He should have sprung for the shatterproof glass

Another good reason not to be a billionaire: You might accidentally poke a hole in your $130 million Picasso with your elbow.

Looking around my house, the most expensive thing I'm in danger of poking a hole in with one of my extremities is my $200 TV set, and that's only if I get really, really mad at Bruno Tonioli.

Luckily for billionaire casino owner Steve Wynn, that's just a drop in the bucket, and I'm sure he has plenty of other art to hang in its place while it's being restored. Meanwhile, he may want to consider getting his elbows trimmed.

What would Li'l Kim say?

For those of you concerned about our nation's prison system, never fear: They're finally forcing female visitors to wear bras. This is apparently coming as a major disappointment to all the women who enjoy flashing their naked bosoms at their convict boyfriends. And you thought you were in a dysfunctional relationship.

Officials at the Vanderburgh, Va. County Jail (motto: "Where the Visitors Don't Expose Themselves") hope the new dress code "will create a more family friendly environment." Presumably the next step will be teaching the guards how to fold balloon animals.

This week's column:Space elevator plan on the up-and-up

You’ve probably heard about how scientists, at this very moment, are coming up with a plan to build an elevator into space. Now, you may ask, why do we need an elevator into space? Well, the obvious answer is, because it makes more sense than an escalator into space.

Still, I’m concerned the scientists may not have thought this thing through. It seems to me they’ve spent far too much time developing the carbon nanotubes necessary to haul passengers and equipment 62,000 miles into space, and not nearly enough time considering something equally pressing, namely, what music do you play in an elevator that travels 62,000 miles? That’s a long time to listen to instrumental versions of "I’ll Never Fall in Love Again" by Burt Bacharach.

For instance, it seems to me an elevator trip that long could easily accommodate entire concept albums, like Pink Floyd’s "The Wall," "(Music from) The Elder" by Kiss and Styx’s "Kilroy was Here." Although hopefully not all of them in a row, or you’ll have people opting to jettison themselves out of the airlock and explode.

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

This week's column:Coffee: The fuel of greatness?

I turned 38 last week. It’s worth noting that by the time George Gershwin was 38, he had composed songs for John Coltrane, Frank Sinatra and Billie Holiday, written "Porgy and Bess" and won the Pulitzer Prize. He had also died, so if I can just make it to 39 I’ll at least have that over him.

Even if I manage that one, however, I can’t help but wonder why I haven’t notched such accomplishments during my 38 years on earth. Yes, yes, I have the loving wife and the two great kids and all that, but let’s face it, none of those are going to get me an entry on Wikipedia. I’m talking about the kind of achievement that would garner the notice of history, preferably the type of history that has the authority to write me a certified seven-figure check.

With that in mind, this will be the first in a series of columns looking at what I could be doing to better motivate myself toward achieving greatness. And in an effort to start things off slowly, the first suggestion I have to myself is: Drink more coffee.

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

Who's your daddy?

This just in: All men between 18 and 89 may be required to submit to a mandatory DNA test to show whether they're the father of Anna Nicole Smith's baby. I think I stand a pretty good shot -- granted, I've never met her, but I think it kind of looks like me.

Not good news for Limp Bizkit fans

Freelance projects have been keeping me from blogging of late, but I felt I had an obligation to take the time to point out the following: After years of intensive research, science has finally developed the musical condom. Because nothing attracts the ladies like interrupting an intimate moment to unveil a singing prophylactic. Word has it that's how Wilt Chamberlain did it.

The best part is, the company predicts a booming secondary market in people picking the tunes for their condoms, much like cell phone rings. The most popular so far:

• "Big Rock Candy Mountain" by Peter, Paul & Mary
• "Hard Habit to Break" by Chicago
• "Down So Long" by The Doors.
• [Insert obvious sexual reference here]

This week's column:Wile. E. Chianca, super-genius!

I’d like to apologize if I haven’t been in touch lately, but I was staying off the phone in case the MacArthur Foundation was trying to call to give me a $500,000 "genius grant." Somehow they never got through, though -- I think it might be because I can’t figure out how to charge my cordless handset.

Still, I think a genius grant would be perfect for me, mainly because there’s not a lot of confusing paperwork -- they just call you out of the blue and give you $500,000. It’s like Publishers Clearing House, except for geniuses.

And the best part is, there are no strings attached. For instance, with most grants in, say, molecular chemistry, you have to use the money to do more chemistry. But with a genius grant, you could spend the entire $500,000 on hams if you wanted to, and the MacArthur Foundation would just chuckle and say, "Oh, just look at that unconventional genius, buying all those hams!" Let’s face it, geniuses can get away with murder.

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

Although the giant rainbow afro may not have been the best choice

Poor Mel Gibson. He's actually resorted to wearing hats and wigs to keep from being hounded by the press. The pictures say it all: Mel is the one on the right.

This week's column:The good, the bad and the super

I’m not sure why I’m admitting this in public, but last night I actually watched the "Fantastic Four" movie on HBO. This is the movie about whose characters Roger Ebert asked, in his one-star review, "Are these people complete idiots?" Which of course they are, but not as much as I am for spending two hours of my life watching them.

So why, then, would I -- a grown adult who could have spent my Friday night viewing, say, "The Seventh Seal" by Ingmar Bergman -- choose to instead watch a movie about a rubbery guy, a fiery guy, a naked invisible woman and a guy made of rocks? I mean besides the fact that it was after 9:30 p.m., when my brain shrinks to almost microscopic size, sort of like Ant-Man.

The only good explanation I can offer is that as a kid, I spent way more than two hours -- try days, weeks, months, years -- poring over Fantastic Four comic books. And they weren’t even my favorite; I actually preferred Spider-Man, about a klutzy, nerdy kid suddenly endowed with super strength and spectacular powers. Not sure why that one appealed to me so much.

