be a visit to one of America’s fine theme parks. Also carnivals, but there the feeling is trumped by the sensation that at any moment you might be jumped by a deranged carny.

But theme parks, they’re supposed to be joyful and fun — even the ones my family visits, which tend to look like that they were built entirely out of papier maché in the 1950s. It seems to me this feeling shouldn’t wear off just because you’re old enough to suspect the guy piloting the Buccaneer Pirate Ship is not an actual pirate.

I was especially looking forward to visiting Santa’s Village and Storyland last week, given that my kids are outgrowing the need to tromp repeatedly through the Three Bears’ House, where they try out beds that have already been laid upon by the entire under-5 population of northern New England. Instead they’re getting into the various roller coasters and tilt-a-whirls, which I figured would be more fun for me — at least until I actually went on one, and was surprised at the end of the ride to find that my stomach was sharing a car with an entirely different family.

For the rest of this week's AT LARGE by Peter Chianca, click here.

Although I had my suspicions about that Q*Bert

It's good to know that Hillary Clinton and parents all across America are springing into action to get "Grand Theft Auto: San Andreas" out of the hands of children. They're doing this now that they've found out the game can depict graphic hubba-hubba if you modify the game code, which to you and me seems about as likely as building a thermonuclear device out of old tomato cans, but for anyone under 20 is second nature -- it's like their ability to operate a PlayStation joystick in the first place, which requires thumb ligaments that didn't even exist prior to the Clinton adminstration.

I'm just wondering where Hillary and Co. were when you could just use "Grand Theft Auto" to decapitate police officers, kill them with a sniper rifle, massacre them with a chainsaw and set them on fire. Apparently that's OK with everyone, including Wal-Mart, as long as nobody is getting any illicit lovin' in-between dismemberings.

All I know is, I miss the Space Invaders. They just disappeared in cute little pops when you shot them, and having sex with them was certainly out of the question. At least I hope it was.

Interestingly, Oliver Stone had also promised he'd never release 'Alexander'

Was he wearing the shower cap in the
sex video? The world may never know.

Poor, deluded Colin Farrell. When will he and all the other celebrities who film themselves in flagrante delicto (literally, "flagrantly, in a delicatessen") learn that those movies never, ever, ever remain private, particularly when you're a celebrity and the other "performer" is, say, a Playboy Playmate. (Who, in this case, a quick Google search will tell you has never been on the Internet not naked. This is your first clue that "discretion" is not especially prevalent in somebody's vocabulary.)

According to the lawsuit filed by Farrell to keep the tape out of the hands of celebrity sex tape collectors everywhere, "The videotape was created by two individuals solely for their private use and enjoyment." Which begs the question: Why a sex tape? Why not, say, decoupage?

Anyway, if there are any celebrities out there who can explain this phenomenon to me, I'm all ears. We get that you're fabulously attractive and all that, but do you really need photographic evidence of everything? Seems to me it's about time celebrities started being ashamed of their bodies like all the rest of us.

They're just so tantalizing, with their pointy red hats and beards as white as the driven snow

OK, OK! It was me.

But I'm not proud of it.

Finally, a cure forthe box office slump

They're back, baby!

Now if only someone would remake "Beavis and Butthead Do America" ...

This week's column: A toned-down Jones? Say it ain't so!

Peter Chianca returns with new columns next week. To close out his vacation -- and to mark Tom Jones' stop in Boston this past weekend -- here's a column from the At Large archives:

Unless you're completely oblivious to important current events, you've no doubt heard the following piece of news: Tom Jones has given up wearing leather pants. Yes, I know, I'm just as disturbed as you are.

Not that I'm a fan of leather pants — I think if I ever tried to wear them my body would simply reject them outright, like a bad kidney. But for Tom, they work; after all, if he got up on stage singing overwrought, cheesy love songs wearing regular polyester slacks, he just wouldn't be Tom Jones. Neil Diamond, maybe.

But the pants aren't all he's giving up; he also says he's going to stop wearing open shirts and picking up the women's underwear thrown at him while he's on stage. Something must be done — if he also decides to stop swiveling his hips I'm concerned he could wind up turning into Jim Lehrer.

To read the rest of At Large by Peter Chianca, click here.

To really pay tribute to the cows, eat at least five pints

If ice cream could be turned into a living-dead
zombie, it would probably look something like this.

Ah, summertime — when a young man’s fancy turns to thoughts of eating. A young woman’s too. Basically, I'm referring to anybody willing to scarf a pound of fried scallops and wash it down with a pint of ice cream, which in the winter would be considered self-abuse but in the summer is just part of the seasonal fun, like exposing your pasty white skin to intense UV radiation.

If you don’t believe me, just stop in at your local Ben & Jerry’s ice cream, which is sponsoring “Cow Appreciation Day.” And what better way to appreciate a cow than to eat one on a sesame seed bun? Ha ha! I jest of course. The best way (say B&J) is to ingest ice cream made with milk from cows who have not been injected with synthetic growth hormones. (Particularly ice cream with names like “The Gobfather,” “Fossil Fuel” and “Appley Ever After.” So much for vanilla.) I'm sure the ice cream will taste that much better given the lack of artificial hormones, but it's worth noting, it still came out of a cow.

Meanwhile, over at Baskin Robbins (where I suspect nobody’s particularly concerned about synthetic growth hormones), they’re doing their annual search for a “Master Taster.” That’s right, you yourself can enter the blindfolded taste-off, wherein 10 ice cream fanatics per region test their ice cream flavor identifying skills. Presumably, the first one to declare “Hey, is this Appley Ever After?” will be forcibly ejected.

Or, you can top of your meal of grilled salmon and collared greens with a bowl of fresh strawberries and a few ounces of tasty sorbet. Ha ha! Again, jesting. Pass the fried dough.

Yes, yes, I know -- I'm a muggle. Let's move on.

Beware, Harry! It's a green, glowing ... uh ... thingie!

Book titles that will be a sure sign J.K. Rowling is running out of steam:

• "Harry Potter and the Kidney Stone"
• "Harry Potter and the Chamber of Thinly-Veiled Rumors"
• "Harry Potter and the Layover in Phoenix"
• "Harry Potter and the Gimlet of Vodka"
• "Harry Potter and the Family Stone"
• "Harry Potter and the Janitor of Azkaban"
• "Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Sausage"
• "Harry Potter and the Sharon Stone"
• "Harry Potter and the Chamber of Commerce"
• "Harry Potter and the Burger King Tie-In"

As long as this doesn't somehow involve my swimming pool, I'm in!

