Saying goodbye to three-fourths of my life

I could not say what David Letterman meant to the rest of the world.  I can only try and articulate what he meant to me.

In the early days, he (and the Beastie Boys) seemed to speak directly to my teenaged soul.  I can remember Axl and I discussing the previous night's Top Ten List the next day at school, when we weren't busy writing down color-coded lyrics to "Paul Revere" and "No Sleep Till Brooklyn." 

Sardonic, absurd, non-conforming, self-deprecating, and more than a bit of a goofball -- wait, are we talking about Dave or 17-year-old me?  Even so, he somehow managed to come across as hip and cool.  (OK, yes, we're definitely talking about Dave.)

In the NBC days particularly, the surprise element of the show was off the charts.  One article I read put forth the idea of how enormous Letterman would have been on the internet and Twitter has such things been around/popular then.  I cringe at using such a cliche, but you literally never knew what was going to happen.  It made for must-see late night TV.

One of my favorite parts was when Letterman took the show to the streets of Manhattan and somehow magically made you feel as if you were there, a part of New York, the center of the world.  The show lost something as those escapades became rarer, eventually all but stopping.

It's easy to forget how the late night landscape looked when Letterman, having been passed over to succeed Carson, made the jump to CBS.  ABC was airing "Nightline."  Prior to 1993, I think CBS had a late night movie offering in that slot.  Arsenio was around in syndication.  But for the most part, no other talk show had been able to sustain for any considerable length of time opposite "The Tonight Show."  (Remember "Into the Night Starring Rick Dees?"  Me either.)

I would argue that Letterman's move and success spurred a significant shift in late night programming, for better or worse.  Pretty soon every Tom (Snyder), Dick (Dietrick), and Chevy (Chase) around were joining the party. 

All this is not to say Dave and I didn't have our issues, or that I was always a faithful viewer.  I hadn't been for awhile.  Heck, I fell asleep during the finale and had to watch the rest of it the next day on DVR.  Staying up until midnight and waking up at 7:00 when you're seventeen is slightly more exhilarating than staying up until midnight and waking up at 5:00 when you're forty-two.

And I think we all remember the Bone/Letterman online Top Ten Contest feud.  (Top Ten Little Known Facts About Santa Claus? My entry: Doesn't believe in HIMSELF.)  Unfortunately, it was overshadowed by the far-less-criminal Oprah/Letterman feud.

In recent years, the surprise element was not nearly what it once was.  The show became less funny to me.  But at the same time, Letterman became more real, more human.  (This is something Leno never quite managed, in my opinion, and I suppose maybe never wanted to.)

Letterman made very public mistakes, he had serious health problems, he became a father.  He cared and talked about world events and politics.  And I always thought his interview skills to be excellent, far and above any of his late night contemporaries.

As he sort of became the elder statesman, it seemed like he appealed to a wider audience.  At least within my test group.  Because while I didn't watch nearly as often, my Mom became one of his biggest fans.  I know she would not have even considered watching him in 1989.

"That David is so silly, isn't he?" she would say with much affection.  Rupert Jee and Jack Hanna were two of her favorites.  And anytime Regis and Letterman were on together, it was the highlight of her month.

I wonder what she'll do now, what she'll watch, as she doesn't seem to care for or get any of "those kids on there now."

I can hardly remember a time when there wasn't a David Letterman on television.  For thirty-three of my forty-two years, there has been.  And then it hits me, I'm not writing about what his show meant to me.  Instead, in all selfishness, it's about what his retirement signifies:  The inescapable passing of time.

And all you can do is remember, and say goodbye.  To the gap-toothed smile, the tossing of pens at cameras, and those years of your life.


"And I wonder when I sing along with you / If everything could ever feel this real forever / If anything could ever be this good again..."

Debunking the Big Bang Theory

Something has been weighing on my mind for some time, yet I have refrained from writing about it until now because, well quite frankly, I was afraid I would be persecuted for my beliefs.

And that thing is, the Big Bang Theory.

I know for a fact that some of you subscribe to the BBT, and are likely already planning your rebuttals for the comments section.  I have only one question for you people:  What have you been smoking?  And would you be able to ship some of that legally to me here in Alabama?  OK, so two questions.

My feelings on the Big Bang Theory can be summed up in two sentences: I don't believe it... is funny.  And I'm not buying it... as the #1 sitcom on television.

I've tried.  I've watched (parts of) four, maybe three episodes.  Didn't laugh.  Didn't chuckle.  Nothing.

To be fair, I don't laugh at many shows.  Cheers and Seinfeld, obviously.  The Office, years 1 through 6 AC (Anno Carelli, loosely translated "in the year of our Michael Scott").  As far as current shows, New Girl makes me laugh.  There are a couple others.  But even if I don't laugh at a sitcom, I can usually find it mildly amusing, or at least see why some people would.

But when I watch the Big Bang Theory, I just sit there, mouth agape, eyes slightly squinted.  It's exactly the same look I had on the first day of Calculus.  I'm waiting, hoping for something, anything, to click.  But nothing ever does. 

It seems like such a one-trick pony to me.  Sheldon is a nerd.  He's socially stunted.  I get it.  Only I find him entirely unfunny and, to be honest, quite annoying.  Oh, and Penny is the (air quotes alert) "normal" girl.  What an ingenious and original concept. Hey, 1965 called.  Marilyn Munster wants her gig back.

Now granted, the little Roseanne reunion they've got going on is nice, with Darlene and David, and Aunt Jackie.  Get back to me when they bring the original Becky on and we'll talk. 

OK, so I don't like the show.  So what?  Not every show is for everybody.  There are two hundred plus channels on this newfangled cable, so I'll just watch something else and let it go.

Except I can't.

Why?

I'll tell you why.  Because I'm me.  Because I can't let anything go.  Because if dead-horse-beating were an Olympic sport, I would be the Michael Phelps of it (without the proud mom or the marijuana scandal).  And because it bugs me to no end that I -- who has and still occasionally do consider comedian to be one of 30 to 40 possible career options when I grow up -- find virtually no humor in a show everyone else seems to love.  (Emphasis on "no end," as well as the implications that I've yet to grow up or choose a career.)

Imagine if you thought you might want to be.... I don't know... a singer when you grew up.  But you couldn't stand One Direction's music.  OK, bad example, everybody likes One Direction.  What about this?  You wanted to be a TMZ reporter, but you don't find anything interesting or unusual about Miley Cyrus, Amanda Bynes, or bikini pictures of anyone named Kardashian.  Can you imagine how horrible that would be???  Well, welcome to the comedic impasse known as my life.  At this rate, I may never find a career.

You know, I wouldn't even say anything if it were like the number fourteen show on television.  But CBS has to shove down my throat at every opportunity that it's number ONE!  Which in itself is annoying.

When you're number one, you don't flaunt it.  Fans of the #1 team in sports don't wear foam fingers proclaiming they're #1.  They're too busy out celebrating another championship, setting cars on fire and getting pepper-sprayed.  It's those delusional fans of the teams that are nowhere near the top that usually wear the foam fingers.

Besides, you can twist numbers to say anything you want.  For example, let's say on average 15 million people watch BBT each week.  Sounds like a lot, doesn't it?   Until you consider there are more than 300 trillion people in the United States... what?  Oh, million, 300 million.  Which means two hundred and... uh ..... a WHOLE LOT of us don't find your little nerd show funny.  So who's twisting numbers now?  Huh? Huh?  Huh?  Mmhmm, mmhmm, mmhmm.

Please understand, it's not that I have anything against nerds.  OK, maybe their perceived lack of hygiene.  But otherwise, I'm pro-nerd.  To wit, Kip was one of my four favorite characters on Napoleon Dynamite.  Nerds is one of my top twenty favorite candies.  And The It Crowd -- also about nerds -- is my favorite Netflix discovery in the history of Netflix discoveries.

In fact, I was so devastated when I had watched all the episodes of The IT Crowd that I didn't watch Netflix for days.  My Netflix obsession was dead.  Buried.  Fortunately, on the third day, it was resurrected when I bore witness to an Audrey Hepburn movie I had not seen before.

Feeling disillusioned by the Big Bang Theory, and feeling there had to be something more, I began to search for answers.  So I spent two hours googling the BBT one night.  Again, I spent two hours googling a show I DON'T EVEN LIKE!

I came across one article titled "Eleven Reasons Geeks Hate The Big Bang Theory," which I did not find really applied to me.

Then I discovered someone who was using the power of the YouTube pulpit to spread their message.  They had posted a video of a scene from the Big Bang Theory with the laugh track removed.  I think the point was to prove how unfunny the scene was without the subliminal "you're supposed to laugh at this" message.  To which I gave a hearty "Amen!"

(At that point, I got sidetracked looking up stuff on how people react to a show when there is canned laughter versus when there is none, and lost about 30 minutes.)

Finally, I found an article written by a guy who sounded similar to me.  It bugged him because he didn't find the BBT funny but some of his friends did.  As I continued reading the TV-gospel-according-to-this-guy, he also spoke of a sitcom not of this present country -- the IT Crowd! Like me, he subscribes to the Intelligent Design of The IT Crowd over the Big Bang Theory.  Finally, I had found my TV-viewing messiah! 

And lastly, there were also some Big Bang porn links, as you might expect.  Entertaining in their own way, I'm sure, but not really relevant for this post.

I suppose this debate will rage on (in my mind), possibly forever, or at least until the show is canceled and America writes me a big note of a apology -- preferably framed and in calligraphy -- saying, "What were we thinking!?" 

