Local Tint

I can has pom-pom?

Apparently there was some big game on last night. Whatever. I was glued to this stuff:

I mean, have you ever?

Didn't think so.

Who saw this one coming?

First, I have to confess my addiction to Bravo's "Top Chef." Ever since the exquisite Sam Talbot from Season 2 first enchanted me, I've been hooked. Alas, no hunks of his caliber grace this season's line up (I suppose CJ comes closest), but I love the competition, the recipes ideas, and the insipid smack-talking all the same. On the downside, the show shamelessly pimps its sponsors' products: the Toyota RAV4, Calphalon cookware, and "the Glad family of products."

So anyway, it appears that hostess Padma Lakshmi, whose vacant eyes belie the fact that she's (supposedly) fluent in five languages and a celebrated cookbook author in addition to being a model and actress (well, she was in Glitter), she's divorcing her husband of three years--get this--Salman Rushdie. No, really. They're married. Not for long, though. The article doesn't really elaborate:

The 60-year-old author married Lakshmi, a former model born in 1970, in 2004.

“Salman Rushdie has agreed to divorce his wife, Padma Lakshmi, because of her desire to end their marriage,” spokesperson Jin Auh said in a statement. “He asks that the media respect his privacy at this difficult time,” the statement said.

I suppose their break up can be no bigger mystery than their marriage was.

"Generations?"

But that's the subtitle of a Star Trek movie! Otherwise, I was pretty happy with the finale (viewable here, buyable here if you missed it).

House rules

Salon.com: The Beautiful Hospital

My biggest objection to medical shows is not that the doctors on television do their jobs brilliantly, but that they do everyone else's jobs, too. And my objection to doctors in the real world is a little like that. I sometimes wonder just how much doctors know about what goes on over the course of a day in their patients' difficult lives -- how many people are involved, how much we need each other.

...

The medical show I really like is "Scrubs." It's full of chaos, anger and fear, and no particular brilliance at all. Just struggle and good intentions and richly imagined fantasies of lust and revenge. Like my world.

Sallie Tisdale, RN wrote the above in an article at Salon.com bemoaning the beautiful and brilliant doctors who dominate TV medical dramas. I feel her. As a nurse myself, I see patients and their family members arranging their schedules to wait anxiously for the moment every day when the doctor comes in, hanging immense hopes on his or her slightest inflections and wording, sometimes misunderstanding prognoses, test results, and planned courses of care (misunderstandings I have the unfortunate task of correcting as I overhear them relayed to third parties). Important questions will occur to them long after the doctor has gone.

I love this stuff

I forgot to TiVo, so if anyone knows who won last night's bout, please let me know.

P.S. Batali rules!

Booyakasha

I watch a lot of TNT. Well, I did. They no longer show "NYPD Blue" in the afternoon, but somehow manage to fit in four hours of "Charmed" every weekday (not to mention 7 or so "Law & Order"s). I'm finished with them. But I will miss these:

Wait for Steve Nash at the end:

This has to be fattening

This morning, Salon's "War Room" has a notice pointing to Think Progress's post on the severely irony-impaired supporters of generally-acknowledged criminal Tom Delay.

It went like this, see: Stephen Colbert interviewed gadfly filmmaker Robert Greenwald (of Outfoxed, among other projects) about his upcoming movie The Big Buy: Tom Delay's Stolen Congress. In the course of the interview, Colbert asked questions such as "Who hates America more, you or Michael Moore?," which Delay's demented supporters failed to appreciate for the comedy it is. So invigorated were they by Colbert's 'attack' on Greenwald that they issued an email (if you only click one link today...) citing Greenwald's "crash and burn" under the pressure of Colbert's questioning.

Absolutely delicious.

Some Enchanted Evening

Last night's "The Sopranos" was, simply, the best TV I've seen. It's not something a neophyte could come upon and appreciate like us devotees who've tolerated David Chase's self-indulgence since Season One. This is why we prostrate ourselves to his tedious dream sequences and barbaric inter-season waits year after year.

Edie Falco won an Emmy last night. Emotionally raw and stripped of the make up, big hair, and over-the-top jewelry that normally attend her in public, Carmela still has the presence of mind to parent AJ, tell the cops to kiss her ass, stay composed in the face of Rosalie's blunt warnings, and do her best to turn on her husband, comatose or no. Now if she could only grow a set when she deals with that doctor.

Christopher's back-and-forth with Agent Harris and the subsequent run-in with Ahmed and Mohammed at the Bing (possibly the episode's only overdone moment) was a nice way to get us out of the hospital for a minute to survey the landscape without Tony's looming presence. Christopher's patriotic intentions might get him too chummy with the FBI, especially without Tony to guide him.

Most affecting, however, may have been the alternative life Tony has constructed under the influence of Ativan. The surprise Alzheimer's diagnosis (after which, BTW, Tony's accent and mannerisms reappear). The role of Alzheimer's in his present condition. The phone put back on the cradle, unused. What is that spotlight on the horizon? We know it will get worse before it gets better.

I could go on. A film class could spend a semester dissecting the heft and symbolism in those 55 minutes.

After "The Sopranos," the normally tolerable (excepting the titular character) "Grey's Anatomy" seemed like, well, what it is: "Saved by the Bell" in scrubs. Witness the painful run-in of Meredith, McDreamy, and Mrs. McDreamy in the hallway. "I've got to, uh..." "Yeah, me, too." Christ. On top of which, Alex should have is medical license revoked and George should just plain quit. The last surgery this guy performed was in the elevator last season. Since then, he's been on one errand after another for his superiors, always set to quirky music, lest we dull viewers miss that he serves as comic relief.  Nevertheless, the "get over yourself" verbal bitchslap he got at the end of last night's episode would have been better aimed at Meredith. Or the show itself (except Sandra Oh, who remains the best reason to watch).

You need a soul to appreciate Judi Dench

That, not her age, I imagine, is why "The Today Show," "Good Morning America," and "The View" told the Weinstein Co., distributor for Mrs. Henderson Presents, that Ms. Dench "didn't fit their demographics."  As if those thinly-veiled commercials deserve her in their green rooms.  She's a legend, for crying out loud. Imagine trying to serve a fresh meal to people who eat only processed foods. That's why Big Momma's House is on 14 Birmingham-area screens while Capote is on 4.

Speaking of, Mrs. Henderson Presents finally opens in local theaters today (as with most films like this, it took an Oscar nomination for local theater owners to risk the money).

I call this good news

NBC's The Office Gets 22-Episode Third Season

Historically, NBC hasn't promoted The Office nearly as well as they should have, though moving it to Thursday's pre-ER/post-Earl slot did show some smarts--and justice.

While Michael, the man-child of a boss played by Steve Carrell, is entertaining, the love-struck Jim and Pam give the show an infusion of humanity, even pathos, without being icky.

In other news, NBC has nixed The Book of Daniel. One hopes it was the crappy ratings, not hysteria from timid, small-minded affiliates and whiny godbags who hadn't even seen the show, that brought on the move (I never saw the show myself, but I certainly hope that's why it was cancelled).