Meanwhile, Billy Ray Cyrus tickets continue to sell for 1/3 of face value

OK, so let me get this straight: Ever since Al Gore invented the Internet, I've been watching Springsteen shows sell out in eight minutes (often to my own person exclusion) only to see tickets pop up online minutes later for the price of a used Volvo. But no matter how much Eddie Vedder and I complained, law enforcement refused to do anything about it, claiming they were too busy prosecuting, you know, crimes.

But a few kids miss out on Hannah Montana tickets, and suddenly, the entire justice system is up in arms. Attorneys general in Connecticut, Missouri and Arkansas are launching investigations, and scalpers beware: At least one of those AGs -- Dustin McDaniel of Arkansas -- has a daughter who watches the Disney Channel. And you know what they say on the street: Keep Hannah Montana tickets away from an AG's daughter, go to jail. Or something like that.

This week's column: Scaring up a costume drama

Halloween costumes just aren’t what they used to be. I think I first realized this when I was telling my 6- and 8-year-old kids Tim and Jackie about my go-to childhood get-up, the venerable “Hobo.” “What the heck’s a hobo?” they asked simultaneously, with that dubious look they get whenever I try to explain something from my long-gone childhood, like the LP or broadcast television.

“Well, it’s sort of …” I began eruditely. “I guess you could say it’s a person …” It was there, in mid-sentence, that I realized I was about to explain to my children about the times I went trick-or-treating dressed as a homeless person. Never mind that it was back when vagabonds were romantic and endearing, like chain smokers: These days, that’s a tough sell.

Of course, the downtrodden are no longer considered acceptable costume fodder. But you can (and, most likely, you will) get your kids basically anything else these days, from princess to pop star to Power Ranger, all with the most sophisticated accoutrements.

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

Bruuuuuuuuce

OK, I've been listening to "Magic" for two days now, and I have to agree with EW: Bruce Springsteen is back in the masterpiece business. Yes, yes, I know, I'm the guy who loves his mumbly solo acoustic albums, who downloaded his duets with Sam Moore and Jerry Lee Lewis, who did little giddy backflips over his Pete Seeger covers. But I am somewhat discerning: I didn't start liking "Human Touch" until about 2002. (What? "Soul Driver" grows on you.)

But what I'm really looking forward to is the live show, which hits Boston Nov. 18-19. Apparently he's planning some interesting tour debuts.

We know you need to justify all the grant money, but come on

Further proof that paleontologists are just making things up as they go: Now they've gone and "discovered" a giant duck-billed dinosaur with more than 800 teeth. "It really is like the Arnold Schwarzenegger of dinosaurs — it's all pumped up," ad-libbed Scott Sampson, curator of the Utah Museum of Natural History, before trotting off to high-five his paleontologist buddies and come up with more dinosaurs out of thin air. (Suggestion: How about one with giant flippers and the head of Fred Thompson? Now that I'd like to see.)

I think Helio Castroneves was one of the Three Tenors

I'll admit it: I have no idea who three quarters of the people on "Dancing with the Stars" are this season. Yes, I'm aware of Dr. Quinn, Medicine Woman, and Marie Osmond (who used to be a little bit country, but is now a whole lotta annoying), and of course Wayne Newton, whose signed copy of "Mr. Las Vegas" I most assuredly do not have under my mattress. I don't care what you've heard.

But I wouldn't know the rest of these people if I paso dobled over them. So does that make me hopelessly out of touch, or is it possible that ... they're not actually stars? Naaaaah.

Meanwhile, this won't be a dilemma next season, which is already slated to include some real stars.

This week's column:Setzer's in a classical by himself

Sometimes I find myself wondering, what is it about me that I can’t truly appreciate classical music? Is it a gene thing? Did Mozart make a rude gesture at me during a past life? As a small child, was I frightened by an oboe? It’s a mystery.