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

So if you need me, I'll be locked in the basement

OK, so there was a little "sophomore slump" going on over at "Desperate Housewives" last season. But it sounds like this year they might really be on to something.

Say one bad thing about Condoleezza Rice and we're kicking your Venezuelan asno

Is anyone else peeved that Venezuelan President Hugo Chavez referred to President Bush as 'the devil' on the floor of the U.N.? Not that Bush doesn't deserve to be kicked around, but it's sort of like when somebody picks on your annoying little brother: I can pick on him, 'cause he's my brother. You lay off or you've got a wedgie coming.

Of course, the whole thing may have been a misunderstanding. Some translators have suggested that Chavez actually was comparing Bush to deviled ham, and not unfavorably. There have also been reports that the comments didn't come from Hugo Chavez at all, but rather from Hugo, the Man of a Thousand Faces. I never trusted that guy.

And if someone can drop an anvil on me afterwards, all the better

I'll admit to feeling a certain sense of ennui lately -- a lack of motivation, if you will, or a sense that I'm doing something truly productive with my time here on Earth. But now that I've read the inspiring story of Claudio Paulo Pinto, I finally have a goal in life: To pop my eyeballs .3 inches out of my head.

But I'm not one to rest on my laurels. Once I've mastered that, I'm planning on figuring out how to make my tongue unroll like a carpet, and then to set the world record for moving my feet comically in mid-air after running off a cliff.

This week's column:Family dinners could be dangerous

As if there weren't already enough pressure on American families, now people apparently want us to start eating meals together. What do they think we are? Rotarians?

I'm referring of course to "Eat Dinner With Your Children Day" on Sept. 25, when parents are supposed to gather their children around a table and eat with them. Presumably we're also supposed to make conversation, despite the fact that we have very little in common with these people. For instance, children almost never experience road rage.

If you ask me, it's presumptuous to mess with the time-honored tradition of families eating dinner in separate rooms, houses and, if necessary, time zones. And I ask you, is dinner really dinner if it hasn't been bought at a window and tossed to the little soccer players into the back seat, like an ichthyologist feeding piranhas?

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

Here's that opening Osama's been waiting for

It seemed like the greatest love of all, in a freaky, disturbing kind of way, but apparently Whitney Houston and Bobby Brown are calling it quits.

I don't know how this could have happened -- they seemed so happy going out to dinner together, and riding go-carts, and going out for more dinner, and playing video games, and shopping. On the other hand, she was high on drugs and he was alternately violent and incarcerated, so they did have their troubles.

As for "Being Bobby Brown," the Bravo Web site is now listing it -- forlornly, it seems to me -- among "past shows." Guess we'll have to make due with watching "Hollywood and Malibu real estate brokers go head-to-head" on "Million-Dollar Listing." Sigh ... Somehow it's not quite the same.

Secret looooveeeerrrrs, that's what we are ...

First the secret CIA prisons, now the Secret Square. Where will it end, Mr. President?

This week's column:And now, a word from your school

Dear Parent: Welcome to another school year! We have high expectations for 2006-07, despite what happened last year with the breaded cheesy fish. But just to make sure everyone is "on the same page," following are some announcements and reminders that we ask you to consider when sending your children to school this fall:

1) There is a new procedure for drop-off this year. Please note that cars are no longer permitted to stop in the loop; instead, it is recommended that you slow down and just give your child a little push out the passenger-side door. Please instruct them to attempt to land on their right side so that they roll onto the sidewalk.

2) The following items are not permitted on school grounds: blunt objects; knives or blades of any kind; nunchuks, throwing stars or other martial arts weaponry; firearms; peanuts.

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

This week's column:And they call the wind annoying

I have to admit I’m torn over the whole Cape Wind proposal here in Massachusetts. On the one hand, we have all this wind just blowing around all the time -- for free! -- so it does make sense to do something with it. On the other hand, I don’t want to be staring at a bunch of wind turbines every time I take my yacht out on Nantucket Sound. Oh, wait a minute ... I don’t own a yacht. OK, I’m all for the idea!

Granted, the reality is not that simple. As with any controversy, there are two sides to the story. Specifically:

1) The developers. These are the people who are out to make millions of dollars any way they can, and if they wind up saddling the coast of Nantucket with a nearly useless industrial eyesore, that’s really just a bonus. I’m not saying they’re heartless, but it’s a known fact that the first thing they teach you in developer school is how to pick a project that will net you the largest profit while at the same time killing the most innocent puppies.

2) The residents. If you are a resident of Nantucket, you would probably rather pay extraordinary amounts of money to import power one electron at a time via trained carrier pigeons than to put up with a blight on your multi-million-dollar landscape. It’s bad enough to have to look out into Nantucket Sound on a foggy spring morning and see Ted Kennedy.

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

'And did I tell you about the time Larry King felt me up in the smoking lounge?'

In case you need further proof that it's Frank Drebin's world -- we just live in it, consider the sad case of CNN's Kyra Phillips, who brought her live mike into the ladies room Tuesday. Unlike Leslie Nielsen's hapless detective, she didn't broadcast her bathroom noises, which arguably might have been more riveting than the President Bush Katrina anniversary address she was drowning out.

Of course, she did malign the entire male gender except for her husband, who she told her bathroom companion was a "a really passionate, compassionate, great, great human being." That was a close call, although she probably wishes she hadn't called her sister-in-law a "control freak." On national TV.

Should be an interesting Thanksgiving at the Phillips house. They should sell tickets!

Lying and stealing? That doesn't sound like our Lil' Kim!

It’s one thing to accuse Lil’ Kim of perjury, or of being a skank. Because those things are true. But plagiarism … well, that’s just nasty.

Still, a Jamaican singer is accusing Kim stealing lyrics from her song “Mi and Mi God” for the Lil’ Kim song “Durty.” The case will be decided in court, but one thing seems certain: Neither of them can spell worth a damn.