In my line of work, you get a lot of requests. Most of them are not significant enough to fit into my busy schedule, but every so often you get one that makes you stand up and take notice. And more often than not, it's one with a subject line that says "Spirit Quest Giant Squid Survey Briefing Invitation."

So sure enough, when I received an e-mail titled just that earlier today, I immediately skipped over all the ones requesting I send my bank information to someone I've never met in Nigeria or take an herbal supplement that would guarantee a certain physical state that would be embarrassing at Rotary Club meetings, and read on.

The note read, "A world media event to succeed in filming the Giant Squid alive in its own natural habitat is underway. This will be covered by major broadcasters globally. Needed now are sponsors, investing co-directors and interested professionals." Well, let me just say to the folks at Reverie Productions that I sincerely doubt they will find a professional more interested in Giant Squid Survey Briefings than myself, and I hereby pledge to do whatever I can to further the cause, short of donating any actual time or money.

And to the giant squids, I can only say: Hang on. We're coming.

But we better keep eating those corn dogs, just in case

Nice going, men! Scientists have finally determined that obese men are more obese than obese women. Just add it to the list of other things we're better than women at, like war, channel surfing and painting our bodies blue for football games.

Um, and being competitive. There's always that.

And if big bosoms were part of the criteria, Evander Holyfield should have won

If only John O'Hurley had shown more navel ...

I've held my tongue up until now, but ... Blast you, Kelly Monaco! Blast you and your "General Hospital" fan base! Blast your bare midriffs and your deft handling of your wardrobe malfunctions! Blast the way you won over that catty Bruno Tonioli! Blast you for reducing the heretofore stoic Carrie Anne Inaba to gushing "You go girl!" platitudes! And blast you for winning me over in the end, you spunky underdog!

OK, I feel better now.

This week's column: Alien hunters are just taking up space

You've probably read by now that experts predict they'll make contact with intelligent alien life by 2025. Given that, I'd like to take this public forum to express what I consider to be an important and relevant thought:

ATTENTION ALIENS! I hereby renounce my earthly governments and submit to your subjugation! Please do not fry me with your death ray lasers!

There, I feel better.

To read the rest of this week's At Large by Peter Chianca, click here.

And get this: Anakin turns out to be Darth Vader!

Well, I'm embarrassed to admit that it took me seven weeks to do it, but I finally saw "Star Wars Episode III" today. And I'd just like to thank George Lucas for realizing what the people wanted and actually giving it to us. Yes, I'm talking about more scenes of Yoda kicking Sith butt. And Wookiees. Lots and lots of Wookiees.

In fact, the only suggestion I have would be to release a special edition with all footage of Natalie Portman replaced with a different actress speaking different dialogue. Almost anybody would do -- I might suggest splicing in Sissy Spacek from "Coal Miner's Daughter."

By the way, I get that the Sith are supposed to be Republicans, but exactly who is the Emperor? I think I've got it narrowed down to Rumsfeld and Jeane Kirkpatrick.

The trip may be over, but I can still taste the chocolate milk and grilled cheese

Do you like the look? I'm going for
a George Hamilton kind of thing.

Ten things that occurred to me at Storyland and Santa's Village:

• Is it me, or has Humpty Dumpty has been getting busy with the Clinique Self-Tanning Body Mist?
• There’s no tantrum that can’t be cured by a few minutes in the mist tent.
• Remember when you were 14, and could go on any roller coaster or tilt-a-whirl, and it didn’t affect you at all? You’re not like that anymore.
• Judging from “The Hum Bug” ride, in which riders take turns shooting giant bugs, it seems that in New Hampshire it’s not Christmas unless you've handed a 4-year-old a plastic firearm.
• Disney can take its Splash Mountains and Towers of Terror. In the end, nothing beats a crater filled with plastic balls.
• When you walk into a theater on a humid July day, after having just heard “Oh Holy Night” over the loudspeakers for the fifth time, and watch a show in which an elf named Fruitcake sings “The Candy Man,” you think, this is what LSD must be like.
• The “Crazy Barn” is not crazy so much as nauseating.
• When maneuvering your kids through the gift shop that’s been placed strategically in front of the only exit, keep their heads down and shuffle them forward forcibly, like when running through hail.
• No matter how many rest rooms they build, there will never, ever be a potty close enough when you really need it.
• I would guess that theme park workers are probably, by capita, the most likely people in the world never to have children.

We're 10 hours from the &%#@! fun park and you want to bail out. Well I'll tell you something. This is no longer a vacation. It's a quest.

I'm off with the family to Storyland and Santa's Village in N.H., two of the finest fun parks ever to be made entirely from paper mache during the 1950s. If I survive, I'll post about it at the end of the week. In the meantime, if you're at one of those two parks and see a guy in a yellow plastic rain poncho trying to fish his kids out of the ball pit, it's probably me.

This week's column: Give 'em a yard, they'll take a mile

I should start off by mentioning that I've always thought of yard sales as part of an elaborate, underhanded plot to get strangers to pay for the privilege of taking away your garbage. It's like a Ponzi scheme with old lamps.

So with the idea of unloading stacks of household detritus while at the same time taking money from our friends and neighbors, we decided to hold a yard sale last weekend. This actually took quite a bit of preparation, most of which involved negotiating with my wife, who thought it appropriate to sell anything we hadn't actively used in the last 40 minutes. I, on the other hand, was able to come up with a sentimental attachment to almost everything she pulled out for the sale, including the price stickers.

In the end, though, we were able to reach some compromises. For instance, I agreed we could sell the wine rack, given that we don't actually drink wine and have spent the last several winters using it to store hats. Also, I offered up a box of my old yellowed comic books, after carefully culling any I thought my son might someday want or that would make good reading material if I ever found myself locked in the basement.

To read the rest of this week's At Large by Peter Chianca, click here.

G8 get kick in pants from Madonna, declare, 'What were we thinking?'

Paul McCartney, right, stated today that he
will do his part to end poverty by giving all
the little African children on stage with him
crisp, new $20 bills. And Bob Geldof too.