So, probably forever.

Meanwhile, I will continue to search for validation for my beliefs.  Don't think me poor, or deserted, or lonely.  For I am just a pilgrim, in search of a sitcom, a network free of reality shows, where there is no more canned laughter.  And there shall be no night there... with bad TV.  And they shall need no Hulu, neither subscription to Netflix.  For the utter hilarity of the shows giveth them entertainment.  And they shall dwell on the couches in their houses forever.

Join me next week when I may or may not reveal my Theory of the Evolution of How I Met Your Mother, but most likely won't.



"We settled in for the night /  My baby and me / We switched around and 'round / Until half-past dawn / But there were fifty-seven channels and nothing on..."

Life at up to 30 Mbps

It's been tough again for me to write.  First, Boston, and then West, Texas, just took my heart.  And yet, the days keep coming.  The world keeps spinning.  Somehow.

The human spirit again proves irrepressible.  Still I wonder how much more we can take.

Some have said the thing to do is to live your life.  Go out.  Run another marathon.  Hop on a plane.  Blog.  And so, here am I.

The spring has found me busier than usual, which let's face it, wasn't very busy at all.  I've taken on some freelance work on the side, and have also started a lawn care business.  At present I have precisely two clients.  That may not sound like much to you, but it's about fourteen steps further than most of my ideas ever get, which in case you're wondering, is usually about the point where I think, "Hmm, that's a good idea, I should really look into that.  Woo, I'm sleepy.  Nappy time." 

It's all in the name of not only making ends meet, but perhaps even having them overlap a bit.  My apologies to those of you whose image of me was that of a kind of southern Kardashian, independently wealthy and making millions more from this blog.

Today, that image has been shattered.

The freelance job forced me to finally do something about my internet.  My AT&T DSL, which for years was decent, had in recent months been doing a dead-eye impersonation of dial-up.  Dead being the operative word there.  So as of this past Tuesday (martes, for my Hispanic readers), I'm on cable internet.

Oh. Em. Gee!

It's like I hopped in the DeLorean un martes tarde to go for a drive, hit 88 miles per hour, and boom!  Instantly I have been transported from 1997 to 2006.  And while I do kind of miss Hanson and Mark Morrison -- I mean, I think we all thought they were here to stay -- now my Netflix doesn't freeze five times during a half-hour show!  I never said anything before because it was so embarrassing.

I feel like I just got indoor plumbing for the first time.

To celebrate -- the internet, not the plumbing -- I watched two episodes of The Hills on Netflix.  Ugh, that Heidi.  Even in reruns, she just... ugh!  Don't get me started.  Oh, oh, OH!

And...

They brought me out a cable box.  See, I'd been getting my cable straight from the wall all these years, which evidently was robbing me of HD and limiting my number of channels.

Whatever.

The only thing you really need to get from all this is:  I've got SoapNet back!  So now I can watch my stories every night!

I haven't been this excited since... have I ever been this excited?

Probably not.  Especially when you consider there is a channel that shows WKRP In Cincinnati at night, AND there was an ABBA movie on last night!!!  I didn't even know there WAS an ABBA movie!!!  (Also, if I ever learn how to make that backwards B, I may just retire from the internets.)

Anyhow.  Naturally, I watched General Hospital the past couple of nights, and began to catch up with Luke, Laura, Scott, Dante, Lulu, Patrick, Brenda, Sonny, Nikolas, Michael, and unfortunately, Carly.  However, I'm still not sure how Stavros managed to escape the bottomless pit Luke pushed him into all those years ago?  That's seems a tad unrealistic, GH.

After that, The Young & The Restless came on.  Now I've never watched the show (honest!) but I left it there, just to see if I could catch a glimpse of Jason Morgan.  At first there were two old guys on there I didn't recognize.  Personally, they didn't look all that young or restless to me. 

And then...

There he was.  The gangster/coffee importer/main-reason-I-own-a-black-leather-jacket formerly known as Jason Morgan.  In all his perfect-hair glory.

I'll admit, it was tough.  I mean, this is a guy I modeled much of my life after.  At least, my stoic facade and my cool manner with the ladies.

It was like seeing an ex-girlfriend you dated for years, but now she's married to someone else, and he's a nice enough guy and she acts happy, but you know they'll never have what you and she had, and sure you made mistakes but who doesn't, your story wasn't over yet and how could she give up on that and settle for him when the two of you had so much left to do!  And why?  Because it's convenient???  Well love's not always convenient!!!!!!

So... uh, yeah.. it was a lot like that... 

Here's a fact you may find amusing.  This actually started out to be a Music Monday post.  I know, normally I post those on Tuesdays.  But anyway, that just goes to show you how much I procrastinate, er, like to plan things out in my head for a few days before actually getting around to doing them.

It's one of my endearing qualities. I like to pretend I have several.

Monday was Glen Campbell's birthday.  As I was googling and listening to some of his music, I hadn't realized how many songs he'd done with a positive, upbeat message.  Sure some of them were a bit hokey.  But after the previous week the world had seen, I was in the mood for some hokey.

This is a song called "I Will Never Pass This Way Again."  It definitely has a bit of a gospel feel to it.  The time stamp is a little distracting, and the audio and video are a tad out of sync.  Hey, it was 1973. I'm sure it was a crazy time for us all.



I also came across Glen's version of "MacArthur Park," a song I've loved from the first time I heard it.  I really like Waylon Jennings' version of this, but it wasn't Waylon's birthday, so...



"I will taste the wine while it is warm / And never let you catch me lookin' in the sun..."

This is really hard

I never thought I'd love that way again.

The year was 1993.  I wasn't long out of high school.  There were tears in my eyes when the burly bartender I'd been seeing for several years came to the door and said, "Cheers is closed." 

A part of me died that day.  A part of me that was young and innocent, idealistic and hopeful.  But somehow I managed to pick up the pieces and move on from my first real love.  I found a new guy.  Single, thin, neat, early thirties.  Well actually it was more of a group thing.  Him and his friends, and me.  A little different, but I wasn't complaining.

In fact, things were great for a few years.  Until he and his friends got into some legal trouble up in Massachusetts.  After they were all thrown in prison, I was back on my own.  Like a Whitesnake song.  But this time I was certain, that I'd never love again.

And then I met him.

When I first encountered him, he was a 40-year-old virgin.  I found him only tolerably amusing, and a bit over-the-top.  By the time we began our weekly Thursday night trysts, he was way over-the-top.  Never did I ever think I would soon come to love this man.

I'm speaking of course of Steve Carell, aka Michael Scott. 

The new season of The Office begins tonight.  And it will do so without its fearless leader, now former leader.  They say the show must go on.  But I, for one, don't see how it can.  Michael Scott was to The Office what Gene Frenkle was to Blue Oyster Cult, what Trapper John was to Trapper John M.D., and Bob Barker was to The Price Is Right.  That show hasn't been funny at all since Barker left.

If you watched The Office you already know what I'm talking about.  If you didn't watch The Office, if you've never seen Michael Scott in all his glory, I have to wonder, have you ever really loved at all? Did I say loved?  I meant laughed.

While I cannot enumerate all the ways Michael Scott was great -- for that would take far too much time and typing -- I would be remiss if I failed to mention his signature joke and crowning achievement: "That's what she said."

Michael Scott single-handedly brought "That's What She Said" and it's internet shorthand counterpart, TWSS, into the daily vernacular.  You'd be hard-pressed today to find a message board frequented by juvenile men (and women) that doesn't have a TWSS reference.  It's a timeless, if slightly immature, joke.  Brilliant both in its simplicity and versatility.  I try to fit it in wherever I can..........

So before we move on -- and some of us never will -- let us look back and remember, Michael Gary Scott.  A man I will miss.  A man who has ruined all other men for me.

Here are a few selected Michael Scott quotes for your enjoyment:

- "It’s how I like to do business, everybody joking around.  It’s like Friends.  I am Chandler, and Joey.  Pam is Rachel. And Dwight is Kramer."

- "I like Donna. Is it wrong to keep seeing her?  Depends on who you ask.  I mean, if you ask her husband, or you took a random poll, yeah, it's wrong."

- "You know what eats a large amount of the day are naps.  You go to sleep it's light out, you wake up it's dark.  That's the whole day.  Where did that day go?  I have no idea."

- "I am actually great with old women.  In fact, for the longest time my best friend was my grandmother.  And then she met Harriet.  And now she thinks she better than everybody."

- "A boss’s salary isn’t just about money.  It’s about perks.  For example, every year I get a $100 gas card.  Can’t put a price on that."

- "My philosophy is basically this.  And this is something that I live by, and I always have.  And I always will.  Don't ever, for any reason, do anything, to anyone, for any reason, ever, no matter what, no matter where, or who or who you are with, or or where you are going, or where you've been.  Ever.  For any reason.  Whatsoever."

- "Jim is like Big Bird.  He is tall and yellow and very nice.  But would I put him in charge?  No.  I don't think so.  Big Bird doesn't make the tough decisions.  If I was gonna put someone in charge, I would put Bert in charge.  Or I would put one of the real grown-ups in charge, like Maria or Gordon, maybe."

- "How do you tell somebody that you care about deeply, 'I told you so.'  Gently with a rose?  In a funny way, like it's a hilarious joke?  Or do you just let it go, because saying it would just make things worse? ... Probably the funny way."