Regardless, I can’t seem to listen to it for more than a few minutes at a time without my mind wandering and my vision starting to glaze over — sort of like when I try to listen to BBC Radio on NPR, which on more than one occasion has caused me to almost drive into a ditch. Not that I don’t think classical has its time and place, such as during that scene in “Die Hard” when they open the giant safe. I’m not a complete philistine.

So I admit my curiosity was piqued when I heard that the Brian Setzer Orchestra would be releasing an album made up entirely of big-band swing versions of famous classical compositions. I mean, just the concept alone raises a lot of questions, such as: If you listen to it closely enough, will you be able to hear Leonard Bernstein angrily smacking on the top of the coffin with his baton?

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

Rant of the week

Question: How is "Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows" still at the top of the bestseller list? Could there possibly be that many people just getting around to buying it now? ("Hmmm, this Harry Something-or-other book looks interesting ... Maybe I'll give this a shot!")

People, this has got to stop. There are other books out there. Case in point.

OK, keep buying Harry.

Is there anybody ALIVE out there?

OK, I can stop sweating now: I got behind-the-stage seats for Springsteen at the Garden in Boston. Behind-the-stage is fine with me -- it puts me in perfect position to yell out a warning in case it looks like Max is going to fall off his drum kit.

Still, the show sold out in what seemed like about eight minutes, with floor seats (or floor tickets, I should say, since Bruce makes all the people on the floor stand for the whole show, even though we're all old and have bad knees) going faster than you can say "convenience charges." Given all that, I find it particularly galling that Ticketmaster includes this advisory on the event page:

There is a FOUR (4) ticket limit during the first 3 hours of onsale; after the first 3 hours, there is an EIGHT (8) ticket limit per person.

The irony of course being that by the time three hours have passed, the tickets have long since sold out and the Ticketmaster executives have gone home to use the indoor pool they bought with all the "building maintenance" fees. This is clearly Ticketmaster's idea of humor, along with those stupid words they make you type in for "security," like "beshine."

This week's column:Stuff I learned this summer

Every year as the official start of autumn approaches, I like to take stock of the summer gone by. In years past, I’ve found that there are often valuable lessons to take away — things like, whether you order a “kiddie,” a “small” or a “large,” you will still be handed a soft-serve cone bigger than your head.

With that in mind, here’s what I learned this summer:

1.) The Disney trip never really ends. My family’s summer started with a trip to Walt Disney World, and almost three months later we’re still talking about it. On the one hand this is a good thing: It helps justify the inordinate amount of money you spent there on things with Goofy’s picture on them, even though they begin to taunt you the minute you take them out of your suitcase. (“I cost 80 dollars! Hahahahaha!!”)

On the other hand, it’s also fueled incessant conversation among my children about when the next Disney trip will be. They’re thinking next year, whereas I have it narrowed down to either when I’m a grandparent, or when I’m a time-traveling astronaut exploring its partially preserved ruins.

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

That'll do pig ... That'll do

OJ, OJ, OJ ... Is there nothing else going on in the world? It's depressing ... If Larry King hadn't had to talk about this for the last three nights, he could have easily squeezed in at least one visit from Don Rickles.

Meanwhile, I vote for a complete OJ boycott in lieu of more important news stories. For instance, stories involving Chinese guys painting pigs' butts -- with photos!

Follow the link for details, but here's the key quote: "'The painted pigs, when they move around in a limited space, form many unexpected images,' a spokesman told the China News Network." I'm sure PeTA will love that; in fact, I hear Alicia Silverstone is on her way to China naked even as we speak.

No, the chicken -- you're supposed to fry the chicken!

OK, fess up: Is this an actual news story, or a Wendy's commercial?

We hear 'casinos,' we think 'tasteful'

Attention gambling lovers of the Northeast: If you want your kids to be ready when three shiny new casinos open somewhere in Massachusetts, better get yourself to an arcade up in Salisbury or Hampton Beach. Did you know they have actual Las Vegas slot machines now? And I don't know about you, but nothing warms my heart like seeing my 8-year-old daughter feeding tokens into the Double Diamonds. All that's missing is the cigarette and the portable oxygen machine.