It’s worth noting, though, that if the claims are true, Kim apparently wasn’t capable of writing the lyrics “The feds pinched me for shootin', but instead they indicted me for my %$#@! music, this jealous mutha%$#@! and this prosecutin' %$#@! %$#@!” herself. That seems surprising for the woman who was able to single-handedly bring back the pasty as a fashion accessory.

He probably just forgot that they drive on the right over there

Yes, much fuss has been made over the Chinese woman who crashed her car while teaching her dog to drive. (Well, technically the dog crashed it, but I don't the he can be charged, even in China.) But there are a few salient facts that the naysayers have been remiss about mentioning:

1. In a country that's been known to slaughter 50,000 dogs at a pop to prevent rabies, it's about time someone started teaching them how to make a quick getaway;
2. The woman was still operating the gas and the brake -- all the darn dog had to do was steer;
3. At least she didn't eat him.

This week's column:A doom with a view

The world has always been a dangerous place. Just ask the Cro-Magnon man who bent over to tie his pelt only to be unceremoniously trampled by a woolly mammoth. In fact, back then if you got into your 20s without having been trampled by a mammoth, people started looking at you funny. "What, he's too good to get trampled?" they would say. I think I saw that on the Discovery Channel.

The thing is, back then, peopleexpected death to come raining down at a moment's notice. This was true as recently as the Industrial Revolution, when one in three people was crushed by heavy machinery, and the other two drowned in the middle of the street and fell into a vat of sausage parts, respectively.

I had hoped those times were behind us, but reading the headlines lately I can't help but think that maybe disaster is still lurking around every corner, and that we'd all be better off never, ever leaving our homes. (Don't laugh, I think I could really make a go of it -- I have cable.) So before you decide to show your face in public again, I'd ask that you consider these five very important impending-doom factors:

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

In related news, Patti has run off with Pete Seeger

I'm praying that the rumors about Bruce Springsteen leaving Patti Scialfa for a 9/11 widow are not true. One, because Bruce and Patti seemed like such a nice happy couple, up on stage warbling "Mansion on the Hill" into the same microphone like they did. But moreso, because if it turns out to be true, somehow, for some reason, my wife will be mad at me.

At last we'll see which is the Master Race! Wait ... that sounds bad.

OK, so "Survivor" can split up its contestants according to their race and will probably get millions of viewers and astronomical advertising revenues. And yet I do the same thing with the employees in my office, and I get slapped with a discrimination lawsuit. Life is not fair. ("OK, Hu, Lee, Nguyen, you're all over by the copier. What? What did I say?")

On the other hand, think of the future editions we now have to look forward to:

• Religion Survivor (Christians vs. Jews vs. Muslims vs. Hindus);
• Sexual Orientation Survivor (Straight vs. Gay vs. Bi vs. None of the Above);
• Disability Survivor (Able-Bodied vs. Handicapped vs. Mentally Challenged vs. Severe Food Allergy);
• Quirky Trait Survivor (Narcoleptic vs. Overly Affectionate vs. Prone to Panic Attacks vs. Painfully Uncoordinated).

Um ... That last one would be me.

Oh, how cutAAAAAAAAAAAIIIEEEEE!!!!

Lest you be concerned that the health care industry is not attuned to the needs of its patients, I wanted to make you aware of the latest medical trend: Decorated needles for people afraid of shots. For instance, they'll put a big butterfly on the needle, so that when you see it headed straight for your vein you notice a big butterfly and not a sharp, scary needle. And you know what this will do, don't you? That's right: Make people scared to death of butterflies.

Why doesn't anybody ask my opinion before they do these things?

The greatest love of all? I think not

OK, let's get this straight: Osama bin Laden was plagued by an unrequited love for ... Whitney Houston?

Yes, according to a woman who was purportedly bin Laden's sex slave, "Whitney Houston's name was the one that would be mentioned constantly." Hmmm ... So that would have to mean he mentioned Whitney more than Allah. That little piece of news is not going to go over too well at the next Al Qaeda potluck.

Still, suddenly, it all makes sense. Unable to have his one true love, bin Laden instead became a global terror mastermind. That's actually fairly easy to believe compared to what the woman says were his favorite TV shows; OK, "Miami Vice" and "MacGyver" I can see, but "The Wonder Years"? ("A little piece of my childhood died that day ... Along with scores of infidel heathens! Now bring me my sex slave.")

This week's column:Your face may be almost famous

Do you ever get the sense that society would be better off if it weren’t so hard for people to find a celebrity who looked like them? Yes, me too. It’s enough to make you miss the days, back in the ’70s, when it was very easy to find a celebrity you resembled: Ernest Borgnine.

But somewhere along the line that changed, and it seems like there are no longer any celebrities who look like real people. For some reason Hollywood has determined that we want our celebrities to be so unnaturally attractive that, if they ever happened to run into us, the viewing public, they would assume we were trolls and rub our wizened faces for good luck.

Fortunately, someone is doing something about this situation. The Web site Myheritage.com has developed an online program to show us that, no matter how plain we may think we look, somewhere out there we all have a celebrity doppelganger -- that famous person for whom we might be mistaken, even if only in twilight by drunken people.

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

OK, just put down that Mrs. Butterworth and back away sloooooowly ...

Hold everything! Beyonce has announced that, contrary to her previous assertions, you should not -- we repeat, not -- try to lose weight by eating nothing but maple syrup. She recommends that you just go back to forcing yourself to throw up.

Wait, no, I read my notes wrong. She actually recommends that women "eat sensibly." Not that eating a combination of maple syrup, lemon juice, water and cayenne pepper up to 10 times a day isn't sensible. Especially if it's on pancakes.