Isn't it good to know that by the end of the week, the leaders of the Group of Eight industrialized nations meeting in Scotland will have pledged a cool $1 million to each resident of Africa, starting by emptying their own personal bank accounts? This will happen after they smoke some ganga and declare that if Pink Floyd can get back together, well, anything is possible. Then Junichiro Koizumi will hold his lighter in the air while Gerhard Schroder and Silvio Berlusconi join arms and sway, ever so gently. Personally, I can't wait.

Unfortunately, science has yet to develop a convincing robot 'Shrimp Lover's Combo'

This is not the actual robot lobster. But you've seen
one robot lobster, you've seen 'em all, I always say.

This week's Invention of the Week award goes to a robot lobster designed by an inventor at Northeastern University, who apparently somehow found time to invent it in between Red Sox- and Patriots-inspired street riots.

The lobster, an entry at Wired Magazine's annual NextFest in Chicago, is meant to troll the sea floor for mines. What it does with the mines when it finds them is unclear, although "crush them in its vice-like grip" would be a fairly cool option.

While real lobsters might feel threatened by such a development, it's worth pointing out that, despite the robot lobster's very expensive mechanical muscles made from the same metal mesh material used to make the stents implanted in heart patients, you still wouldn't want to eat one. Well, at least not without a lot of melted butter.

This is what the Blizzard of '78 must have been like

Just got reconnected after two days without Internet. Now I know how those Puritan women felt when they ran out of wax.

He not busy being born is a-busy dying ... for some Colombia Nariño Supremo!

The Grande, my friend, is blowin' in the wind.

Is anyone else as torn as I am over Bob Dylan's decision to release his latest album of 40-year-old recordings exclusively through Starbucks for 18 months? I mean, I'd like to get it so I too can sigh wistfully about the days before he sounded like Alvin the Chipmunk's drunken uncle, but on the other hand, I usually only go into Starbucks if I'm, say, bleeding from my carotid artery and need someone to call an ambulance, and even then only if I can't find a Dunkin' Donuts.

The main reason I avoid Starbucks is the cost of the coffee, which tends to defy my weekly beverage budget of whatever change I can separate from the sticky film at the bottom of my car's cupholder. But I know I don't have to also mention the weird sizes ("Venti," "Vidi" and "Vicci"), the inexorable process of making the coffee that seems to mirror scientists' efforts at cold fusion, and the fact that its employees have been dubbed with the improbably highbrow moniker "barristas," when in actually they're just people who can't work in Wal-Mart for fear of getting wedgies from the guys in the garden department.

I guess I'll have to just suck it up and go in, for Bob's sake. But I'm just buying the CD. If I try to walk out of there with a Grande Arabian Mocha Sanani, please, somebody stop me.

Also cut was the part where Al Roker hip-checked him off his stool

What do you know about being in boxes, Matt?
I've been in boxes, OK? Have you ever been in a box, Matt?

Tom Cruise quotes edited out of the Matt Lauer interview:

• "I know anthropology, Matt. I've been on digs, OK? Have you ever dug anything up, Matt?"
• "Please, Matt, Don't try to tell me about bocce. I know bocce, OK? I played in high school, Matt, I didn't just sit around talking about it. Did you ever play bocce, Matt? Or do you just talk about it on TV?"
• "Don't talk to me about 'Desperate Housewives,' Matt. Have you ever even watched the show? Because I've watched the show, Matt. And for you to insinuate that Bree is a sympathetic character ... You're very glib, Matt. Very, very glib. And facile. Glib and facile. Matt."
• "Matt, Matt, Matt, Matt, Matt. Do you even know what's in Twinkies, Matt? Have you ever done a chemical analysis of that cream filling? Because that's what I did. I rented a lab in New Jersey and tested that cream filling myself. Until you've tested that cream filling Matt, I don't think it's responsible for you to be on the Today show talking about Twinkies."
• "Now I'd like to jump up and down and sing a little love song about Katie. No, Matt. My Katie, not your trampy co-host. Matt, Matt, Matt, Matt, Matt, Matt."

Matt Lauer quote left out of the interview:

• Why don't you go &%$@!, you spoiled &%$@! rich &%$@!

If I were Roo, I'd be watching my back

Has anyone checked out Eeyore's alibi? I never trusted that donkey.

Get some buckets, Marge, we've hit the mother lode!

Mmmm .... Animal fat ....

This week's column: Penn's professional prospects plentiful

HOLLYWOOD (AP) - A spokesman for Sean Penn announced this week that the actor has narrowed down his next fake career to two options: astronaut and fireman.

The Oscar winner and political activist is currently covering the Iranian elections as a correspondent for the San Francisco Chronicle, but has said he feels that when his stint as a fake journalist comes to a close, he'd like to be ready with the next fake career that he can use his celebrity to weasel his way into.

The announcement comes on the heels of widespread criticism over his Chronicle assignment, primarily from newspaper journalists, who are "plagued by gnawing feelings of inadequacy as it is," said Roberta Peller, spokeswoman for the National Association of Newspaper Writers.

To read the rest of this week's At Large by Peter Chianca, click here.
For the original post this column springs from, click here.

Instead, they recommended he just inject steroids directly into his cranium

Well, it was bound to happen: South Korea's baseball authorities have banned a star pitcher from wearing frozen cabbage leaves in his cap to keep cool during games. This could be a crushing blow to the cabbage industry, which was already reeling from corn beef's announcement that it was pursuing a solo career.

"Since it has become a controversy, we decided to set a limit on the boundaries of foreign substances," said a Korean Baseball Association spokesman. With that in mind, other items banned from the pitcher's mound included:

• Frozen spinach;
• Frozen lettuce;
• Frozen radicchio;
• Frozen pizza (French bread or standard crust);
• That huge pork roast that you bought because it was on sale but that, let's face it, you're never going to cook;
• Fudgsicles, popsicles, other miscellaneous sicles;
• Anything that's been left in the freezer so long it's developed a fuzzy, frozen skin;
• Gwyneth Paltrow.

Word has it that millions of ants are currently making their way there from Jersey

The streets were sticky that night, my friends.