Meanwhile, you can find the latest on Gov. Deval Patrick's casino proposals here. I know it's making everybody nervous about things like gambling addiction, crime, prostitution and the possibility that at least one of them will be run by James Caan, but don't worry: The governor only wants casinos that are “tasteful and appropriate."

Clearly the governor has not been to Vegas lately.

I'll take '3'

A pre-autumn quiz: What's the best part about the end of summer?

1. Less sand in your trunks.
2. Britney stops wearing sequined bikinis in public.
   
3. People aren't allowed to yell at you if you bring your dogs to the beach:

This week's columnTake a walk on the pirate side

Even centuries after their heyday, it’s hard not to appreciate the appeal of pirates. After all, who can’t relate to roving bands of felons who, according to Wikipedia, “ate poorly, did not become fabulously wealthy, and died young.” (Keeping in mind, of course, that everything on Wikipedia is made up.) Also, they’re among the few brands of criminals who actually had their own flag, so you knew when they were coming. Nobody ever said they were bright.

My own personal exposure to pirates is limited to my role in my high school’s production of “The Pirates of Penzance,” in which I played the pirates’ nemesis, Major-General Stanley. But even though I knew it was only a play, I couldn’t help but feel an affinity to all the real-life 19th century major-generals whom pirates tried to murder while singing snappy Gilbert and Sullivan librettos. (In their defense, if I had to listen to all those verses of “I am the Very Model of a Modern Major General,” I would have wanted to kill me too.)

I bring all this up because this is a busy time of year for fake pirates. First, Sept. 19 is “Talk Like a Pirate Day,” the day on which we’re encouraged to walk around saying “ye” instead of “you” and creating contractions that would make William Safire blush (or, say, “turn red’r th’n a buck’t o’ chum”).

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

And we're not sure of this, but we think he may have been at the Watergate in 1972

Pivotal moments in Bill Belichick history:

• March 16, 1960: Bill turns in a math test that looks remarkably similar to that of Suzy Cranmore, the girl who sits at the next desk. His teacher, Ms. Fran Seliwinsky, moves him to the other side of the classroom next to Bob "Stumpy" Federman. His grades slip immediately.
• June 12, 1963: Bill's neighbor Frankie Driscoll accuses Bill of failing to acknowledge direct hits during a game of battleship. When he attempts to look at the board, Bill feigns tripping into it, knocking all the pieces loose. They wrestle.
• Oct. 23, 1969: Bill's first girlfriend, MaryLou Stetson, finds an unfamiliar shade of lipstick on the collar of his letterman jacket. Bill pleads ignorance. She fines him $500,000 and two draft picks.
  

I blame global warming!

Am I the only one concerned about the spiders banding together to build a giant web in Texas? This can lead no place good.

If you haven't heard, the usually independent arachnids have been working together in harmony, creating a web that could, with relative ease, snare a Humvee. So why have they decided that now is the time to unionize? Some entomologists think it might be a fluke, but on the other hand, they probably never saw "Kingdom of the Spiders" (1977), starting William Shatner. Yes, I know: You'd think that would be required viewing in entomology school.

Then there's this choice quote:

"At first, it was so white it looked like fairyland," said Donna Garde, superintendent of the park about 45 miles east of Dallas. "Now it's filled with so many mosquitoes that it's turned a little brown. There are times you can literally hear the screech of millions of mosquitoes caught in those webs."

As much as I hate mosquitoes, it's only a matter of time before those mosquitoes are replaced by Rotarians. Don't say you weren't warned.

And they don't mean it's making them happy

OK, I promise, this is the last post on "High School Musical," at least until they announce the next sequel or until another cast member poses naked. But I felt obligated to report this latest development: "High School Musical" is turning our children gay.

Suddenly, it all makes sense.