- "I don't need to be friends with Pam.  I have plenty of female friends.  My mom.  Pam's mom.  My aunt... although she just blocked me on IM.  What's her face, from Quiznos?  I see her like four times a week."

- "A boss is like a teacher.  And I am like the cool teacher, like Mister Handell.  Mister Handell would hang out with us and he would tell us awesome jokes and he... actually hooked up with one of the students.  And then like twelve other kids came forward.  It was in all the papers.  Really ruined eighth grade for us."

Best of luck, Michael, in your new life with Holly in Colorado.  Oh who am I kidding?  This is going to suck!  It's going to be like when Bo and Luke left Dukes Of Hazzard and were replaced by Coy and Vance, times a hundred!

I'll miss your mispronunciations and your song parodies, your women's pants and your man-crush on Ryan (and possibly Jim), your Dundie Awards and Scott's Tots, Prison Mike and Date Mike, Lazy Scranton and the Golden Ticket idea, your fake suicide attempt and real George Foreman grill foot injury, the Michael Scott Paper Company and Threat Level Midnight, and perhaps most of all, your uncanny ability to always say the wrong thing and make even the most seemingly benign situation painfully uncomfortable.

I'll miss you, Michael.  In the immortal words of one James Halpert, "You always left me satisfied and smiling."

(sniff) That's what she said.

"I wish you the best.  And I wish you nothing less than everything you've ever dreamed of.  And I hope that you find love along the way.  But most of all, I wish you'd stay..."

"Just sit right back and you'll hear a tale..."

Sherwood Schwartz passed away this week, to not a lot of fanfare. A simple mention on the CNN scroll and a blurb on Google news mentioning his two greatest accomplishments: that's exactly how I hope to go.

And while we could spend hours, yea, weeks debating what my two greatest accomplishments are, or even if "accomplishment" is the right word, for now let's stay focused.

Sherwood Schwartz. I never knew the man, but he created two of the iconic sitcoms of our time: Gilligan's Island and The Brady Bunch.

And while I was always more of a Gilligan man, what young American boy didn't have at least a tiny crush on Marcia Brady? Not to mention, the episode where Marcia's bracelet nearly knocks over the house of cards is still quite possibly the most tense moment in American sitcom history.

Neither show did great in the ratings and were mostly panned by critics. But there must have been something appealing about them, as both lived on for years in syndicated reruns. That's how I and so many in my generation were introduced to them growing up.

I used to know every single episode of Gilligan's Island. I remember one night between the ages of 12 and 15, my friend Archie and I must have discussed half of them while waiting outside the gymnasium/aquatic center for his parents to finish their square dancing class. It was ninety minutes of "Remember the one where..."

For some reason, I loved that show. I wanted to be on that island. The little huts, the lagoon, Mary Ann... What's not to love? And don't get me started on the professor, aka the original MacGyver.

I've always been drawn to shows with an attractive central setting. Some place better than where I am currently. Classic example: Mister Rogers and the neighborhood of make-believe.

Not that I'm slicing bread for the first time here or anything. I think most shows have that, sitcoms anyway. Maybe that's why I never liked Roseanne or MASH. I never desired to be in the Conner house. Or the Korean War.

I haven't seen reruns of The Brady Bunch or Gilligan's Island for years now. And that makes me a little sad. Sure they may have been a little corny. But you could do a lot worse than corny. There was a certain innocence to those shows that I'm not sure exists anymore. The passing of Sherwood Schwartz is a reminder of that.

So here's to critical unacclaim, three-hour tours, and old TV shows.

"The weather started getting rough, the tiny ship was tossed. If not for the courage of the fearless crew, the Minnow would be lost..."

In a summer swelter

I think I finally understand what that song means. Well, that line anyway. Well, that part of that line. If ever was a summer swelter, we are in it. All except for the minor detail that it's not quite yet officially summer. I golfed yesterday, was already glistening with sweat on the first hole, and by the end of the round my shirt was like you had dipped it in water.

We're in another one of those stretches of twenty days of temps in the nineties and heat indexes normally reserved for the surface of Mercury. I have a standard line that I use in times like these: "Cold enough for ya?" It gets a laugh like a tenth of the time, but it's a decent conversation starter. OK, maybe decent is too strong a word there.

Of course, leave it to me to get a cold in the midst of all this. How does that even happen? I caught it on a Wednesday night and kicked it by the following Tuesday.

Being sick did give me additional time to realize there is nothing to watch on TV. Not any sports I'm very interested in. Not a Newhart rerun. Nothing. Just the World Cup. When is that over? I want my ESPN back. I can get into pretty much any sport you throw out there -- curling, Australian Rules Football, I've even watched the National Scrabble Championships. But soccer? I'm sorry, it's just not happening. Oh well, just 77 more days 'til football season. And I'll be asleep for like 15 of those.

I wish I could blame my being sick for my lack of blogtivity. But let's face it, I've been mentally lamenting -- if that's possible -- the excruciatingly slow death of my blog for awhile now. I want to write, but either I have no inspiration or I get sidetracked playing Family Feud on Facebook while singing along to Rob Thomas on iTunes. (I can't believe I just admitted that. The Family Feud part, I mean.)

I need discipline. Someone to say, "Bone, you can't go out to play until you've done your homework." By "go out to play" I mean "retreat further from social interaction by playing games online." And by "done your homework" I mean "written for thirty minutes."

I thought about re-instituting my Blogtober rules for June, but decided I'd wait until at least August, as Blogust sounds better than... well, whatever Blog-plus-June would be. On the other hand, Blogust also sounds a little like one of the ten plagues.

We shall see. Meanwhile, if you Boggle online, hit me up. I'm "Bone" or "Roll Tide" on the 4x4 board.

Finally, I'd like to close today with a Father's Day anecdote. I had contacted Dad's wife earlier this week for some possible ideas for Father's Day gifts, hoping maybe to surprise him. That went something like this:

"Have you heard him say anything he might want or need for Father's Day?"

"Yeah, there are a couple of things he's mentioned."

Alright! I'm thinking. She continues.

"The band on his underwear tore the other night and he was going to buy some new ones but I told him Father's Day is coming up and the kids might get you some."

Short pause to wait for response. There is none.

"He wears the white briefs."

"OK. Anything else?"

"He also needs some of the Mach 3 razor blades."

Sigh. OK, first of all, I'm not buying tightie-whities for anybody, especially not anybody related to me. Second of all, this is exactly the same thing Dad asked for last Father's Day, except I think he also wanted batteries last year.

As the week wound down, my sister and I were still void of ideas, so I decided to just call Dad and ask him directly if there was anything he wanted.

"Ya'll don't have to get me anything. Just keep being my kids." His usual response.

"Dad, it's Father's Day. You know we are going to get you something, just as we have every Father's Day, lo, these many years."

"Well, I guess I could use some new underwear. Mine's got holes in them."

Audible sigh.

"I wear the white briefs."

Yes, Dad, I am aware. Some of my most vivid childhood memories are of you walking around the house at night in ONLY those white briefs. Everyone's father does that, right? Actually, you know what, don't answer that.

"Alright. Is there anything else you can think of?"

"Oh, you know what, there is something else I need."

Finally! At long last!

"Ya'll can get me some of those Mach 3 razor blades."


"Man, it's a hot one. Like seven inches from the midday sun..."

Here comes the sun

Riddle me this: Somewhere in Alabama today, a three-week-old child asks, "What's that in the sky, Dad?" "That's the sun," is the reply. The child had never seen it. Smart kid? Well, he was talking at three weeks. On the other hand, he didn't know what the sun was. Also, the dad was the child's mother. So maybe not so smart after all.

The sun finally came out here today, for the first time in three weeks. Thank goodness, too, because the constant cloudiness and gray was starting to fool my body into thinking it was winter. Which would have put me in danger of catching a case of the non-seasonal Januarys. Which is rare, not to mention more resistant than the regular Januarys.

How bad has it been? During a recent performance of Annie, when they got to the line "The sun will come out tomorrow" an angry audience member stood up and yelled, "You lie!"

Twenty-two consecutive days with rain combined with the Darryls each somehow acquiring a girlfriend has also cut into my already less-than-sterling golf game, er, social life. And when you add to that the fact that football is now on TV every night of the week but Tuesday and Wednesday, well let's just say that I don't get out much.

This makes it all the more difficult to understand how I missed the season premiere of The Office last week. Fortunately, you can watch everything online now, which precludes any need that I might have had to purchase one of those newfangled DVR players, for now anyway. Is this a good time to admit that I may or may not still use a VCR to record things on occasion?

It's hard for me to commit to very many TV shows at one time. They're like girls. I can only handle so many. There's a long-term obligation involved, not to mention the emotional strain some of these shows put on me. I watch Mad Men and Burn Notice when I remember, which usually winds up being about once every three weeks. Always The Office. And then parts of General Hospital during the day. I can't commit to any more. Pretty soon I've spread myself too thin and no one's happy.

Getting back to the Darryls, what is up with the girlfriends? I watched the Newhart series finale. I don't recall the Darryls ever getting married. Did I miss something?

Maybe it's time for me to spread my wings, move to Seattle and have my own show, a la Frasier Crane. It would be a spin-off--a reality series about Larry trying to make it on his own, sans the Darryls. It could be called Just Larry.

Is this the end of life as I know it...with the Darryls? Would you cry? Will I?

Stay tuned.

"Little darling, it seems like years since it's been clear. Here comes the sun. Here comes the sun. And I say it's all right..."