You have the right to remain stupid

For those of you who think there's no such thing as persistence anymore, take one look a the case of Kevin Holder, the Nebraska man who was arrested this week for the 226th time. A lesser man might have given up on crime after the first 150 or 200 arrests, but not Kevin, who seems convinced that if he keeps engaging in criminal mischief, violating restraining orders, assaulting people, resisting arrest and possessing cocaine and marijuana, eventually he'll get at least one of them right.

Kevin's predicament raises several salient points:

1. That proposed "225 strikes and you're out" law is sounding pretty good about now.
2. If Kevin keeps going he's bound to break the arrest record set by Otis Campbell of Mayberry, whose record is already in question due to the fact that he usually arrested himself, and was fictional.
3. There really needs to be more to do in Nebraska.

This week's column:Sportsmanship, schmortsmanship

You may have heard about the youth sports organization in Florida that has decided to require any parents who are disruptive on the sidelines to get official training in sportsmanship. Obviously, this is a very bad idea. How can we teach our kids the importance of winning if we're all going around being sporting to each other?

Apparently, that concept is lost on the National Alliance for Youth Sports of West Palm Beach, Fla., which is making parents sign a code of ethics that says they will "make only positive, encouraging comments to the players" and "place the emotional well-being of [their children] ahead of a personal desire to win." Next thing you know, they'll be asking us not to encourage our kids to think of opposing players as their mortal enemies.

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

Funny, he didn't look kinkajouish

I'm still officially on vacation, but I had to take a moment to comment on the breaking news story that Paris Hilton has been bitten by her pet kinkajou. Immediately following, she reportedly yelled "F--ing kinkajous!" and blamed all the world's wars on them, at which point she was whisked into rehab and has since appealed to the kinkajou community to help her find the appropriate path for healing.

According to UPI, kinkajous are known for "their playful nature and their occasional spontaneous attacks on other animals," much like Nicole Richie.

This week's column:No kids TV? He can't Bear the idea

I went to the theater recently. It was a wry, moving production, reminiscent of late-period Shaw, if Shaw had written plays about talking animals. Think "Pygmalion," except with a real pig.

I’m talking of course about "Bear in the Big Blue House Live," which is just like the TV show "Bear in the Big Blue House," except it’s live, and the bear is right there in front of you. This garnered disparate reactions among my children; my daughter was enchanted, while her younger brother seemed concerned that the bear might at any moment walk into the audience and swallow him whole, which is much less likely to happen when you’re watching him on TV.

In the end, though, they both loved it, and I did too. But it did get me thinking about what kind of messages my kids are getting from some of these programs they enjoy so much. For instance, "educational" or not, I’ve always said I don’t want my kids watching a show featuring giant mutant space babies with TVs in their tummies. Yes, I’m referring to "Meet the Press."

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

Or maybe he has to fight all the people who couldn't afford to live in Massachusetts

Well, they've announced the name of the new "Die Hard" movie: "Live Free or Die Hard." Plot details are sketchy, but we can only assume that it involves Bruce Willis' John McClane finding himself unexpectedly trapped in New Hampshire, where he has to take down a band of rogue bumpkins. And/or moose. (Well, if that's not the plot, it should be. I've been trapped in New Hampshire, and believe me, it was suspenseful.)

It's a good title, but not as good as some of the rejected names:

• "Eat, drink and be Merry for Tomorrow we Die Hard"
• "Cross Your Heart and Hope to Die Hard"
• "If I Should Die Hard Before I Wake"
• "Breaking Up is Die Hard to Do"
• "A Die Hard Day's Night"

That's because James Blunt is harder to scrape off your shoe

This just in! In a recent U.K. poll of things people hate, James Blunt was deemed to be "more irritating than stepping in dog poo." You're beautiful, indeed.

Clearly the respondents were fans of Weird Al Yankovic.

Ah, the Jews hate grass. They always have, they always will.

Poor Mel Gibson. It's unfortunate, but I guess in this day and age you can't make a movie that's widely derided as being anti-Semitic and then blurt drunken anti-Semitic slurs at a cop without people jumping to the conclusion that you're maybe a little bit anti-Semitic. People are just judgmental that way.

Personally, though, I think people are being way off base when they say that Gibson is nothing more than a Jew-hating neanderthal. For instance, he also hates homosexuals.

I do wonder what he was getting at, though, when he said to the arresting officer, "Astroturf? You know who's responsible for that, don't you?! The Jews!"

This week's column:To owe is human, to forgive divine

Did you know that the average Harvard Law School student graduates with $70,000 in debt? Most of that results from buying coffee in Harvard Square, but still, it’s excessive.

Fortunately, for the majority of those students this is not a problem, because they move immediately into cushy 90-hour-a-week jobs at Boston law firms with lots of oak in them. Their salaries at these firms cover their law school debts, with enough left over to purchase the finest meals the Kraft corporation has to offer.

But the rare few that decide they don’t want to be lawyers after all -- yes, you’re right, they must be deranged -- wind up having to take these jobs anyway, just to cover their loan payments. It’s a cruel fate for people who went to law school just to get their mothers off their backs about working at Kinkos.

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

Celebrities are just like us, Vol. I

Random thoughts for the day:

• Kid Rock and Pamela Anderson have announced that they're getting married four times, in France, California, Michigan and Tennessee. No word on how many divorces are in the works, but I'm thinking ... 12.
• Metallica has finally caved in and offered up four of its albums on iTunes. Thank God! I'm sure this came as great news to all the Metallica fans who already downloaded those albums off of Napster in 2003.
• Yes, David Hasselhoff was drunk when he was refused admittance to a British Airwaves flight on Wednesday. Drunk ... on his own freakish worldwide popularity! You'd have trouble walking too.

Or maybe they're 'Bi Bi Bi'

Have you heard the news about 'N Sync? No, I can't believe it either. Who would have ever guessed that Joey Fatone, Chris Kirkpatrick, JC Chasez and Justin Timberlake were straight?!