This week's column: NASA just needs a little space

OK, I’ll say it: NASA needs some better P.R. Between the astronauts wearing diapers and plotting murders and the ones getting toasted on flight days (“Drink up, dude, I’m taking this thing to the frickin’ moon!”), it seems we’ve forgotten what NASA is all about: spending billions of taxpayer dollars to take blurry pictures of, I don’t know, nebulas.

Just to recap, the alleged diaper-wearing, murder-planning astronaut, Lisa Nowak, has pleaded temporary insanity, saying that she has a variety of diagnosed mental illnesses that NASA somehow managed to overlook. In its defense, though, NASA did a fine job of making sure she was qualified for the 8-by-10 color shuttle crew glossy. (Say what you want about Nowak’s homicidal tendencies — you have to admit she looks smashing in orange.)

But in reviewing the Nowak matter, one investigator turned up reports of astronauts flying into space aboard a Russian Soyuz rocket while intoxicated. (Damn those cosmonauts and their well-stocked liquor cabinets!) NASA has since launched an internal investigation and declared the report to be an “urban legend,” which would also explain the astronaut who allegedly exploded after eating Pop Rocks and Coke.

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

Damn those digital cameras!

OK, so it turns out I was totally wrong when I decided not to believe the Vanessa Hudgens naked pictures rumor. Her publicist has released a statement saying that the picture now circulating around the Internet is indeed the "High School Musical" star, but that it was "taken privately,” and "it is unfortunate that this has become public.” Proving once again that no matter how much publicists get paid, it's not enough.

So instead I've decided to take a different tack and declare that it's no big deal, on the following grounds:

• These days, everybody has naked pictures of themselves on the Internet. This is why Al Gore invented it in the first place. If they'd had the Internet in the '80s, we'd have all had to suffer through naked pictures of Jeanne Kirkpatrick.
• Given everything that Lindsay and Britney have done, a naked picture actually seems kind of quaint, like flapper skirts or Ingrid Bergman's pregnancy.
• This may prompt Disney executives to take a good, hard look at the policies surrounding their performers, and finally decide to chain them in boxes and make them sleep in the studio.

Meanwhile, we can only hope that people will preserve the magic that is "High School Musical" by ignoring the offending image, which shouldn't be much of a problem. Those of us over 19 only have eyes for, well, you know.

Can I trade my old one in?

Well, Apple has done it again. That is, annoyed everyone who's shelled out big bucks for an iPod, only to have Apple release a better version a few months later. This is why I've always said you should put off buying an iPod, ideally until you are dead.

Meanwhile, that sound you hear is the thousands of people who bought their iPods yesterday slapping their palms against their foreheads. Of course, consumers won't stand for this forever. Someday we're going to stop greeting every new announcement by Steve Jobs with thunderous applause and sleeping on sidewalks for the first crack at the latest piece of Apple technology. Just not today, apparently.

To top things off, Apple cut the price of the just-released iPhone by $200, ostensibly to goose sales, but more likely to make the aforementioned sidewalk sleepers feel like idiots. I’m sure this is the source of much hilarity among the techies at Apple, who are still trying to get back at us for giving them wedgies all through high school.

Or (5), 'All of the Above'

Jerry Lewis' Greatest Hits -- Pick your favorite!

1. "Jessie, the illiterate fag." (last weekend)
2. "You don't want to be pitied for being a cripple in a wheelchair? Stay in your house." (2001)
3. “A woman doing comedy doesn’t offend me, but sets me back a bit. I, as a viewer, have trouble with it. I think of her as a producing machine that brings babies into the world.” (2000)
4. "Hey, laaaaaaaaadddddyyyyyy!!!" (1949-1972)

This week's column: An impressive out-of-body of work

Here’s the thing about scientists: While most of us can only imagine advancements that would better humanity — like, say, a TV remote that would come when you called it — scientists actually find a way to make those advancements a reality. They do this because they want to make the world a better place, and also because they’ve got a lot of grant money.