The time I boycotted ESPN (for one day)

You know that girl you keep breaking up with? At first, you start to miss her and do anything to get her back. So she takes you back, once maybe twice, but it's never quite the same. Then after a couple of times, you just don't care anymore. The very sight of her makes you nauseous. Her voice makes you want to jab a toothpick into your pupil and see what oozes out. You start to avoid her calls hoping she'll eventually fade out of your life completely. You can't believe you ever thought you loved her in the first place.

Brett Favre is that girl.

Let me tell you a little story. Every day of my life since we first got ESPN on our cable, circa 1981, I have done three things: breathe, sleep, and watch ESPN. (Shower? No, I've skipped a lazy Saturday here and there. Sorry, but it's true. Eat? Nope. See "stomach virus of 2007.")

Today, I can no longer say that. Because yesterday, I boycotted ESPN.

Why? Because I'm sick of hearing about Brett Favre. And I knew that was all they would be talking about. Oh yes, if Favre stubs his toe, ESPN has a reporter at the scene. Brett got a bad peach today at Joe's fruit stand? They're on it. Brett woke up feeling all emotional this morning? It's their top story.

You know what I wish? You know how when you're watching a game and some spirited (and possibly nude) fan runs onto the field, they never show the fan on camera so as not to give them the attention they so crave? I wish they would do that to Favre. Oh, you're coming back? You're not coming back? You're working out shirtless at some high school in Mississippi? We. Don't. Care.

Of course, that'll never happen. Which is why I was reduced last night to watching Nutella commercials, reruns of Married...With Children, and the episode of South Park where Cartman starts a christian rock band. ("It worked for Creed.") Thank goodness I had the forethought to only impose a one-day boycott.

Maybe if my afternoons didn't revolve around ESPN, this wouldn't even be an issue. Oh great, now I'm over-analyzing my own empty life. All because Mister Center-Of-The-Universe can't make up his ever-lovin' mind.

And it's not like I'm not sympathetic to indecisiveness. Au contraire. Heck, this morning I spent five minutes trying to decide whether I should wear this shirt or my other clean shirt. But this has gotten ridiculous. I don't need a play-by-play of every single thought and inclination Brett Favre has and every little thing he does.

That's why there's Twitter.

"Set me free, why don't you, babe? Get out my life, why don't you, babe? Cause you don't really love me. You just keep me hangin' on..."

Festivus IV

Every year around this time, I start hearing the questions. It really should come as no surprise. I mean, I'm single, thin, mid-thirties, and have an above average knowledge of all things Seinfeld.

"When's Festivus?"

"Are you having Festivus this year?"

After last year's 3rd Annual Festivus At Bone's drew only eight guests, down from the previous year's all-time high of fourteen, I had been considering not having Festivus this year. (Pause for gasps and bellows.)

I know, it's like telling a child Christmas has been cancelled. I just never realized how hard it would be to sustain a fake holiday. As I wrestled back and forth with the decision of whether or not to have a bunch of people over to trash my place, time just slipped up on me.

Tuesday is Festivus. Yet my Festivus pole remains in the crawlspace. Festivus evites have not been sent. And no Twix have been purchased for the candy lineup. Most importantly, my apartment has not been cleaned because I haven't had a girl over in weeks.

It's all these menial tasks. Laundry, grocery shopping, getting on here and surfing the internet. Do you have any idea how much time I waste on this computer? Throw in the fact that the city council has outlawed cockfighting, as well as unsanctioned cage fighting--severely limiting the options for the Feats of Strength--and it looked like Festivus wasn't going to happen.

Still, I was holding out hope right up to the last minute. Maybe some unexpected event, the magnitude of Donna Martin Graduates or the Save The Max radiothon, would occur to save Festivus.

It's kinda like in Liar Liar when Jim Carrey promised he was going to play baseball with the kid who played Lucas on General Hospital. And that girl from ER waited and waited until the very last minute even though Jim Carrey had let them down time and again. Then Jim Carrey gets thrown into jail, which is where the Festivus analogy kind of goes awry. Except that they boarded a plane for Boston with the guy who played David Lookner on Seinfeld, which kind of brings the whole thing full circle. But anyway...

I was ready to come to terms with the fact that there would be no 4th Annual Festivus At Bone's. Then the female portion of Kywana called the other day and said "Silver Bells" had come on the radio when she was in the car, and Kywana Jr. started singing "Silver Pole" instead of "Silver Bells." *sniff sniff*

Well, I just about lost it. And that's when I remembered what Festivus is all about. It's not about having a clean apartment or how many of your friends don't show up even though they tell you they will. Festivus is about getting together with people and feeling no obligation to buy them a gift. It's about letting those you care for know all the ways they have disappointed you over the past year. Most of all, it's about passing Frank Costanza's vision on to the next generation.

So Festivus at Bone's is on for Friday night. It's another Festivus miracle! Besides, if I don't do it, who will?

Sure, it's probably too late to book Christopher Cross. Actually, it's probably not. Still, there'll be lots of shouting and plenty of food if you get there early. And considering how close this Festivus was to not happening at all, I'd say there's a good chance it will surpass all Festivuses (Festivi?) past--all three of them.

Here's wishing you all a Happy Festivus For The Rest Of Us! Now, please join me in singing that favorite of all Festivus songs, Silver Pole.

"Silver Pole, Silver Pole. It's Festivus in the city. Tinsel free. So sturdy. Soon it will be Festivus..."

The Great Sibling Experiment Of 1980

Today is my sister's birthday. I should know. Twenty-eight years ago today, I spent the wee morning hours in the ER waiting room, puking my guts out. (At this point, it strikes me that if I truly desire to someday be a writer I should probably come up with a better phrase than "puking my guts out.")

Anyway, in honor of Sister Bone--as she is known in blogging circles--I proudly present this edition of Sibling Memories. It's sorta like home videos for the blog. Enjoy, and thanks again for having internet.

One of the first memories that comes to mind is the Telecommunications Treaty of 1987. This was where my Dad, in a sudden burst of King-Solomon-esque cut-the-baby-in-half wisdom, ruled that on odd numbered days my sister would get to watch what she wanted on TV. And on even numbered days, I could watch what I wanted.

In time, I realized that in months having thirty-one days, Sister Bone would get control over the TV on back-to-back days (I never watched so much Full House in my life), making this treaty completely unfair. Still, it remained binding under the reign of Dad The First and was quite inconvenient, at least until I starting driving and working and wasn't home as much.

Zoom forward to the Fourth of July, 1989. I was going to pick up my uncle and aunt who didn't have a car and bring them back to our house for the holiday festivities. Sister Bone and two of my younger cousins were in the car with me so that I could show off my new driving abilities.

Soon after I put the car in reverse, we felt a jolt and heard the sound of crunching metal. I had backed into Mom's car. Terrified, I cautioned everyone in the car not to say anything until I figured out what to do. You know, because as long as no one told her, Mom surely wouldn't notice the huge dent in her driver's side door for weeks. Before I even got the words out of my mouth, Sister Bone was out of the car and running inside to tell on me.

Needless to say, no one was happier than me when Sister Bone's tattling phase finally ended, also known as the day she turned twenty-two. I really did enjoy having a sibling, though. So much so that I distinctly remember several times after Sister Bone was born begging Mom and Dad to have me a baby brother.

All along the way, we engaged in high-level psychological warfare. One of my favorites was when Dad would tell us we were not to touch each other. I would put my hands ever so close to Sister Bone's face and taunt her repeatedly with the words, "I'm not touching you. I'm not touching you." (You may have heard other kids using this, but I assure you I invented it.)

In turn, she would whine to Dad, "He's looking at me." And then I would be told that I was not to look at her. Thinking back sometimes, I'm amazed Dad The First didn't abdicate the throne.

Of course, times weren't always so good. There was the day I was playing a pickup football game and ran head first into the goalpost. I had a slight concussion and had to stay overnight in the hospital. A few weeks later, I found a letter Sister Bone--probably fourteen at the time--had written to me in a spiral notebook. All about how she missed me and was worried about me. I know, how mushy, right?

Sometimes I don't think a brother realizes what he means to his sister. And probably vice versa.

Happy birthday, sis. This concludes year twenty-eight of the Great Sibling Experiment of 1980. If Sister Bone read that line, she would probably say something like, "You're so weird." To which I would promptly reply, "I know you are but what am I."

"Or maybe head up north, to Knoxville, Tennessee. I know my baby sister has got a couch where I can sleep..."

Have you Scene It?

It was your typical weekday afternoon. I was fighting to stay awake for another hour or so of work, trying to get over the shock of seeing Sonny Corinthos stabbed and dropped in the river with cement blocks chained to his feet. (Fortunately, Carly happened by the waterfront, dove to the bottom of the river, somehow picked the locks on Sonny's chains, unchained him, and swam him back to the surface, all while holding her breath.) A commercial break came on, and that's when I heard it.

"General Hospital, brought to you in part by Scene It Seinfeld."

Wait. Did I hear that right? It couldn't be, could it? Two of the very cornerstones of my life coming together? Apparently, the answer to those questions is yes. Yes I did. Yes it could. And yes they have.

My initial reaction was probably not unlike many of yours--after all this time, my Nuvaring post was finally paying off! At last, they've begun marketing to the 25-39 year old straight male soap viewing crowd. And why not? There must be dozens of us out here.