OK, so Snapple was left with kiwi-strawberry on its face when its attempts to erect the world's largest ice pop fell victim to hot temps, resulting in 35,000 pounds of Snapple slush stickifying the streets of New York City. While admittedly that's enough Snapple to feed starving villages in Africa for weeks (and I have it on good authority that small African children spend many a night staring into the night sky, hoping against hope for a Snapple drop), it could have been worse.

Yes, it could have been molasses, which any resident of Boston knows can be deadly, in addition to being chock full of sticky goodness. I refer of course to the Boston Molasses Disaster (also known as the Great Molasses Flood), which occurred on Jan. 15, 1919 in the North End of Boston. A large molasses tank burst and a wave of molasses ran through the streets, killing 21 and injuring 150 others. As one local commentator said at the time, "Oh, the horror! The ho... Mmm, is that cinnamon?"

Anyway, according to Wikipedia, the event has entered local folklore, and residents claim that the area still sometimes smells of molasses. Although I've been to the North End, and mostly it just smells like old vegetables.

(Thanks to Lori.)

And yet it can still be taken out by a well-placed BB

Up, up and away, in my beautiful,
and yet &%$@!-ed up, balloon.

This week's Invention of the Week award goes to something that scientists and inventors have been trying to perfect for centuries: The upside-down hot-air balloon. This would presumably come in especially handy in places where gravity works backwards.

According to Cameron Balloons spokeswoman Hannah Cameron, developing the upside-down balloon was "a tall order." For instance, she says, "the basket at the top is fake, and there is a real basket underneath, which is hidden by a special skirt that can be lifted as the pilot comes in to land." This solves the main problem that had stymied previous upside-down hot-air balloons, namely the pilot falling to his death or getting trapped inside the balloon and asphyxiating, which happened to more than a dozen volunteers during the rush to perfect an upside-down hot-air balloon during World War I.

Well, we're glad it has finally come to pass, unlike its ill-fated cousin, the upside-down hot-air assisted living facility.

Plus basically anything anybody said in 'Red Dawn'

Lines inexplicably missing from AFI's list of top 100 movie quotes:

• "I want my two dollars."
• "Demented and sad, but social."
• "It's the end of the month, they're out of toilet seat covers!"
• "I can't believe my grandmother actually felt me up."
• "Number 5 is alive!"

Hmmm ... Do you suppose it's possible I spent a little too much time at the movies during the '80s?

Prints are available for $49.95

'Man's Inhumanity to Man,' by Peter Chianca

This image, which I captured during a grueling 12-hour shoot earlier today, is meant as a statement on society, the cruelty of humankind and the prevailing "culture of death." The reds are meant to symbolize the blood of inoccents, while the leafy green stalks represent a once-buoyant environment now choked by the colander of intolerance.

OK, you got me. It's a picture of a bunch of strawberries I took 10 minutes ago to make sure my camera still worked after my son whipped it across the kitchen like a Nerf ball. But don't they look juicy?

This'll teach people who think Nevada is all gambling and hookers

Go, Nevada librarians!

Like Irish Spring, except Italian

Well, this is disgusting.

This week's column: Get hip to tips for clueless dads

Well, this was the year! With my kids now 6 and almost 4, I finally figured out the secret to this fatherhood thing, and this is it:

Um ... OK, I'm lying.

But I have picked up a few things, and judging by the intense, almost Guantánamo-style grilling I keep getting from fathers-to-be, I know there is a dearth of information out there. So I share the following, in the hopes that our kids won't look back someday and say, "Who was that guy who kept tripping over Mom?"

For the rest of this week's At Large by Peter Chianca, click here.

For previous Tips for Clueless Fathers, click here.

Take my crap ... please!

I've spent all night preparing for a yard sale, which I can't help but think of as an elaborate, underhanded plot to get strangers to pay for the privilege of taking away my crap. If this actually works I may have to try that Ponzi scheme I've been thinking about.

Of course, while my wife would like to sell anything we haven't actively used in the last 40 minutes, I can't seem to break the sentimental attachment I have to certain very significant objects from my past. Which is my Elton John "Reg Strikes Back" concert T-shirt, my framed "Naked Gun" movie poster and my complete yellowed collection of Marvel Team-Up comic books from 1979-1983 have been moved to an undisclosed location for the duration of the sale.

Anyway, if anyone has any crap-selling suggestions they'd like to share, I'm all ears. But don't say put the stuff up on eBay. I'd have to take all the stuff to the post office, which flies directly in the face of my efforts to have it all leave my house of its own accord, preferably while I'm sleeping.

Penn: Next fake job may be as fake fireman

Sean Penn is eagerly looking forward
to his next fake career choice.

HOLLYWOOD (AP) -- Actor Sean Penn announced this week that he has narrowed down his next fake career to two options: astronaut and fireman.

The Oscar winner and political activist is currently covering the Iranian elections as a correspondent for the San Francisco Chronicle, but has said he feels that when his stint as a fake journalist comes to a close, he'd like to be ready with the next fake career that he can use his celebrity to weasel his way into.

"I've thoroughly enjoyed pretending to be a reporter and working side-by-side the actual reporters, all of whom are consummate professionals, in that they actually do this for a living, not just for fake," said Penn. "But next time around I thought being an astronaut and wearing that cool space suit or a fireman and sliding down the pole would be pretty awesome."

For future fake careers, Penn has mentioned doctor, policeman, professional wrestler, rock star and the guy who feeds the seals at the aquarium. "I hope my ideas for what fake jobs to do are ever changing," said Penn.

So that means it's a death ray, right?

Boxy is the new sexy.

This week's Invention of the Week award goes to Coherent, which has come up with what we've all been waiting for: a 20 W ultraviolet laser that can dice wafers and scribe large-area solar cells. The AVIA 355 nm source operates at pulse repetition rates as high as 150 kHz and gives a beam quality of less than M2 1.3.

OK, I'll admit I have no idea what any of that means. I just wanted you to think I was smart.

Here's a better suggestion: The onion you can eat like an apple. Now, that's an invention I can understand. Mmmm .... Onions ....

Where's the air marshal when you need him?

At least they died doing what they loved best: Acting like complete idiots.

If you listen, you can hear the steam coming out of Nancy Grace's nostrils

You know what this other little finger could use?
A Band-Aid! Jeeves, bring one immediately!