Take this latest endeavor, for example. Apparently, scientists in Switzerland and Sweden have managed to induce out-of-body experiences in the laboratory. And you know what that means: Soon we may be able to have out-of-body experiences whenever we want them, instead of just sitting around hoping they might happen — say, when a certain co-worker corners you in the break room.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

'Radio Nowhere' ... and especially not here

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

Hey, what's that over there behind you?

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

(You didn't hear this from me.)

It's wiggly annoying

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

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

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

Back, and better than ever! Sort of

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

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

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

Because it's there

Please excuse my lack of blogging of late; I'm currently scaling the Himalayas with my dog Rocky and my loyal manservant, Lorenzo. It's very difficult to blog from here, since most of the caves with WiFi are already fully occupied by coffee-drinking slackers.

So posts here will be (as they have been) few and far between, but in the meantime you can check out my contributions to "Our Towns Tonight," a blog on all things Massachusetts, and look for a new blog launch from me through with the publication North Shore Sunday in the near future.

In the meantime ... On, Rocky! Mush! Mush!

Look ... I made a movie

This week's column:He's very much out-of-date

I remember from when I was a dating person, sometime before the turn of the century and after the Paleozoic Era, that the whole process was a complicated, messy affair. First you had to actually meet someone somewhere, like your office, the Laundromat or through a friend who pitied you. Then you spent months getting to know the person while doing your best to make sure they didn’t get to know you, at least not the real you, the you with five-day-old stubble and pile of old socks under your bed. It was exhausting.

Fortunately I’m married now, so the only person I “date” is my wife — and we have young children, so our dates consist of anything we happen to be doing without them, like looking for furniture or comparing paint swatches. At least we know all the dates will eventually wind up in bed, although in between us will likely be two kids, a lumbar pillow, a black Lab and a golden retriever (whose noses can get pretty darn cold, incidentally).

But I think it would be difficult for my wife and me to start dating today, given the archaic way we got together — spending months as co-workers while pretending not to be attracted to each other, and then starting to date without telling anybody. We didn’t fill out any forms or record any videos, and we certainly didn’t use computers, which back then were primarily for playing solitaire.

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

This week's column:How throbbingly passionate of you

For those of you looking for the perfect book to give that special someone this Valentine’s Day, I’m wondering if you’ve considered what may be an entirely new genre in literature: the personalized romance novel. That’s right, it’s a romantic adventure, but instead of starring attractive people, you and your spouse are in it. I think this may have been what killed Sydney Sheldon.

Nevertheless, it’s true. The Web site yournovel.com apparently offers 21 different “customized capers” with you and your significant other wedged into the text. You can even upload your picture for the cover, although you’ll have to stick your head on Fabio’s body yourself. (Oh, like you haven’t already done that. At least in your head.)

They can also incorporate things like eye and hair color and “affectionate nicknames” — for instance, in the sample they use “Passion Flower,” which is a mainstay on the list of popular marital nicknames, right between “lazy slob” and “unintelligible under-breath mutterings.”

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

Whatever happened to Karaoke?

For those of you who can’t help but wonder if there’s any common sense or decency left in the world, look no further than the Tabu Ultra Lounge in Saugus, Mass. All it took was an undercover hidden-camera investigation by “Inside Edition” to get them to cancel all future girl-on-girl kissing contests at the club’s “teen nights.”

And we’re sure if someone had just pointed out that encouraging scantily clad underage girls to make out in front of cheering crowds while promoters poured water on them was wrong, they would have stopped the practice sooner. Work with them, people!

The “Inside Edition” report, which aired last week, spotlighted Tabu in addition to clubs in New York and New Jersey. The report claimed that in every club they visited, undercover reporters found girls walking around “in little more than underwear.” The hidden cameras also captured kids groping and fondling each other in open view at several locations. But as Tabu owner Frank Amato points out, no alcohol is served at these events, and “We’re a safe place for teens to come.” That’s right — if it wasn’t for Tabu, these teens would be groping and fondling each other in the streets.