It just goes to show you that jumping around in unison like a bunch of male cheerleaders does not make you gay, even if it does make you kind of queer.

Everyday I write the book ... of my own freakishness!

Well, I couldn't resist the temptation to upload my photo to myheritage.com to see which celebrity I look most like. Who was it, you ask? Cary Grant? Sal Mineo? I would have settled for Dustin Hoffman, but no, it was ... Elvis Costello. Who is a brilliantly talented musician and probably a hell of a guy, but not the most attractive man you've ever seen in your life. (And it wasn't even young, "Alison"-era angry-young-man Costello ... it was old, scraggly, collaborate-with-Burt-Bacharach Costello.)

Other choices were a little easier to take, including Aidan Quinn and Roy Scheider. And Adam Sandler, who's no beauty contest winner but is a zillionaire. Then there was Turkish Prime Minister Bulent Ecevit, who, for those of you not up on your Turkish prime ministers, looks like a cross between Groucho Marx and Hitler.

Frankly, the whole experience has been quite humbling. But I admit it could have been worse.

This week's column:How to make money without really trying

It's a fact of life in this high-tech, dot.com world that you really need computer knowledge in order to make money. Otherwise you have to use green crayons, and most convenience store cashiers are trained to spot that.

I'm sure this is why a couple of teens in Plantation, Fla. last week used their home computers to create $2,000 in counterfeit bills, which they then passed to an undercover Secret Service agent. The agent was tipped off immediately by the fact that the ersatz fifties were slightly off in color from real bills, and also they had a picture of Britney Spears where Ulysses S. Grant should have been.

This was only the latest in a series of cases nationwide involving teen counterfeiters, including ones that led to arrests locally last year in Hamilton and Gloucester. In the Gloucester case, a 17-year-old tried to pass a $5 bill that was printed on only one side. This speaks to the main obstacle teens have encountered in trying to launch successful counterfeiting operations: They're morons.

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

And on their way to the hospital, the ambulance was sideswiped by Billy Joel

This just in! Daniel Baldwin, apparently jealous of his tour-de-force performance in "Pay it Forward," has crashed his car into Haley Joel-Osment. Osment reportedly looked up just before the crash and blurted out, "I See D... aniel Freakin' Baldwin!"

'Sustain my veto or this kid gets it!'

President Bush has cast his first veto ever, apparently because he's under the impression that stem cell research involves scientists, clad in battle fatigues and body armor, hunting down small children and clubbing them as one might a baby seal, or as Dick Cheney might do to a hunting buddy. "This bill would support the taking of innocent human life in the hope of finding medical benefits for others," he said, which is apparently not a good enough reason, unlike, say, spreading democracy. Meanwhile, Bush says he would have vetoed something sooner, but he couldn't figure out how to get the little "Veto" stamp to work. "Turns out you need a ... what's it called, Karl? Right, an ink pad."

And at the end of the press conference, they made out

OK, this settles it once and for all: Oprah has announced that she and her best friend Gayle King are not a gay couple. And what is it about our society that two women can't spend all their time together, call each other four times a day, sleep at each other's houses and shower together without being labeled as homosexual?

And as for the rumors that they're obscenely rich ... those are true.

This week's column:The leap from cell phone to smell phone

I often wonder, why do cell phones tend to bother people? Is it the annoying novelty rings sounding out in restaurants and movie theaters? The hundreds of talkers yakking at full volume as they barrel obliviously down the sidewalk? No, in the end I think it's that nagging perception that they're not much good as long as they can't transmit smells.

Well, not for long. Apparently a company called Electronic Aromas is developing a way to deliver smells over your cell phone. This is a huge breakthrough, because if there's one thing the current commuter train experience lacks, it's the guy next to you taking huge, expressive snorts off his Nokia.

Personally, I'm not sure what the market is for such a function, although I'm the wrong guy to ask - I spend most of my time trying to avoid errant smells. I got this way after picking up one too many waiting-room magazines that left me writhing watery-eyed like a mace victim.

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

Please leave a message and I'll get back to you when I return

Sorry about my lack of blogging, but I'm on vacation this week. But that doesn't mean you have to go blogless -- just check out the postings for July of last year, and pretend they're new. See you next week!

This week's column:The baseball never falls far from the tree

Lately I've been trying to teach my 4-year-old son Tim how to play baseball, which frankly is a process fraught with pitfalls. For one thing, it forces me to recall my own days learning the game, which were spent primarily swinging a bat in such a way that, to even the casual observer, it must have seemed to have no connection to the actions of pitcher or ball; we probably looked like we were on completely different planes of reality, like in an M.C. Escher painting. I also spent a lot of time ducking.

I actually think Tim has far more in the way of natural ability than I did; for one, he can connect with the ball while batting both righty and lefty, which is enough to conjure up in even the most cautious of fathers visions of a major-league contract large enough to fund a retirement home. The problem comes more when I try to explain theconcept of the game; nothing brings to light baseball's shortcomings like describing it to people who haven't been indoctrinated to the idea that it's supposed to make sense.

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

And to think, in just 18 short years those two will be doing meth with models together

Never one to rest on their laurels, Angelina Jolie and Brad Pitt got together with Gavin Rossdale and Gwen Stefani over the holiday weekend for a "baby playdate" for Kingston Rossdale and Shiloh Nouvel Jolie-Pitt. Sure, at this age all babies can do on a playdate is spit up on each other. But they got together for the reason all parents do playdates: to give kids a headstart on important social interaction skills, and to sell the North American photo rights.

Anyway, it was a quiet affair, with just the two couples, their children and 1,000 armed Namibian National Guard members ordered to shoot reporters on sight.

That, and illegal fireworks

I hope you had a great Fourth of July, and that you had time to contemplate what the holiday is really about: living-dead Founding Father zombies. Thank you and good night.

This week's column:So what's the deal with July Fourth?