Things we can safely say Michael Jackson is guilty of:

• Popularizing the red leather jumpsuit.
• Declaring himself "King of Pop," which, let's face it, was fairly presumptuous.
• Making J.M. Barrie roll over in his grave.
• Calling Tommy Mottola "devilish" -- this, about the man who discovered Mariah Carey!
• Baby dangling.
• "Captain Eo," which, granted, was not nearly as egregious as "Living with the Land." What a yawner!
• Holding his own nose hostage for more than 18 years.
• Prompting millions of unprepared white people to try to moonwalk, leading to advanced ankle strain.
• Poor, poor Bubbles.
• "Say, Say, Say." Enough said.

This week's column: Going from ad to worse

Maybe it's me, but I've never thought of my kids as what you'd call "useful." Sure, they bring joy and happiness and all that, but they don't really contribute to the well-being of the household like, say, a RotoTiller or a Roth IRA.

I realize when they're older we can assign them certain mundane tasks like mowing the lawn, but they'll probably do that about as well as I did in my youth, when I was known to mow in a circle for 45 minutes in an attempt to run over a garden slug that turned out to be a pretzel. I suppose anything's better than now, though: All this "Feed me! Clothe me!" stuff gets old pretty fast.

That's why I have to hand it to Michele Hutchison, a 26-year-old expectant mother in Philadelphia who apparently is seeking bids on eBay to put advertising on her new baby. This is bound to be far more attractive to corporations than sneaking up on babies and stamping logos on their foreheads, which is still awaiting sign-off from legal.

Read the rest of this week's At Large by Peter Chianca here.

Get some exercise! Unlike their chickens, which are in pens the size of a Filet o' Fish box

Look, Susie! I can still kick the ball, despite having
just ingested the equivalent of 12 pounds of lard!

In the good news-bad news department: The good news is that, according to a press release from McDonald's corporate headquarters, "Ronald McDonald is expanding his role as a global ambassador of fun, fitness and children's well-being. McDonald's® Chief Happiness Officer™ Ronald® is inspiring and encouraging kids and families around the world to eat well and stay active, or as he likes to say, 'it's what i eat and what i do™ ... i'm lovin' it.™'" The bad news is, McDonald's is still turning our nation's children into bloated freaks who sweat grease from every pore. So it's kind of a toss-up.

I'll admit that on the one hand, I have very fond memories of McDonald’s from my youth, when I could eat an entire Quarter Pounder in three minutes in a moving car and be left with nothing more than a satisfied, meaty feeling. But that memory stands in direct contrast to what happened a few weeks ago, when I ate a handful of fries and almost immediately felt like someone had shellacked the inside of my cheeks with Crisco.

I keep going there, however, because I have kids, and McDonald’s has the Happy Meal. This is the meal that comes with a little plastic toy — even the finest restaurants don’t give you one of those.

Anyway, when you see the new commercials featuring Ronald "playing basketball with NBA superstar Yao Ming," I hope it encourages you to go out and do something healthy. Like hand a whupping to a freakish man-clown.

Also, babyfaced people look especially bad sticking out of tanks

I have to admit I'm a little skeptical about the new Princeton University study that says candidates with "baby faces" are less likely to win than those with more mature or rugged looks. I say this because we all know what happened to John Kerry, and he looked like a hot dog that had been left too long under a heat lamp. On the other hand, have you looked at a picture of John McCain lately?

I rest my case.

Because TV somehow seems less crappy if it's tremendous

Yes, we know it costs more than a Honda Civic.
But look at the size of those tulips!

This week's Invention of the Week award goes to the dedicated researchers at Samsung, who have worked tirelessly to come up with the 82-inch LCD TV. Finally, the people who've been forced to try to get by with 62- and 72-inch TVs will see some relief.

We're sure there were many times when the Samsung scientists thought about giving up. "It will never work! It's just ... too ... big!," they would cry, in Japanese. But fortunately, the thought of some poor child in Chappaqua, N.Y. crying himself to sleep every night because SpongeBob wasn't the size of a refrigerator gave them the will to carry on.

No pricing has been announced for the new TV, but we can presume it will be approximately one meeeeeeeellion dollars.

On the plus side, the third guy didn't get much

According to police statistics, in Germany, a person is mugged every 10 minutes. Apparently, this is that person.

We can only imagine what he threw at the bellhop

Wait a minute, those cops are corrupt!
Didn't you see "L.A. Confidential"?

All I have to say is, what is the world coming to when a millionaire Oscar-winning movie star can't throw a phone at a concierge without being arrested? I mean, isn't that what you become a millionaire Oscar-winning movie star for in the first place -- to throw telephones at concierges?

In fact, I'd argue that the concierge in this case should be drummed out of the International Society of Concierges for making such a fuss. After all, any concierge will tell you that's among the first things they teach you in concierge school: Be courteous, always have directions to local landmarks on hand, and smile graciously through whatever teeth you have left after millionaire Oscar-winning movie stars throw telephones at you. To do any less and still call yourself a concierge would be, well, non-concierge-like.

OK, OK, I admit it. I just like saying "concierge."

The entire viewing audience is chipping in $5 each to get two tickets to 'Spamalot'

Frasier's brother definitely gets the Best Hair award.

The overnight ratings are in on the Tonys. Apparently, this year even Liza Minelli was watching "Dateline."

This week's column: Things I picked up in kindergarten

I've been spending a lot of time with kindergartners lately. I've found they make excellent company. For one thing, they almost never talk about politics.

First there was my daughter's birthday party last month, where girls who had been together in school approximately 45 minutes earlier emitted high-pitched squeals and jumped up and down upon seeing each other, like they'd just been told that their prize behind Door No. 3 consisted of a lifetime supply of pink plastic barrettes. (This stands in marked contrast to boys, who tend to dispense with greetings and immediately start wrestling over who gets to play with the biggest truck.)

Then the next day, I volunteered in her kindergarten class, which was no country club: I spent most of the day cutting out pink construction paper pig ears, which unfortunately gave me flashbacks to the first grade when Mrs. Brown chewed me out for cutting my pumpkin's construction-paper arms too short. I realize now I should have pointed out that pumpkins aren't technically even supposed to have arms, but being 7 it was basically all I could do to keep from peeing.

Read the rest of this week's At Large by Peter Chianca here.