Regardless, the practice will probably come to an end at Tabu in the wake of the report, meaning the town probably won’t have to suspend its license like it did in the wake of 2005’s triple stabbing there. What was it they were saying about it being a safe place?

She also may be a pod

Before we pass judgment on Lisa Marie Nowak, has it occurred to anyone that it's very possible she was bombarded by cosmic rays on her last space mission? Everyone knows they're very unpredictable -- she could have just as easily turned invisible or sprouted orange rocks as turn into a diaper-wearing, pepper spray-wielding psychopath. It happens.

We're just lucky it wasn't gamma rays.

This week's column:Something to fall back on

I recently discovered the only thing more humiliating than throwing your back out while candlepin bowling; namely, throwing your back out while taking off your candlepin bowling shoes. I managed to do this despite the fact that billions of people manage to remove shoes every day without serious injury, many of them more than once.

The day was going so well, too — I had even bowled a personal best, coming close to breaking 100 thanks to resourceful use of the bumpers. Then I leaned over to take off the shoes and I felt it — the muscles in my lower back giving way like failing cantilevers on an uninspected bridge.

I tried to put a good face on it for my kids and our companions until I managed to hobble back out to the car, but it wasn’t easy, given that my upper body was suddenly at a 90 degree angle from my legs — I looked like I’d just stopped in to bowl a quick string on the way to my bell tower.

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

R.I.P. Art Buchwald

There's one less funny person in the world today ... All I know is, when I go, I want to do one of these.

This week's column:Dying is easy, commenting is hard

First, a few words about the late President Gerald Ford. I always liked him, and even voted for him in my elementary school’s mock presidential election in 1976. (I figured I should, since my mother drove one of his cars.) Here was an ordinary guy, someone who showed that in America, anyone really can accidentally become president.

But something that surprised some pundits was that he had apparently made some critical remarks about President Bush to journalist Bob Woodward, on the condition that they not be made public until after his death. And Woodward was true to his word, waiting almost a full eight minutes before going on Larry King.

I can’t help but wonder, though, if garnering juicy comments to be kept secret until the source is buried is a new journalistic trend (which would give an entirely new meaning to the term “deep background”). And more importantly, what other tidbits does Bob Woodward have stored away in his files?

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

And we suppose he also expects us to believe everything we hear about this so-called 'eye-pod'

Just as I suspected ... Steve Jobs is full of it!

And for crying out loud, would it kill him to put on a tie?

But what are her feelings on troop proliferation?

Madonna has spoken! For those of you who forgot to take notes, here is a summary:

1. Not wearing underwear -- bad.
2. Proliferation of African orphans -- bad.
3. Adopting African orphans -- good.
4. Rosie O'Donnell -- good.
5. Standing naked in traffic -- still good.

That about sums it up.

This week's column:Well, that was predictable

It’s time once again for me to look back on my predictions from 12 months ago, in order to see whether my keen journalistic insight served me well in prognosticating the major events for the coming year, or if I was, as usual, talking out of an opening not typically equipped for human speech. So let’s see what I had to say about 2006:

• “Buoyed by their own high moral standards and public support for the president, Republicans will easily stave off Democratic challengers come November. Let’s face it, is there anything conservatives can’t do?”

A little off on this one … But how was I supposed to know the entire Republican Congress would self-destruct? A year ago I would have thought “macaca” was a type of Volkswagen.

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

Lucky '07: Your guide to what's in and what's out as another year kicks off

No, it's not that cold medicine you're taking — you really are in a fog. It's because you've lost track of what's in and what's out when it comes to society, politics, fashion, the arts and life in general. Don't be embarrassed, it happens to the best of us.

And the good news is, you have our annual roundup to fall back on as you enter 2007. But if any of the following falls flat at your next cocktail party, please don't blame us. Blaming is out.

For this year's What's In/What's Out, click here.

For a PDF version, click here.

This week's column:Top stories just tip of the iceberg

As you may have noticed, now's the time when newspapers like to announce their top stories of the year. This provides an important service, particularly to those readers with short-term memory loss.