It's time once again for "Mr. Holiday" to answer your holiday queries. This week: Independence Day.

***

Dear Mr. Holiday:
Is it true that fireworks can be dangerous?

Cautious in Connecticut

Dear Cautious:

The idea that fireworks are dangerous is what we call an "urban myth," like those rumors that everyone should be wearing seat belts and avoiding heroin. By taking a few simple precautions, we can all safely enjoy these powerful illegal explosives.

For one, you must use common sense. For instance, make sure to drink all the beer from your bottles before starting to light off bottle rockets. Or sparklers: They burn at 1,800 degrees, so before you give one to little junior, make sure to have that video camera charged up and ready to go!

It would also be helpful for you to read all the warnings on the label, presuming you read Chinese and can do so before the fuse burns down.

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

'I wouldn't be here today without a certain mermaid ...'

It seems the U.S. Army Ranger Hall of Fame inducted Tom Hanks as an honorary member Thursday, even though he's not an actual ranger, citing his role in "Saving Private Ryan." This was, of course, a huge, collosal mistake.

We need to stop encouraging this man. He's already walking around under the delusion that he's an actual soldier, astronaut and gay guy. The only thing that's kept him from thinking he's a creepy fake train conductor is that he's not computer generated.

But sure, keep inducting him into your halls of fame and tapping him to host your NASA documentaries, you enablers. If it was up to me the man would be strapped to a gurney on a thorazine drip.

Mmmm .... what great mouth-feel quality!

Sure, it may seem like the end of the world is nigh, but that doesn't mean there's no good news to report. St. Louis-based Solae LLC has announced that it's perfected the hybrid hamburger. And you know what that means. That's right, a hamburger that gets more than 50 miles to the gallon. Al Gore has just ordered up a gross.

Wait, my mistake. Actually it's a hybrid of actual beef and soy protein, which means it has less fat and calories than a regular hamburger, but it doesn't taste like a piece of rubber that's been melted down and poured into a hamburger-shaped mold. Unfortunately you still have to kill the cow, which means Paul McCartney remains out of luck.

According to MSNBC, SoleCina "converts a blend of vegetable and meat protein into a meat substitute or hybrid with the consistency of cooked, whole-muscle meat." To quote Jonathan McIntyre, Solae’s vice president of research and development, “You get the chewiness and mouth-feel quality."

Suddenly I'm not so hungry.

Meanwhile, Kenny Chesney cried himself to sleep

I'd just like to take this opportunity to congratulate Nicole Kidman on her latest gay husband. I really hope that this fake marriage works out better for her, and that she doesn't wind up repeatedly slapping her forehead over Crown Lagers with Renée Zellweger.

A wedding guest told People, "Nicole cried all the way to the church in the car and then she cried all during the ceremony and had to wipe her eyes under the veil." But I'm sure that's because she was overcome with emotion, not because she was marrying another gay guy.

Meanwhile, her new hubby Keith Urban reportedly signed an extensive prenup, authorizing Nicole to leave him for Harvey Fierstein if she so decides.

This week's column:Mowing old gracefully

As a columnist who’s both male and a father, I get a lot of e-mails each June from people trying to publicize their fatherly items and services, which, unlike the e-mails I get around Mother’s Day, almost never involve spas. (Why doesn’t anybody think Dad might like a good seaweed wrap?) They tend to feature things like mowing and grilling, which American men are required to master before they’re allowed to procreate. That’s in the Constitution somewhere.

For instance, I recently got a press release from the American Academy of Orthopaedic Surgeons, who are apparently trying to cut down on their workload by preventing lawn-mowing accidents. The surgeons have some fine tips, including:

• "Before mowing, conduct a simple walk-through of the yard to look for any debris." Of course, this can be difficult when the grass has inexplicably grown to knee-level since the last time you mowed it. A better plan might just be to mow at night, so nobody sees it when dog toys, baseballs or squirrels come blasting out of your mower and lodge themselves in your neighbor’s siding.

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

Khaaaaaaaaannnnnnnnn!

They've announced the latest inductees into the Academy of Television Arts & Sciences Hall of Fame, and they're all worthy choices: Tom Brokaw, Regis Philbin and William Shatner. But I think it's worth asking, which of those men truly stands out as most worthy of the honor? Let's try a simple quiz to find out:

1. 10 points to any candidate who's brought us the news of important world events;
2. 25 points to any candidate easily identifiable by his first name alone;
3. 1,000 points to any candidate who was Captain Freakin' Kirk!

I think that settles this little argument. And to that end, Comedy Central is planning to roast the estimable Mr. Shatner, although hopefully not with radiation like Captain Pike in Star Trek: TOS Episode 16. That was pretty gruesome.

And who knows what she found in her bed

Yes, you heard right: A woman in Canada came home to find a bear eating porridge in her kitchen. And just like in the Goldilocks story, when the bear found the porridge to be too hot, it was shot to death by Mounties.

Wait, my mistake, it actually just ambled away on its own. But before we laugh at the situation, consider the horrified homeowner. Can you imagine coming home and finding this in your kitchen?

Of course, it's no secret that those lo-rise briefs are too freakin' tight

Five secrets about the upcoming movie "Superman Returns":

1. Fortress of Solitude? Actually a matte painting.
2. Critics already calling Marlon Brando's performance "his best post-death work."
3. Al Gore turns up to explain how Kryptonite caused by global warming.
4. Fanboys pan special effects, saying that none of them compare to the sight of Valerie Perrine's bosoms (above).
5. Superman? Actually not gay.

This week's column:Rich folk offer a wealth of information

Do you ever find yourself thinking that no matter what you do, you just can't get ahead? Well, if so, I've got good news: It doesn't matter what you think. You should just leave the thinking to the top 1 percent wealthiest Americans, so you can concentrate on non-wealthy activities, like delivering mulch.