You'll laugh, you'll cry, you'll feel a little tight in the crotch

Product placement? What product placement?

Uh-0h. Better brace for the sequels:

• The League of Extraordinary Pants
• The Legend of Sleepy Pants
• Journey to the Center of the Pants
• The Private Files of J. Edgar Pants
• Indiana Jones and the Temple of Pants
• The Passion of the Pants
• The Bridges of Madison Pants
• The House of Blue Pants
• The Pirates of Pants
• Sweeney Todd: The Demon Barber of Pants

He shouldn't have had the chili

Further proof that you should never use a portable toilet.

Or you can always fall back on the old standby, feigning death

Maybe it's me, but I find the concept of setting your own home on fire in order to get guests to leave to be not only rational, but bordering on brilliant. It beats the plan I often contemplate to get unwanted visitors out of my office, which is whipping my complimentary Rotary Club mug at their foreheads. I haven't tried it yet, but I'm fairly confident it would do the trick.

Where 46-year-old Dean Craig of Geneva, Ill. went wrong, in my opinion, is advising his guests in advance that he would set the house on fire if they didn't leave. (This probably elicited a response to the effect of, "Oh Dean, there you go, threatening to set something on fire again! Mind if we make some long-distance calls?") Instead, he should have excused himself to get more drinks, then ignited the kitchen while they weren't looking.

OK, you got me -- I stole that idea from Martha Stewart.

Caution: May cause drowsiness. Plus make you look like an idiot.

If they'd set Anakin up in one of these babies,
everything might have worked out differently.

This week's Invention of the Week award goes to the Dreamhelmet, a "sleep mask sound-blocking pillow" that also aids weight loss. And not, as you might presume, because it has a metal screen that comes down over your mouth like Hannibal Lecter's.

No, according to a press release from Dreamcloud Productions, a recent study shows that the more you sleep, the less hungry your body thinks it is. Also, if you're anything like me, sleep is the only time of day you're not distracted by the idea that there might be a Twinkie somewhere. Anywhere.

After all, as Dreamhelmet creator Jim de Cordova told the writers of the press release (presumably between naps and his nightly 14-hour slumber-fest), our weight problems are a function of our "frantic and noisy society." Said De Cordova, "Just see a film from the 1960s; everybody had long hair and was slim!" Of course, that could have something to do with having taken so many drugs most people thought that their hamburgers were trying to kill them.

Anyway, the Dreamhelmet is billed as being a useful sleep and diet aid in "Planes, Trains, Cars, Buses, Airports, Campgrounds, Hotels, the Office and your own Bed," although that last place is probably the only one where you won't get very odd stares and/or arrested.

Wait ... You mean it wasn't Hal Holbrook?

Of course! W. Mark Felt! It was right there in front of our noses the whole time! We should have figured it was the guy that nobody ever heard of.

Meanwhile, I can't help but be a little bit sad. It's truly the end of an era: I imagine we'll never see another secret source who brings down a president and is named after a porn movie again. Although if we do, I recommend they go with "On Golden Blonde." That would be funny.

This week's column: Baby, remember my name ... or not

When I started writing this column seven years ago, I had the same goal most journalists have when they get into the business: To make a difference. Ha ha ha! No, seriously, it was to become famous.

However, fame has proven somehow elusive. I attribute this to a fickle public, the vagaries of the publishing industry and the fact that my column is still read primarily by blood relatives who already know me.

But a recent experience led me to believe that my fame tide may be turning. I received an e-mail from one Alfred Göttfert that began "Hallo lieber Prominenter oder winiger Porinenter," which made me think I was finally, after years of hard work, being targeted by Nazis. (Disclaimer: I'm of course not referring to the fine, upstanding current residents of Germany, but rather to elderly Nazis living in Brazil.)

Read the rest of this week's At Large by Peter Chianca here.

It's even more impressive when you consider that on at least half of those days, he was given wedgies

How much you want to bet that, on more than one occasion, this kid reminded the teacher she forgot to give homework?

And if Phil Collins gets on the Concord again, by God, shoot it down!

Ten reasons Bob Geldof should not do a new Live Aid:

• Freddie Mercury -- dead.
• Don't they have enough food in Africa already?
• J.J. Jackson -- dead.
• The thought of Lionel Richie sitting there waiting for the phone to ring ... it's painful.
• Guy from INXS -- dead.
• Mick Jagger still facing possible charges for ripping Tina Turner's miniskirt off.
• Udo Lindenberg -- uh ... Could be dead.
• Bob Dylan even less comprehensible now.
• The Hooters -- career dead.
• I don't need another reminder that I'm, like, old.

Oh, that old trick?

And they said I'd never amount to anything.

It's the type of headline you don't see nearly often enough in the biased liberal media: "Man pulls car with ears while standing on eggs." But if he was standing on the Koran, well, you can bet it would have made all the papers.

Luckily, we have Ananova.com, the news site that, unlike, say, the Associated Press, realizes that equal time should — nay, must — be paid to freaks and weirdoes. Thus, they’ve holed up somewhere in England, presumably with huge piles of fish and chips, and devoted themselves to reporting such actual stories as "Dieting boy ate dog's dinner."

Or the above mentioned piece about the Chinese ear-car-puller-egg-walker, which admittedly raises a few questions, such as: If you're going to attempt this, which do you master first, pulling the car with your ears, or walking on eggs? (I'm presuming trying them both at once right out of the gate could be disastrous to your ears, the eggs and the car.) Do you try out other potential car-pulling body parts first? Are the eggs raw or hard-boiled? Do people in China have more free time than we've been led to believe? Etc.

Anyway, I'm inspired. If you need me, I'll be out back with a tricycle tied to my eyelid.

It's always funny until somebody eats the pool boy

Everybody thinks it's so cute that a bear decided to take a dip in a suburban swimming pool in L.A., but have you seen a picture of the thing? I think if I came out and saw this bobbing up and down among my blow-up floaties, I'd shoot first and ask questions later.

What else about me can you make look fake, Doctor?

But can it do anything about the eye shadow?

This week's invention of the week award goes to the "Evolution by Margarita" bra, the bra "designed to mimic the breast implant look." At last, now every woman can look like she has huge fake breasts. It's the need for inventions like this that led to the founding of MIT.