Here, of course, we like to look past the obvious and point out the important stories that should have gotten more coverage from major media outlets. (Not that Ananova.com shouldn't be considered a major media outlet just because it has an entire section devoted to "Bad Taste Quirkies.") With that in mind, here are the top five At Large actual news stories from 2006:

5.) International Space Station considers allowing alcohol. And you know what that means: much better parties! ("Dude! Watch me float upside down again!")

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

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

Once again, Peter Chianca turns over his column space to Mr. Holiday, who will answer your holiday queries. This week: Christmas.

***

Dear Mr. Holiday:

Is it true that although, ostensibly, Christmas celebrates the birth of Jesus, historians and theologians think he was more likely born in June, and that Dec. 25 was picked because it had been the day of a pagan celebration called Saturnalia which commemorated the birth of the sun god?

Wondering in Wellesley

Dear Wondering:
I don't know if that's true, but I do know that, ostensibly, you're going to burn in eternal hellfire.

The fact is, it doesn't matter whether or not Jesus was really born that day, and I'll tell you why: Jesus had a movie that made $361 million last year. Show me one sun god movie that grossed even half that.

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

In her defense, does it say specifically in the rule book that she can't flash and make out with other girls?

Pop culture trivia question of the day: The person who said, "Those pictures don't surprise me -- she was always showing off her boobs," was referring to:

1. Miss USA Tara Conner;
2. Miss Teen USA Katie Blair;
3. Miss Nevada Katie Rees; or
4. Golden Globe nominee for "The Queen" Helen Mirren.

Trick question ... The correct answer is "Donald Trump."

It's worth noting that the dogs weren't wearing any underwear either

Britney, Britney, Britney ... We were able to forgive you for wearing the snake at the MTV awards; driving with your child on your lap instead of in a carseat; dumping K-Fed by text message; leaving your kids behind to party with Paris Hilton; and failing to wear underwear. But ignoring your dogs ... Well, that's just low.

But a new online poll has named Britney "Worst Celebrity Dog Owner" for 2006, and by a wide margin, apparently. Hilary O'Hagan, editor of The New York Dog and The Hollywood Dog magazines, said she was the "overwhelming choice," noting, "She once had three Chihuahuas ... and never left home without at least one of them on her arm. As soon as she met K-Fed and had kids they (the dogs) disappeared." And as soon as she met Paris Hilton they (the kids) disappeared, so we're sensing a pattern here.

Then again, what about Natasha Lyonne? Oh wait, that was the neighbor's dog.

This week's column:There's no time like the presents

Don’t tell me — Christmas is almost here and you still haven’t found the right gifts for the important people in your life. Well, that’s just because you’re not on the mailing lists for the companies that make the truly original products, the kinds of items that, when you give them as gifts, say to the recipient: “It’s time you reported me to the local authorities.”

Luckily for you, though, these companies seem to have no trouble finding me. So without further ado, following is the second annual At Large Holiday Gift Guide.

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

This week's column:Singing a new 'Christmas Carol'

Each holiday season brings certain things that are unavoidable. For instance, at some point in December you’re going to turn on the radio and hear “Dominic, the Italian Christmas Donkey.” And some of those times, if you’re distracted enough, you may listen to almost the whole thing before remembering to change the station. That’s three minutes of your life you’ll never get back.

Another thing you can count on is to be bombarded with umpteen stage productions of “A Christmas Carol,” not to mention the film versions with the likes of Mr. Magoo, Mickey Mouse and the Muppets. (Granted, Charles Dickens is believed to have commented to William Makepeace Thackeray, “My ‘Christmas Carol’ is pretty good on paper, but with a fake felt frog ... well, that would be something.”)

If we do have to have so many versions, though, wouldn’t it be nice if they did something different for a change? For instance, does it always have to be ghosts? Why not ever the Wolf Man? And that ending where Scrooge gets all nice — just once I’d like to see him wake up, down a snifter of schnapps and foreclose on Cratchit’s house.

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