I know this because I recently received in the mail the results of the "U.S. Trust Survey of Affluent Americans XXV." Not to be confused with Super Bowl XXV (Giants vs. Bills), which centered less on opinions of affluent Americans and more on point spreads estimated by bookies with names like "Fat Bob."

But before I go into those results, you should probably determine whether you are among that 1 percent of wealthiest Americans. To do so, you may want to take the following simple quiz:

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

'Stop hassling me, man -- I just gotta be me!'

So Bill Gates is removing himself from hands-on day-to-day operations at Microsoft, and who can blame him? Now he can finally take some time to find himself, maybe by traveling cross country in a VW van or taking a backpacking trip around Europe.

I'm sure his parents don't like the idea, but I say it takes real guts to walk away from the steady paycheck in search of something really fulfilling. Of course, the fact that he's worth $100 billion is a nice cushion.

Now just watch those endorsement offers come pouring in

Yes! Yes! Donald Hall has defied the odds to be named the new poet laureate of the United States! Hall, dude, you rock!

I feel kind of bad for Oates, though.

That's what she gets for breaking up the Beatles

Poor Paul McCartney. First it was the sex book, then the call girl allegations, and the bombshells about his wife Heather Mills McCartney just keep on coming. In fact, this blog has acquired the story budget for the next week's worth of editions of The Sun, and from the looks of it her troubles are just beginning. Highlights include:

• "The Heather-Clinton connection"
• "Heather pushed Richards from coconut tree"
• "Heather was Nazi spy during WWII"
• "WMD found in Heather's prosthetic leg"
• "Heather actually thought Wings sucked"
• "Here are some more pictures of Heather's bare bosoms"
• "Heather: 'I ate a hamburger -- and I liked it!'"

We can only hope Walter Cronkite doesn't own a computer

Please join me in choosing the Comcast home page Headline of the Day:

1. POLAR BEARS TURNING TO CANNIBALISM?
2. BRAIN-DEAD WOMAN GIVES BIRTH, DIES
3. NUDE CYCLISTS DEMAND RESPECT

It's so hard to pick just one.

This week's column:Calling all clueless fathers ...

I got an e-mail from a new-father friend of mine recently that ended, "By the way, thanks for telling me how much work kids are. Sheesh!" The irony is, I'm sure I did tell him, but he was probably too busy doing those things childless people do -- having conversations, going out at night, sleeping -- to pay attention.

But now he has an infant, which means he spends a lot of time making bottles and trying to type while someone drools on his keyboard. And I, being the sympathetic person that I am, just laugh and laugh and laugh. It's a maniacal laugh, like a cartoon supervillain.

But that doesn't mean that I don't have my own challenges as the father of a 7- and almost-5-year-old - I'm a man, after all, meaning my nurturing abilities are theoretically limited to charcoal fires and unruly patches of lawn. But I have garnered a few tips that might someday be useful to fathers who haven't yet reached this point, if they survive. With that in mind, here are this year's Tips for Clueless Fathers:

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

Coulter was also quoted as calling the kettle black

Yes, right-wing pundit Ann Coulter has gotten herself into the headlines by calling 9/11 widows "witches" and "harpies" in her new book "Godless." "How do we know their husbands weren't planning to divorce these harpies? Now that their shelf life is dwindling, they'd better hurry up and appear in Playboy," she wrote, after which she most likely rubbed her bony little hands together in ghoulish delight before devouring a live weevil.

But what's most surprising is that those comments were among the most tame in the book. Some of Coulter's other remarks:

• "Isn't it about time all the whiners who've lost family members to drunk drivers just had a scotch and shut up already?"
• "What's the deal with all these orphans? Do these dirty little losers think they actually deserve parents?"
• "Can someone tell me why puppies think they're so cute? We should just crush their little heads like beefsteak tomatoes."
• "If Mother Theresa were alive today, I would personally kick the sh** out of her."
• "Oooooooh, genocide! 'My whole family was killed in front me!' Get a life already."

This weeks' column:What's new Pussycat? Bible dolls, of course

Well, it seems Hasbro has shelved its idea to sell toys for 6- to 9-year-olds based on the Pussycat Dolls, a pop group made up of buxom women who go around wearing lingerie and singing about physical acts that, if done right, are illegal in Kentucky. (Apparently these dolls would have given a whole new meaning to the term "action figure.")

But now that the executives at Hasbro have come down off their crack high (thousands of calls from angry parents will do that), there are still repercussions to be dealt with from their reversal. First of all, the move is bad news for anyone hoping to one day see dolls based on Hooters waitresses, porn stars or Anna Nicole Smith (old rich guy whom she can marry and then throw under her Malibu Camper sold separately). But more importantly, what will fill the resultant doll gap?

I think I may have the answer. On the exact same day that Hasbro backed down, I got a press release from a company touting its new line of "Talking Bible Dolls." You get the sense that if the Pussycat Dolls had been made, the Talking Bible Dolls would have been the ones to beat their little plastic wrists with rulers until they'd traded their bustiers for sensible pantsuits and gotten themselves to a nunnery playset, pronto.

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

Duck season! Rabbit season! Duck season!

Yes, between the floods and the earthquakes and the global warming, things on earth seem dire, but finally here is a good piece of news: Staffers at a bird rescue center in California, in x-raying an injured duck, found the severed head of an extraterrestrial alien. So for those of you whose friends had scoffed at your theories about how aliens would first make their presence known at bird rescue centers, you can lay on a big "told ya so."

The reason this is such good news is that now we know we have nothing to fear from an alien invasion, because if they do attack, they will quickly and efficiently be consumed by the planet's waterfowl. Or at least their heads will be. We're still working out the details.

Not that she needed to be a lesbian to have the geeks fantasize about her, but it's a nice touch

Yes, you heard correctly. Batwoman is back ... as a lesbian! Times certainly are changing -- I remember when Robin was the only gay "Batman" character. He's not? You've got to be kidding.