Next, a Vagisil commercial came on and my thoughts turned to this new product: Scene It? Seinfeld. They've done it! It's been done.

The problem here is the same problem I always face with Seinfeld-related releases, especially around the holidays. Either everyone will get me one and I'll wind up with like four, or no one will get me one because they think everyone else will be getting me one. It can be quite the conundrum.

It didn't take long for people to start contacting me. I must say, there is something quite comforting about friends--even those I've not heard from in awhile--knowing me so well that I'm the first person they think of when there's news regarding Seinfeld, Matchbox Twenty, or Lindsay Lohan.

The female half of Kywana IM'd me one morning to see if I'd heard about it. We discussed what a great addition this will be to this year's Festivus celebration. Then Friday, a girl I've spoken to maybe once in the past year called to tell me about it. She also raised an issue I had yet to think about, saying, "No one will want to play with you because you'll know every single answer."

Drat! She had a point. I would dominate. It'd be like Kramer fighting children in karate. After careful consideration, meditation, and asking myself what would Jason & Jerry do (WWJJD), I came to a decision.

I've decided that I'm perfectly fine with always winning.

"Master of the house, doling out the charm. Ready with a handshake and an open palm..."

Is there a dishwalla in the house?

One day while going thru the mail, right between a Limited Too catalog and a letter from the Scooter Store, I found an advertisement for a satellite television service. Basically, they offered twice as many channels for the same price I was paying for cable. It all seemed simple enough.

I was tired of being bamboozled by the cable company and watching my favorite channels--SoapNet, Game Show Network, etc.--slowly be taken away one by one. So I called. An appointment was made for someone to come out Friday morning between 8 AM and 12 Noon.

Ah yes, the four hour window. That always slightly irks me. How did we get to this point in society where we place the satellite, and cable guy on such a pedestal that we'll wait hours for them? Even a doctor can usually get you in within two hours of your appointment. But because these people hold the keys to Stephen Colbert, Dancing With The Stars, and Steve Wilkos, we'll wait all day.

Anyway, the lady at the satellite place said I would need a letter from my landlord giving them permission to install a dish. Well, that didn't sound like such a big deal, until I got the letter. Among other things, it stated that the dish couldn't be mounted on the building or the fence. But... that's all there is.

I actually considered mounting it to my car. I thought, if I just park in the exact same spot every day... I mean, I was gonna put tape down where my tires were supposed to go.

The letter went on to state that the dish must be mounted either on a tripod or on a pole in a five gallon bucket. Uh, does that seem odd to anyone but me?

However, after doing a bit of online research, I found other people had actually done these pole-and-bucket installations. Well, giddy up then! Welcome to Redneck Satellite Installation 101. I was fairly certain there was going to be some duct tape involved in this at some point.

So off to Lowe's I went. Allow me to say here that I love going to Lowe's. There's something about walking thru aisles of laminate flooring, two-by-tens, and high performance toilets. It's akin to opening the hood of a car. I feel like I'm really accomplishing something, even when I have no clue what I'm doing.

I procured a couple of bags of Quikrete and a six foot iron pole and was on my way. The pole was a joy to fit into my mid-sized American sedan. I'm sure some of you are wondering, what about the bucket Bone? Nice to see you're paying attention. Actually, I found someone who said they would give me a bucket. When you start asking people if they have a five gallon bucket, you might be surprised at how many actually do.

I poured the concrete and put up the pole on Thanksgiving. I'm sure the neighbors probably thought it was just another one of my strange holiday observances, as they already know I celebrate Festivus. Then I took the day off work Friday, woke up at 7:45 AM, and waited. And waited. And... waited.

That's right, the four hour window wasn't quite enough for Satellite Joe. He finally came rolling in around 1:45 PM. Nice. I handed him the letter. After looking it over for between sixty and ninety seconds, he said, and I quote, "We can't do this."

Apparently, the company is not allowed to mount a dish to a pole in a bucket. Have you ever heard such nonsense! So basically, my landlord has placed so many restrictions on how and where a dish can be installed that it's next to impossible to do within the rules. It's kinda like giving a kid a car and saying you can't use keys to start it, you can't put gas in it, and the tires can't touch the ground.

After a few minutes of discussing and explaining, Satellite Joe departed, despite my protests of "I saw them do it on the internet!" Now I have a bucket and a pole on my patio for no apparent reason. And no way to watch the Dallas/Green Bay game Thursday night.

So if anyone out there has NFL Network, I'm not above inviting myself over. I'll be there between 2 PM and 6 PM.

"He's got thirteen channels of wrestling comin' in strong from a satellite send. A two hundred function remote control. Big screen TV with stereo..."

Sundays with Chachi

Well the eight-week Sunday night experience that was Scott Baio Is 45 & Single has come to an end. Therefore, this may be the last time I ever blog about Scott Baio, though I seriously doubt it.

I learned a lot from the show. Things like Chachi lost his virginity to Joanie; Scott doesn't like being called Chachi, which could come in handy, you know, if Scott and I were to ever star on the same reality show; "If This Is It" by Huey Lewis & The News is the ringtone on Scott's phone; some girls have the ability to remain bitter for many years; and last but not least, Nicole Eggert is still wawawa.

As reality shows go, this one was good. Very good. And keep in mind this is coming from a self-professed disparager of the reality genre in general. For example, I've never seen a single episode of Survivor.

But part of my dislike, I think, stems from the fact that so many of these shows aren't anywhere close to reality. Take Big Brother, for instance. Twelve people who don't know each other living in the same house is not reality for anyone I know.

Scott Baio Is 45 & Single, which will at times be referred to as SBI45&S, dealt with a very real and relatable situation, often doing so with humor, and other times leaving the viewer cringing.

The fact that Baio was a celebrity wasn't always in your face. Sure, there were guest appearances by Nicole Eggert, Erin Moran, and Julie McCullough, if you can consider her a celebrity, along with a phone call to Henry Winkler. But all of them combined got maybe fifteen minutes of airtime. That wasn't what the SBI45&S was about.

(By the way, Julie, I'm no life coach, but you might want to see about getting a mental evaluation sometime soon. I'm sensing some issues there.)

At first glance, Scott comes off as a pompous, shallow jerk. And he was. The show revealed Baio as having been a playboy and having commitment issues, yet at the same time managed to show some redeeming characteristics along with his desire to change.

Sometimes it felt like Scott was in rehab. But that's what made the show work, Baio's willingness to let his faults show, laugh at himself, and have his past exploits aired for all to see.

It wasn't always pretty. (See "cringing" above.) But that brutal openness, combined with Baio's surprisingly smooth and witty commentary, made Scott Baio Is 45 & Single enjoyable from beginning to end.

And now, a spoiler warning. Because ever since that whole Santa Claus thing, I've hated spoilers.

The show ended with Scott telling his girlfriend, Renee, that he is ready to be married. Then she dropped P-bomb on him. Yep, preggorama. So now Scott Baio is an expectant father. I just hope this isn't in going to affect my chances of Scott Baio Is 46 & My Mentor getting picked up next season.

Hmmm, I wonder if Jason Hervey is available. Oh, what am I saying? Of course he is!

"I'm not James At 15 or Chachi In Charge. I'm Adam and I'm adamant about living large. With the white Sassoons and the looks that kill..."

The Boost Up

Please stop over and wish Pia a happy bloggiversary. I'm checking with Miss Manners right now to see what the appropriate gift is for the 3rd bloggiversary.

Summer has been forcing my hand lately, off the track and into the water. I only went running two nights last week, and spent most of the weekend not very far from the cool relief of H2O. I never remember us having this many 100+ degree days in one year.

I went swimming at my sister's this afternoon. While that was mostly uneventful, there was one noteworthy event. We were floating around and out of the blue she asked, "Do you ever watch Scott Baio Is 45 & Single?"

Sigh. What a proud moment in the life of a big brother. I'm not ashamed to admit I nearly became emotional. Just thinking for all the mistakes I've made, I must have done something right, you know? *sniff*

Saturday, Little Joe and I spent all day at my friend Jamie's house on the lake. Ten hours of swimming, boating, eating, reapplying sunscreen, repeat.

Also, I encountered a girl there who said she'd met me previously, though I have no recollection of such a meeting. And I mean, really, what are the chances I wouldn't remember meeting a girl?

Several of us went out to eat that evening at Mister Bean's Barbecue, owned by professional boxer Butterbean. He was there so we got to meet him. Normally I'm not a fan of people named after vegetables, i.e. Carrot Top, but Mister Bean seemed like a really nice guy.

Coincidentally, we'd been talking earlier in the day about the most famous person we'd ever met. Jamie's was Jimmy Carter, LJ settled on Jose Canseco, and mine was Faith Hill. I feel safe in saying none of those rankings changed after our visit to Mister Bean's.

After supper, we came back and swam a bit more. That's when the idea of jumping off the roof of Jamie's dock crossed my mind. I asked her if anyone had ever done that. She said a couple of people had, but that it was a bit tricky getting up there. You either had to stand on the railing of the pier and pull yourself up, or climb up the ladder of the slide and step across about a four-foot gap to the roof. I opted for the latter, or ladder.

It was a bit tenuous getting from the slide to the roof, but jumping off was worth the risk. You know, because I'm 34 and apparently still amused by the same things as a 16 year old.

I kept trying to get LJ to jump, but he was quite hesitant, claiming since he was shorter than me, it would be harder for him to get on the roof. Jamie urged him on saying, "Oh come on, Bone will give you a boost up."