According to the press release, "The best bra should lift and separate each breast, so that your chest doesn't wind up looking like your derriere" -- which makes sense, given that most people don't even want their derriere to look like their derriere. And the Evolution bra takes that concept to its next logical plateau, ensuring that each breast has its own hemisphere.

Incidentally, that comment comes from Dr. Daniel Man, billed as "a pioneer in advanced cosmetic surgery procedures including quick recovery breast augmentation, face, neck/forehead and eye lifts, advanced liposuction techniques, laser surgery and skin rejuvenation peels." And thank goodness. Lord knows we didn't need another doctor treating cancer patients or anything.

Up next: A bra that makes it look like you've had a skin rejuvenation peel!

This week's column: A Force of a different color

OK, I'll admit I'm hesitant to write anything negative about "Star Wars," given that the last time I did that -- when Episode II came out -- I was lambasted with e-mails from Internet Jedis who apparently took it as some kind of personal affront. Why they're so sensitive I don't know, given that George Lucas makes my annual salary every day while flossing.

But really, I can't see how they could blame me for coming down hard on "Attack of the Clones," a movie that featured, well, the name "Attack of the Clones," and also the following actual exchange of dialogue:

Padme: "We used to come here for school retreat. We would swim to that island every day. I love the water. We used to lie out on the sand and let the sun dry us and try to guess the names of the birds singing."

Anakin: (Chops off her head with lightsaber.)

Read the rest of this week's At Large by Peter Chianca here.

Those people in the blue shirts with the little yellow tags on their sleeves? They're mocking me.

Stop. I'm dyin' here.

Every so often I like to read the Best Buy catalogue, just to torture myself. "I wonder," I think, casting a backward glance at the 13-inch Toshiba (with built-in VCR!) that graces my home office, "who the heck is buying the $5,499.99 43-inch Plasma HDTV?" Whoever he is, I suspect that at this very minute, he's gloating.

Sure, I'm the first to admit that my son's preschool payments are almost equally as important as, say, a Sony Intel Centrino notebook computer with 15.4-inch widescreen, 1024 MB DDR SDRAM and 80 GB hard drive. Or a JVC 2.12 megapixel CCD 10X optical/200X digital 1.8-inch LCD video camera that can fit in my pants pocket. Actually, I have no idea what any of those numbers or abbreviations mean, but that doesn't stop them from haunting my dreams.

OK, time to put the catalogue away until I'm more financially solvent or have been given six months to live. But mark my words, as soon as I have the extra cash, I'm getting me a 20 GB iPod and accompanying Bose SoundDock. I figure by the time my kids get out of college they'll be going for about $18 on eBay.

Meanwhile, Newsweek is sticking by its report that he wears boxers

Please, please, please: No more news headlines that contain both the phrases "Bush promises probe" and "Saddam underwear."

Although I suppose "Bush promises to look into Saddam underwear" isn't much better.

Do I hear $8.50 for an ad on my stomach? I can fit a lot more than she could.

OK, which is more emblematic of the decline of Western civilization: The college student who auctioned off her body on eBay (as a billboard, natch), or the new delivery service that sends women in snug T-shirts to deliver lunches?

The first one is crass, but clever; methinks Trump would like. But the point of the second one escapes me -- personally, I don't care what they're wearing as long as the food's still hot and they didn't forget the onion rings.

Mmmm .... Onion rings ....

Meanwhile, I'll have to keep myself occupied with the $29.99 talking Yoda

Looks like Lucas has been hanging around the
'Deep Space Nine' makeup trailer again.

Yes, I know I should be on my way to a midnight showing of “Revenge of the Sith” right about now. It's just that no matter how good it is, I'm afraid it can't erase the memory of Hayden Christensen and Natalie Portman's dialogue from Episode II, which I believe was lifted straight out of a diary entry my sister wrote when she was 12.

I know the diehards will bristle at that remark, although why they're so sensitive I don't know. I suppose it could be the added pressure of filling the great geek gap left when the “Star Trek: Enterprise” was cancelled, thus officially turning Trekkies into the surly old drunks of the science fiction convention set — you can now find them down at the end of the bar, with the guy dressed like Gort from “The Day The Earth Stood Still.”

Anyway, I'll be sure to post my impressions when I eventually do see it, although that could be a while: My kids are too young to go, and I'm pretty sure my wife would try to distract me by throwing the popcorn and then sneak into "The Upside of Anger." Or I could go by myself, and squeeze between Comic Book Guy and whoever that is dressed as Boba Fett.

Or I can wait for the DVD.

Not even Newsweek?

OK, it's a little discouraging that a new study shows that blogs have yet to replace traditional media. But never fear, bloggers! A few more months of snarky comments, frothing diatribes and meandering observations with little connection to actual English usage, and we'll get there. In fact, by January I predict the people at the New York Times will be coming to us for jobs.

Unfortunately, most of us are broke and sitting around in our underwear, so it's unlikely we'll be able to hire them. However, while they're here I'm hoping to get them to pick up my lawn.

Actually, Ansel Adams had one just like it

Can you speak up, Bob? I have a tripod in my ear.

The invention of the week award goes to the Cellpod, which is a tripod for your cell phone camera. This way if you're out and about and spot, say, a hummingbird, you can simply remove this handy device from your pants pocket and mount your phone to it for a less blurry than usual picture. Or say you want to take a picture of yourself and Britney Spears before she can call security. This fits the bill. Because as I always say, there's nothing more comfortable (or spontaneous!) than carrying a tripod in your pocket. Or, you can continue to take pictures of yourself that look like this.

This week's column: Lost in the Blogosphere

As some of you may know, I recently started a "blog," which is not a nickname for a cross between breakfast and a frog. That would be a "brog." A blog, rather, is a Web site that allows anyone with a computer to share his or her random, time-stamped thoughts with the world, or at least with the four or five people who come across it accidentally while looking for porn.

Anyway, in my efforts to truly understand the blog phenomenon, I decided to spend an entire night jumping randomly from blog to blog via blogger.com. The following is a partial journal of what I observed. (The large gaps in time represent the blogs that were inappropriate for a family audience, or in Norwegian.)

8:45 p.m. Presented with a 13-verse song about someone named "Derek," I briefly consider shelving the whole project.

Read the rest of this week's AT LARGE by Peter Chianca here.