Anyway, according to DC Comics, "The 5-foot-10 superhero comes with flowing red hair, knee-high red boots with spiked heels, and a form-fitting black outfit." This is exactly what most lesbians look like. Just ask Sonny & Cher's daughter.

This development has gotten me thinking about other superheroes whose capes may swing the other way, if you get my drift. There's Plastic Man, of course, and Wonder Woman (Paradise Island, indeed). And I always thought Power Man and Iron Fist had a little sum-sum going on there.

Regardless, the lesbian Batwoman is bound to lead the way in terms of diversity in comic books, as long as the characters all still have tiny waists and breasts the size of zeppelins.

Also, Pete Seeger could use the royalties

We interrupt this blog for a public service announcement: There are inexplicably tickets left for Bruce Springsteen & the Seeger Sessions Band at most of their U.S. stops. What's the matter with you people? Do you have something against trombones?

Listen to Bruce's updated version of "How Can a Poor Man Stand Such Times and Live?" and check out live performances from every stop on the tour on AOL Music starting Thursday, and then do yourself a favor and go. I thank you, Bruce thanks you, and his funny-looking banjo player thanks you.

This week's column:Garth for Garth's sake?

Let's face it: Entertainment Weekly can be fairly disturbing. You never know when you're going to take it out of your mailbox and see Tom Cruise's huge head staring at you with teeth bared, like he's going to jump out of the magazine cover and eat you with fava beans and a nice Chianti.

And last week I saw something almost equally as disturbing in its pages: the news that Garth Brooks is close to breaking Elvis Presley's record as the recording artist with the most albums sold. The worst part is, we all know how Garth Brooks did this. That's right, steroids.

No wait, sorry, I'm thinking of Barry Bonds, who as of this writing had just tied Babe Ruth's home run total through hard work, determination and having someone inject performance-enhancing drugs into his buttocks. (For those of you who don't follow baseball, this is sort of like winning the Nobel Prize by having your brain widened.) In Bonds' defense, though, it's worth noting that in Babe Ruth's day they didn't have steroids; if they did, Ruth might have been smoking them in big cigars rolled by hookers.

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

We know about turning the other cheek and everything, but come on

Well, this is a relief. Madonna has announced that Jesus wouldn't mind about the part of her concert where she she mounts a 20-foot-high mirrored crucifix. Also, to stave off future controversies, Madonna has released the following list of other things Jesus wouldn't care about:

• The bullet bra.
• Dating Warren Beatty.
• That whole thing with the Evian bottle.
• Kissing Britney. And Christina. And Sandra Bernhard.
• That "Sex" book where she poses naked in traffic.
• Prompting thousands of uncoordinated white people to "Vogue."
• Her entire freakin' career.

"C" is for "cap in yo' ass"

Finally, someone is cracking down on the scourge that is gang-related "Sesame Street" T-shirts. You know how it happens; first they start wearing shirts with Ernie and Bert carrying 9mm handguns, and the next thing you know they're jumping Barney the Dinosaur for crack money.

Of course, you can't blame the Muppets -- they've just fallen in with a bad crowd.

This week's column:Having a ball at commencement

The next few weekends will mark college commencements all around the greater Boston area. This means that shortly thereafter, thousands of graduates will be on their parents' couches watching daytime television and wondering how it's come to this.

At my alma matter, Tufts University, this year's commencement speaker was comedian Bill Cosby. This is a step up on the entertainment meter from the guy they had when I graduated in 1990, child psychologist Robert Coles -- who is very well known in child psychology circles, but who I'm fairly certain had nothing to do with "Fat Albert and the Cosby Kids."

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

Apparently Tommy has his own 'Appetite for Destruction,' along with a penchant for flowing paisleys

Poor Axl Rose. Just when you thought things couldn't get worse for the Guns 'N Roses frontman -- his band deserts him, he can't seem to deliver the "new album" he's been working on since the Clinton administration, and he, well ... just look at him! -- he goes and gets himself smacked around by Tommy Hilfiger, the clothing designer. Clothing designer! That's like getting beaten up by your florist.

Also, that 18 1/2 minutes of missing Nixon tape actually contained an alternate take of Arlo Guthrie's 'Alice's Restaurant'

I'd just like to put in my vote against the FBI finding Jimmy Hoffa. It was bad enough when we found out who Deep Throat was (answer: not Hal Holbrook), but do we really need another elusive mystery quashed? All I know is, if Carly Simon holds a press conference about who "You're So Vain" is about, I'm moving to Canada.

Guaranteed to be less boring than Al Gore's book

Suggested titles for Bill Clinton's new book:

• "Getting Away with Murder: Even I Don't Know How I Do It."
• "I Did Not Have Sexual Relations With That Woman, and Other Fables."
• "Impeachy Keen: How Being Impeached Can Help You Pick Up Chicks."
• "Race With The Devil: My Life With Hilary."
• "Let's Face It, You Miss Me: 101 Reasons You'd Still Prefer Me To The Guy You've Got Now."

UPDATE: My friends at igotnewsforyou.com offer their own take on Bill.

Fortunately, this blog floats

Well, I'm on vacation this week, and it's a good thing I am, because otherwise I wouldn't have been able to spend the last few days in my basement wearing knee-high rubber boots, using a giant broom to push water in the direction of my sump pump. It's very much like one of those MTV "Spring Break" specials, only instead of almost naked girls doing "Crunk" dancing, there's swiftly moldifying cardboard and weird floaty things that look like they may have swum up a drain with the express purpose of trying to kill me.

But I'm not complaining: So far nothing especially important has floated away, and also, I've yet to be spotted in a montage on New England Cable News being rowed to safety in a rubber life raft with my dog. So there's that. And meanwhile, word has it that Gov. Mitt Romney has called in the big guns.