Ah, yes, the boost up. That most ancient and reliable of methods for hoisting a human being skyward. The boost up is performed by clasping one's hands together in a virtually unbreakable grip, then turning them upside down like a stirrup. The climber puts his/her foot into the hands of the booster-upper and is lifted to higher ground.

It is unclear who invented the boost up. Some think Noah gave his wife a boost up into the ark. Others say no, that the ark had that big handicapped-accessible ramp. They surmise that perhaps Aaron gave the first boost up when Moses planted a dusty sandal in his brother's hands to get started up Sinai.

However it began, the boost up has endured for ages. I don't remember anyone ever teaching me how to do the boost up, it just seems I've always known. Maybe it's as instinctive as survival, blinking, or turning the channel whenever a Pauly Shore movie comes on. Someone needs to get somewhere vertically, there are no ladders or footholds around, your hands automatically go into position.

With the knuckles acting as a locking mechanism, not allowing the hands to slip apart, the boost up is virtually foolproof. I've never seen one fail.

I mean, think about it. Have you ever heard of someone getting injured and when you ask what happened they say, "Well, Bill was trying to give me a boost up, but it just didn't work?"

I didn't think so.

Anyway, after I had jumped about four or five times Saturday, LJ finally decided to give it a go. He stood on the rail of the pier while I proffered a trusty stirrup. And while the story would probably be a bit more entertaining if there had been a mishap, that did not happen. My friend clambered onto the roof, the beneficiary of another successful boost up.

Accidents happen. Ladders fall, feet slip, people go hunting with Dick Cheney. But the boost up never fails.

That's pretty much it for my weekend. I'm not sure what's on tap for next weekend, but after watching Scott Baio tonight, there may be a cuddle party in my near future.

"Man, it's a hot one, like seven inches from the mid-day sun..."

Things that make you go hmmm, in Hazzard

For some reason, I've been quite inquisitive lately. Saturday I was questioning my roots and my very existence. Today it's on to a more serious topic, The Dukes Of Hazzard.

One has to marvel that the show stayed on the air for seven seasons. I mean, how many different episodes can you write where the good ol' boys save the day and foil the bad guys? I guess there were bound to be a few plot stretches. To wit, the defecting Soviet gymnast and the haunted General Lee. In that sense, it was sort of the Gilligan's Island of the 1980's, and poses at least as many questions.

It has long gnawed at me how Bo & Luke always seemed to have an ample supply of dynamite at their behest, you know, whenever the need arose. Thinking of that, I can't help but wonder how the Dukes would fare in this day and time. They should do a reunion show, Bo & Luke versus Homeland Security.

For some reason, I have been watching the show a bit more the past few days. And other questions have forced their way to the surface, like a bulb of pus culminating in a non-aesthetic whitehead.

Let's begin with the basic familial setup. You had Uncle Jesse and five cousins--Bo, Luke, Daisy, and oh yes, don't forget Coy and Vance. None of the five were siblings, and Jesse was father to none of them, yet they all had the last name Duke. That means that Jesse had to have at least five brothers himself, all of whom had at least one child who wound up living with the same uncle for a time when they were grown, right?.

Or maybe Uncle Jesse was not really an uncle at all. Maybe he was more like a modern-day Uncle Remus, a jolly old man who took in strays and walked around with bluebirds perched on his Libertys.

And what about the General Lee? It was supposed to be souped up, right? Well how come anytime there was a chase which also involved Daisy's Jeep, Uncle Jesse's truck, and/or random bad guy's sedan, the other vehicles were always able to keep up with the General?

Here's another peculiarity. Everytime anyone was ever driving around looking for someone, even if they had no clue where that someone was, they'd eventually meet them on the road. How many roads were there in Hazzard County, like two?

Also, what was the point of having Bo and Luke wear the same outfit 99% of the time? I mean, it was fine for the Flintstones, but come on, no one wore the same shirt day after day after day in the eighties. Plus, Daisy always had on different tops and such. Was she controlling the budget in the household and not alloting Bo and Luke enough money for clothes? And if so, why wasn't there an episode about that?

Why wasn't Daisy ever married, or even dating anyone?

And is it just me, or were there a curiously high number of bridges out in Hazzard County?

I believe these are all pertinent questions which require much research and in-depth analysis to answer. Then and only then will we begin to understand the sociological intricacies that defined Hazzard County.

It's funny, you don't really ponder such questions when you're playing with your matchbox General Lee and cop car in a gravel driveway. When you're ten years old, all you really think about is trying to persuade your Mom to put a Dixie horn on her Cutlass.

"My girl bust in, caught us creating a boom. She said, girlfriend? Things that make you go hmm..."

The voice of a not-so-new generation

According to Wikipedia, my personal source for all things relevant and otherwise, Generation X refers to persons born between the years 1961 and 1981.

I've never cared for the term myself. For years, I didn't even know what it was supposed to mean. When I finally looked it up, I did not feel it described me well at all. Much like my high school code of conduct, I do not think it applies to me. So I set out to redefine, and rename, my generation.

It is a generation who purchased cassette singles and understood the emotional value of a mix tape; who generally have a great appreciation and longing for 80's music, television, and movies; who went to arcades to play video games; who know that Alf is from Melmac and Mork is from Ork; and who can scarcely remember a time when Vanna White was not on TV.

It saddens me to think the next generation will never know the utter joy of purchasing a cassette single. They'll never know the experience of listening to the B-side and hearing either a totally crap song, or a song you wind up liking better than the A-side. Heck, they may not even know what an A-side is.

Sure, spending $3.49 for one or two songs rather than $8.99 for the entire album might seem impractical. But with artists like Deon Estus, Sheriff, and Right Said Fred, you typically didn't want the whole album.

Also, when you were only making $3.85 an hour stocking shelves and collecting buggies at the grocery store, you knew that extra five bucks meant a meal at Taco Bell and two dollars gas to get you home.

It saddens me that the next generation may never know the thrill of having a numeric-only pager. There were no ringtones. Your only two options were tone or vibrate. And unlimited paging was $9.95 per month, also known as, the price of cool.

How will they survive never knowing what 143 means? Not to mention the life skills learned when you got a page followed by "911" and had to drive around and find a payphone to call the person back. I would venture a guess that a significant percentage of the population today have never even used a payphone. What a frightening thought.

It saddens me to think the next generation never got to enjoy Must See TV, the pinnacle of prime time television. To them, Cliff Huxtable, Alex P. Keaton, and Sam Malone are just characters dressed in out-of-style clothes that they might occasionally flip past on TVLand or Nick At Nite. They probably think Reality TV is good TV. Danny Tanner getting caught kissing DJ's teacher at school. That's good TV.

The Cosby Show, Newhart, Cheers, Growing Pains, Family Ties, The Hogan Family, Silver Spoons, Perfect Strangers, Who's The Boss, Head Of The Class, Charles In Charge, Night Court, and on and on--the 80's was the sitcom decade.

Wait a second... I think that's it!

Yes. That's it.

I, Bone, in front of God, bloggers everywhere, and bitter ex-girlfriends who lurk on my blog, do hereby coin the phrase, The Sitcom Generation.

We may be forced to watch reality TV, but that doesn't mean we have to like it. You can kill the sitcom, but you cannot kill us. Why? Because we learned how to obtain infinite lives on Super Mario Brothers.

Now if you'll excuse me, I believe VH-1 is about to replay the most recent episode of Scott Baio Is 45 & Single.

143 all.

"When did reality become TV? Whatever happened to sitcoms, game shows? And on the radio Springsteen, Madonna. Way before Nirvana, there was U2, and Blondie,
and music still on MTV..."

Will Neuter For Plinko Chips

When I was but a boy of eight or nine, probably up until the time I was twelve or thirteen, I was not overly fond of school. There may have been a few times when I even feigned sickness in an attempt to get Mom to let me stay home.

Home meant bed and snacks and television. The Bozo Show. The Price is Right at 10. Family Feud with Richard Dawson at 11. And then Ryan's Hope kicking off the ABC soap block at 11:30.

Bozo died. (I'm sorry kids, but it's true.) Richard Dawson left Family Feud. And Ryan's Hope went off the air in 1989. Only one has endured: Bob Barker and The Price Is Right.

The man and the show are as inseparable as a maestro and his baton. Bob Barker is an American icon. Long before there was Vanna White, there were Barker's beauties. He single-handedly introduced "plinko" into the American vernacular for crying out loud. And who among us hasn't wished to hear our name uttered before that most famous of phrases, "Come on down, you're the next contestant on The Price Is Right!"

Barker was the first popular game show host to let his hair go gray. Leading by example, he taught us to pick and choose our battles and causes close to our heart. He didn't try to solve all the world's problems, instead choosing to focus on controlling the pet population.

Around our house, if you were home at 10 in the morning, you watched The Price Is Right. That's just what you did. It seems like there would always be some college student on there from San Diego or USC. And the cars they'd give away would have California tags. And I'd think about California and what a sunny, exciting, exotic place it must be.

Even though I haven't had the chance to watch the show much in recent years, there was always something very comforting knowing that it was still on every Monday thru Friday. Knowing that people were still playing Hole-In-One, The Range Game, Three Strikes, and Cliff Hangers, and spinning the big wheel.

Barker began hosting The Price Is Right September 4, 1972, five months and eight days before a certain blogger you know made his grand entrance into the world kicking and screaming.