Meanwhile, Timmy is still trapped in the well

I don't know why I always get choked up by stories of heroic dogs. Maybe it's because I have a sneaking suspicion that my dogs wouldn't come looking for me trapped under a tractor unless I happened to have been basted in gravy first. Then there's the cat, who would shift the tractor into gear on top of me and not lose a minute's sleep over it. This is why it's good I don't live on a farm. That and the fact that I'm afraid of pigs.

Is it too late to ask Bren to come back?

Frankly, they both frighten me.

'Now if you'll excuse me, Dave, I'll be over here reproducing.'

So I'm just wondering -- are scientists trying to ensure that we'll eventually be enslaved by an unstoppable robot army, or is that just a happy byproduct of their life's work? Either way, creating robots that can reproduce themselves is probably a bad idea. Although I'd rather be enslaved by them than the evil clones or the killer zombies (who aren't into enslaving so much as just eating you). I'm just saying.

Just what the world needs -- a new rat!

We're still waiting on that cure for cancer, but in the meantime, we have this scientific discovery to chew on: According to CBC News, a team of scientists working in Southeast Asia has discovered a new mammal resembling a rat.

All I know is, one look at this thing and you'll be petitioning the world's rat exterminators to travel immediately to Southeast Asia. Check it out here.

'Sioux Falls, South Dakota, hello! You have a question for whoever this is sitting across from me?'

Things I'm worried that Larry King might ask Condoleezza Rice tomorrow night:

• "Do the sparks ever fly between you and the president? I mean romantically."
• "What was Judy Garland like as a mother?"
• "Is it true that you're black?"
• "Who can ever forget Peter Boyle in 'Young Frankenstein'?"
• "Do you think the pope's with Jesus now? We only have 30 seconds."

Who knew it would come with a 30-year mortgage?

Their blinkless stares are freaking me out.

For those of you keeping track at home: I won the Big Blue House Playset! Now I just have to figure out how to pay for it. Does anyone want to buy a 1998 Chevy Cavalier?

This week's column: Song Sung 'Big Mamoo'

If you're like most children in the world, you're probably trying to figure out what to give your mother for Mother's Day. Candy? Jewelry? A promise not to be a complete disappointment? Flowers?

Well, before you do any of those things, you may want to consider something that you probably didn't know existed: an instant personalized Mother's Day song. Yes, it's unusual, but according to the folks at InstaSong.com, "it'll probably make her cry, and you can do it all for under $5!" The only thing that would be better is if she cried and someone paid you.

Now, I'll admit that when I first heard about this I was skeptical. But after logging on and trying it out, I've decided that InstaSong may the best thing ever to come out of the Internet, and that's including the Howard Dean presidential campaign.

Read the rest of this week's AT LARGE by Peter Chianca here.

At these prices, it's more like Pimp College

Remember what I said about the college student who was allegedly depositing $43 million in bogus cashier's checks and shuffling them between accounts in Switzerland and Greenwich? (See below.) That's nothing compared to this.

How do those internships work, exactly?

The worst I ever did was take a fork from the dining hall

Who says college students aren't ambitious anymore? When he could have been involved in illegal file sharing or building offensive snow sculptures in front of his frat house, Hakan Yalincak was allegedly depositing $43 million in bogus cashier's checks and shuffling them between accounts in Switzerland and Greenwich. A lot of college students can't even spell Switzerland.

Yalincak also apparently faces civil charges that he charmed Connecticut investors into sinking $2.8 million into a nonexistent hedge fund ("Dudes, this hedge fund rocks!") and spent the money on luxury items. Unless college has changed drastically since I was there, showing up at the dorm with $2.8 million in luxury items is usually a good tipoff that something is afoot -- the most luxurious item I can recall anyone having in college was a 5-year-old Nissan Sentra. (And if the Sentra was rockin', don't bother knockin'! Actually, I'm not even really sure what that means. )

Meanwhile, if you think depositing $43 million in bogus cashier's checks is bad, I went to school with a guy who'd put all the restaurant bills on his father's credit card, but collect cash from everybody there anyway. That ain't right.

It soon may be cheaper to fly to England and pick it up

Can't talk now ... I'm in the middle of an eBay death match for the Holy Grail of Bear in the Big Blue House toys:

Yes, it's the Big Blue House Playset -- mint in the box! Never been opened! And I'm going to get this thing for my kid even if I have to spend the mortgage money and stiff the oil guy. Again.

If you have a preschooler who's a Bear fan you know that Disney unceremoniously pulled all the Bear merchandise off the shelves a while back as they finalized the character's purchase from Jim Henson, who could not argue for the best terms in the deal, being dead. The result is we parents wind up fighting it out on eBay, and Michael Eisner just laughs and laughs and laughs. I hate Michael Eisner.

Gotta go ... it just went up to 53.00 (GBP -- yes, I know how much I'll have to pay for shipping. Bring it on, Limeys!).

Take that, Mudvayne, whoever you are!

Who's your daddy?

It's heartening that Bruce Springsteen can still debut a No. 1 album. What's disconcerting is the fact that I have somehow become such a fogey that I have no idea who any of the acts under him are. Bobby Valentino? Amerie? I thought I recognized Jo Dee Messina until I realized that wasn't the one that went with Loggins. And yes, I know Mariah Carey, but I don't think that's necessarily a good thing.

If it's any consolation, I did own 10 of the 12 No. 1 albums of 1985, until my vinyl records were discarded in my parents' Great Garage Cleanout of 1994. I'd like to say Wham!'s "Make it Big" was among the two I didn't have. But that would be lying.

'And while you're at it kids, stay faithful, and never lie under oath!'

You gonna finish that?

Yes, you heard right, Bill Clinton is battling obesity. No, not his own -- he's had that pretty much under control since his doctors found his arteries were blocked by entire Filets o' Fish, including the styrofoam boxes. Instead, he's planning to promote healthy eating habits in children and encourage them to exercise. He figures this is a good way to meet single mothers.

Disclaimer: I'd still take him over our current president in a heartbeat.

They also intercepted a Kohl's flyer and two packages from L.L. Bean

'Dear Abu: The Jihad is beautiful -- wish you were here!'

You mean that's not legal tender in North Dakota?

The two of them need to work on trust, and only then will there be a free exchange of pot and pizza.