For my entire life, Bob Barker and The Price Is Right have been on TV. But now, like everything else, that too is coming to an end. Barker has announced his retirement and his last episode is scheduled to air June 15. So pardon me if I wax nostalgic. It feels like part of my childhood is being lost.

The show will go on, but don't think for a second that it will ever be the same. Barker effortlessly commanded the audience and controlled the show skillfully and smoothly. He became as important to the show as the big wheel, yet never in a way that was over-bearing or took away from the game itself.

I predict that after awhile, ratings will inevitably drop. They'll probably change hosts again. At some point, they'll try to boost interest by altering the rules of the game, or maybe giving the set a snazzier look.

That's one of the things I found so endearing about The Price Is Right, though. The set and colors have changed so little over the years. Sure, it may look a little dated, but again it's sort of comforting.

I hate change, but everything changes. And after June 15, something that has existed as long as I've been alive will be gone. There'll be a new host and the show will go on, but to me, the price will never be exactly right again.

And for Bob's sake, people, have your pets spayed or neutered.

"And in the streets the children screamed, the lovers cried, and the poets dreamed. But not a word was spoken. The church bells all were broken..."

24 Recap: 5/21/07

Whoever found my blog searching for Ricky Shroder shirtless, well, I'm sending a CTU field team after you.

Recapping the two-hour season finale, also known as Day Six: 4:00 AM - 6:00 PM...

Ricky takes Josh by chopper to a nice spot on the beach, as directed by Jack's father. Ricky assures Josh he won't let anything happen to him. Then appears to staple a tracking device into Josh's arm. Don't worry, we do this to every person we're about to trade to some sociopath for a piece of circuitry.

Meanwhile, Jack is in custody, being transported back to CTU. He gets on the phone and warns Karen that Jack's father has no intention of giving up the sub-circuit board (SCB) for Josh, and that she must stop the exchange. Karen tells Tom about the call, saying of Jack, "He's been more right than we have today." Now that you mention it! Tom says he will "look the other way" if Karen decides to do something. She calls Bill.

"What do you want me to do?" Bill asks.
"Whatever it takes," Karen replies. This dialogue was written by Mrs. Cooper's second grade class at Beverly Hills Elementary School. They won a contest. Actually, scratch that. I don't want to insult the second graders.

At la Casa Blanca, Daniels calls the Russian President to apologize. Hey, Yuri, you know that little we-already-destroyed-the-sub-circuit-board hoax we tried to pull over on you? April Fools! So whattya say we just let cold wars be bygones? Suvarov says he will continue towards military action unless the SCB is destroyed.

At CTU, Chloe continually looks like she's about to pass out. Nadia gets a call from Karen telling her she needs to be able to track the vehicle carrying Jack. A short while later, an oncoming car forces the SUV carrying Jack off the road. It's Bill! Jack and Bill subdue the two CTU agents and take off for the beach in Bill's truck.

At the beach, two men approach in a speedboat. One of them is Walid! Oh wait. Nevermind. It was hard to tell in the wetsuit. They come ashore. Ricky asks to see the SCB. When he opens the box, it explodes, knocking him down and bloodying his face. Jack and Bill arrive as the men take Josh onto the boat.

At some point, a man wanders into CTU. It turns out to be Milo's brother, Stuart, come to get Milo's body. Stuart tells Nadia that Milo talked about her a lot, then asks how he died. Nadia tells him Milo died a hero, saving her life. Then Stuart disappears, never to be heard from again. And THIS is a perfect microcosm of the entire season.

We now return you to your regularly scheduled program of saving the world Josh from terrorists Jack's father.

Back at la Casa Blanca, Karen gets an "access denied" message on her computer. She knows she's been caught and calls Bill to thank him for his help. Then two men come to take her away.

Jack calls CTU to get help for Ricky. He tells Nadia he wants the location of every oil rig within a ten mile radius. Meanwhile, Chloe finally passes out, right in front of Morris' workstation.

End hour one...

Out at Decommissioned Oil Rig 417-B, Josh arrives. Cheng tells Jack's father a submarine will be there in thirty minutes to take them to China.

At CTU, Chloe is in Medical undergoing tests. Nadia finds a decommissioned oil platform owned by Jack's father's company six miles off the coast of Los Angeles.

When la Casa Blanca learns of the new information, one of Daniels' advisers recommends an air strike on the oil rig. Daniels orders in the F-18's. They will hit the rig in 30 mintues.

On the beach, Ricky is loaded into an ambulance. Jack tells Nadia the trauma team said Ricky will be blind in one eye, if not both. Nadia informs Jack of the air strike and orders him and Bill to return to CTU.

Jack eyes the chopper. Bill tells him to not even think about it.

Bill: "Look I realize he's your nephew-"
Jack: "I'm not gonna do something because he's my nephew. I'm gonna do something because he's an innocent kid who's been written off as some sort of acceptable loss. It's wrong."
Bill: "I'll fly." Apparently, being able to fly a helicopter is a prerequisite for working at CTU.

From the chopper, Jack calls CTU to ask for their satellite uplink. Nadia is hesitant, but Bill massages her verbally with, "This is the right thing to do."

At Rig 417-B, Cheng tells Jack's father a helicopter is approaching. De plane! De plane! Jack's father takes Josh and heads for the boat.

While the chopper hovers, Jack takes out of a couple of men on the rig, allowing Bill to land. Jack is also blowing up barrels left and right. Cheng gets knocked down by one of the exploding barrels. Bill apprehends Cheng and leads him to the chopper. Jack goes to look for Josh.

Down below, as Jack's father is untying the boat from the... thingy, Josh hits him over the head with an over-sized wrench, then grabs his gun and points it at him. Jack's father tells Josh to give him the gun. Josh explains, "As long as you're alive, me and my Mom will never be safe." Then, Josh shoots him!

Jack's father is wounded but not dead yet. Jack appears at the top of the stairs and orders Josh to lower his weapon, offering this nugget of wisdom: "You do not want to live with the pain of taking another person's life." Umm, Jack? Eh, nevermind.

With four minutes to go until the F-18's arrive, Jack orders Josh to go to the chopper. Jack holds a gun on his father, telling him he's going to pay for everything he's done today. Jack's father says Jack doesn't have time to carry
him to the chopper before the F-18's arrive.

With only two minutes until the airstrike, Jack heads upstairs, leaving his father to die on the rig. Even though there's a boat like five feet away. Bill takes off without Jack, with Josh yelling, "You can't leave my uncle!"

Bill swings by and Jack jumps from the rig, grabbing onto the rope hanging from the chopper just as the F-18's strike, sending the oil rig up in flames. It's only 5:36? The "Josh, I am your father" line has GOT to be coming!

As they fly towards shore, Jack lets go of the rope and drops in to the ocean below!

The end.

Relax, I'm only kidding. Although actually, that would have been a more suspenseful ending than what we had.

The last half hour is spent tying up a few of the many loose ends. When word comes in that the SCB was destroyed, Suvarov orders the immediate withdrawal of Russian troops. Tom convinces Daniels to let Karen go and resign with her reputation intact. He then gives Daniels the blackmail recording he was holding of Daniels and Lisa. I wondered what was going to happen with that. Oh right, nothing!

At CTU, Chloe tells Morris she's pregnant. Maybe they should rename the show A Baby Story and switch to TLC. Bill and Josh arrive with Cheng, who says, "My people will not abandon me like you abandoned Jack Bauer." Josh is reunited with his mother. Nadia asks about Jack. Bill tells her to let him go.

Cut to the Heller beach house. William Devane is just getting off the phone when Jack walks in. Jack says he wants his life back, including Audrey. Heller says Audrey will always be in danger if she's with Jack.

Jack demands to see Audrey. Heller leads him to her room. Audrey is lying in bed, apparently asleep. Jack tells her the best way for him to protect her is to let her go. Audrey never opens her eyes or says a word. Jack kisses her forehead then leaves.

The episode ends with Jack standing at the edge of a cliff, looking down at the swirling waters far below.

The good:
Jack and Bill teaming up and raiding the oil rig. It was nice to have them in the chopper. A little old school 24, if only for a few moments.

Josh shooting his grandfather. That was pretty cool.

The bad:
The anti-climatic last half hour. Snooze. It was almost as if the writers weren't sure if this were a season-finale or a series-finale, so they tied up a bunch of things quickly and clumsily, just in case.

The threat of a Russian military strike against a US base in Central Asia never

Very little classic Chloe, both tonight and all season. Helping Jack techno-geek Chloe: good. Pregant fainting Chloe: bad.

No cliffhangers for next year. (Yes, I'm aware I griped about the cliffhanger last season.) But really, what are we supposed to be looking forward to? Will Ricky be blind? Is Morris Chloe's baby daddy? Will Jack decide to plunge to his death, never knowing Josh was his son?

Worst quote:
"The component was fake. It blew." Oh, it blew alright. Wait, was he talking about the component, this episode, or the entire season?

Did you know...
April Fools Day was originally observed on March 31st.

In summary...
Overall, this season was a disappointment, even for the most avid 24 fans. There was far less action, less suspense, and fewer shockers than previous years. It's almost like they blew their wad in the first four hours.

There were too many broken storylines. And the practice of bringing back old characters for an episode or two for seemingly no reason whatsoever just added to the mediocrity of this season.

So we leave season six with President Palmer and Lisa unconscious, Ricky possibly blind, and having not heard in weeks from Sandra Palmer, Walid, Aaron Pierce, Martha Logan, Charles Logan, and on and on.

24 became one of the best on television by keeping viewers on the edge of their seats for sixty minutes each and every week. And while this season had its moments, it fell far short of that standard that had been set by the previous five.

"I can see a new horizon underneath the blazing sky. I'll be where the eagle's flying higher and higher..."

24 Recap: 5/14/07

OK, next week is the two-hour season finale! Which means this week is, uh, the pre-finale?

Recapping Day Six: 3:00 AM - 4:00 AM...

With CTU still under siege, a couple of the Chinese take Josh away. B3 (Billy Bob Brosnan) backhands Nadia as she tries to intervene. Was I the only one to yell "Booyah!" or other comparable expression of delight here?

As all CTU employees are being led to a holding cell, Jack plans an impromptu attack. He breaks out of line and takes out a guard, then shoots a couple of others. Even Morris gets in on the action, putting a sleeper hold on one guy. Who knew Morris had a background in the WWF! Seriously, Brutus "The Barber" Beefcake would be proud.

Finally Jack chokes B3 then breaks his neck for good measure. Ricky arrives on the scene just in time to take out one guy who is about to shoot Nadia. To recap, Nadia is the reason Milo is dead. Jack, Ricky, and a field team take off down the tunnel after Josh.

Josh is brought to Cheng's Perpetually Moving Headquarters (CPMHQ). Jack's father calls and talks to Josh:

"I'm taking you away from this ungrateful country. Some place we can both start over."
"Where?" Tahiti? Bora Bora? I hear Kazakhstan's nice this time of year.
"China." Oooh, close! China: Land of Confucius, human rights, and Yao Ming.

As Cheng and his men are leaving to deliver Josh to Jack's father, Jack pops out of the tunnel and begins firing. He shatters the window of one of the cars, causing it to swerve and hit a pole. A chase on foot ensues.

Cheng leads Josh up some stairs to the rooftop. Josh breaks away from Cheng and runs onto a catwalk. To clarify, we're not talking Right Said Fred here. We're talking a narrow, elevated passageway between two buildings.

Jack catches up to Cheng, who has run out of bullets. Josh, who is hanging on for his life beneath the catwalk, yells for help. Jack rescues Josh, but Cheng escapes. Josh informs Jack that he talked to his grandfather.

Cheng calls Jack's father to tell him he lost Josh. Jack's father says no deal on the component. Oh, I get it. So Cheng is the banker. Jack's father is the contestant. Who is Howie Mandel? Morris? And where are the twenty-five hotties?

Outside the Family Inn, Tom is watching in agony as Lisa and Bishop fornicate. When they're done, Lisa goes to freshen up. Although personally, I think that's a lost cause. Bishop picks up her PDA, then gets a suspcious look on his face. He confronts Lisa. She breaks open a bottle of wine, literally, over his head. Bishop backhands her. Tom orders the federal agents to move in. They apprehend Bishop as he is choking Lisa.

At CTU, a man identifying himself as Ben Kram from Division tells Nadia he's been sent over to investigate what went wrong during the security breach. Well, Nadia was in charge, for starters.

Tom calls to tell Daniels that he got Bishop to send the fake information to his Russian contact saying that the U.S. had destroyed the sub-circuit board. He also informs Daniels that Lisa was injured and is unconscious. Daniels is upset. You don't hold hands with someone and then get over them just like that. I don't care how they treat you.

Daniels and Karen go into the Telepresence Suite and raise Russian President Suvarov on the horn. Daniels tells Suvarov that the sub-circuit board has been destroyed. But Suvarov calls his bluff, saying he had surveillance set up on Bishop, so he knows exactly what went down.

Suvarov says if the U.S. hasn't recovered the sub-circuit board within two hours, the Russians will take military action. Daniels remarks to Karen, "We're about to go to war over a piece of circuitry." Exactly! Now do you see why it's so hard for us to get excited over this season? Whatever happened to suitcase nukes, nerve gas, and Chloe? Ah, the good ol' days.

On his way back to the White House, Tom gets a call from Jack's father. You know, because Tom's in his five. He asks to speak to the Vice President. Jack's father tells Daniels he wants his grandson and clear passage to the country of his choice in exchange for the sub-circuit board.

Again, deal or no deal? Karen says no deal, calling Jack's father a sociopath who can't be trusted. But Tom says it's a risk worth taking.

Out at the location formerly known as Cheng's Perpetually Moving Headquarters, Jack calls Marilyn and lets her talk to Josh. Then as he is leading Josh to a car which will take him to CTU, an agent tells Jack he has a call.

When Jack goes to take the call, Ricky grabs Josh and leads him to a waiting helicopter. Josh is yelling, "Uncle Jack!" Can you imagine if Jack Bauer was your uncle? Trouble with that bully at school? Just tell Uncle Jack. Suddenly, the bully just stops showing up for class. Calls are made to his house, but his parents don't answer either. Jack tries to get to Josh, but is restrained by several CTU agents. Ricky and Josh board the helicopter.

The good:
Morris putting one of the Chinese in a sleeper hold.

Nadia and Lisa getting backhanded, at different times and by different men.

More action this week. Still, at the end, I pictured Jack running and latching on to the helicopter skids as it took off. That would have been slightly more exciting, don't you think?

The bad:
The episode was too predictable. There were no surprises, except for maybe Jack's father calling Tom and making the offer to the Vice President.

Virtually no Chloe, again.

Best quote:
"And... finally. We're done."

Said by Tom, as he watches Lisa and Bishop finish up their business. Based on the circumstances and the way he said it, I found this to be one of the funniest 24 lines ever.

Did you know...
In 1986, Brutus Beefcake and Greg "The Hammer" Valentine lost the WWF Tag Team Title to the British Bulldogs at Wrestlemania 2.

Predictions:
Despite saving the country at least four times today, Jack will have to break out of Holding and/or go against the oval office to save the day one more time.

In a touching season-ending scene, wearing a Darth Vader Mask/Voice Changer, Jack confesses to a frightened Josh, "Josh, I am your father."

Questions:
Is Ben Kram legit? I mean, he got from Division, wherever that is, to CTU in like an hour from the time the breach occurred, at 3:30 in the morning. Not to mention the suspicion of bringing a new character in the next to last week of the season. Hmm...

Why in the world does Nadia have such a huge role this season, while Chloe has been virtually just part of the scenery in several episodes?

Why was Cheng so averse to having casualties at CTU?

"Yeah, on the catwalk, on the catwalk. Yeah, I shake my little tush on the catwalk..."

24 Recap: 5/7/07

Sunday was Pablo's second birthday. At least, it marked two years since I brought him home from that great Betta haven known as Wal-Mart. I'm thrilled to say my little pal is eating again everyday and seems to be doing fine.

OK, here's what we know... Last week may very well have been the worst episode of 24 ever. Nevertheless, with my OCD, nothing short of Keanu Reeves himself joining CTU will stop me from finishing out the season. Besides, with only three weeks remaining, things have got to get better... right?

Recapping Day Six: 2:00 AM - 3:00 AM...

Nadia, who is becoming more incompetent by the second, informs Jack that Heller has filed a restraining order to keep him away from Audrey. Jack asks Nadia to let him go so that he can help try and find Cheng, but she refuses. You know, because keeping Jack in Holding makes the show sooo much more exciting. Nadia returns to the main CTU floor thingy and sends out a field team led by Ricky.

At Cheng's Perpetually Moving Headquarters (CPMHQ), Cheng is planning an attack, although we're not told where. And everyone is speaking in Chinese, with English subtitles! This is like a Jackie Chan movie, except without the action and the witty black guy.

At CTU's Extended Stay lounge, Marilyn and Josh--aka JoshLyn--are kicking back watching news coverage of the nuclear explosion. 12,000 are dead. Josh is angry his father was involved, and says he wishes he was never a part of this sick family. Uh, yeah, good luck finding help with that one in the parenting handbooks.

Chloe comes in and tells Marilyn that Audrey is still alive. OK, we found this out, what, four hours ago? You're just now telling Marilyn? Oh that's right, they forgot to write Marilyn into the show for the past six weeks. Oops! Marilyn goes to check on Jack and tells him she will be there for him when all this is over.

At the White House, Tom tells Lisa they've uploaded fake information to her PDA that will make it look like the sub-circuit board was destroyed. They want Lisa to go see her Russian spy boytoy at the Family Inn, then find an excuse to leave the room so that he will snoop thru her PDA. Lisa calls to set up another meeting.

CTU teams arrive at Bloomfield, but there is no sign of Cheng. We see Cheng at CPMHQ, telling his #1 guy--who looks kinda like a cross between a young Billy Bob Thornton and Pierce Brosnan--that the objective is not to cause casualties, but to "obtain the package." Cheng's men drop thru a hole in the floor into a sewage line--where they are immediately attacked by the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles! Turtle Power! I'm only kidding. Sorry, just trying to create some excitement.

Cheng radioes directions to his men which he says should put them directly beneath CTU! Finally! A plot twist I actually halfway care about.

At the Family Inn--trapped in a storyline that is going nowhere yet won't seem to end--Tom and a couple other men wait and listen in a van across the street while Lisa goes inside. She tells Bishop she needs to go freshen up, but he wants her now. She lies back on the bed and takes off her shirt. I wonder who's going to get voted off Idol this week. I gotta go with LaKisha. She screams too much. I mean, I scream, too. But only in my sleep.

'Neath CTU, Cheng's men prepare to break in. One of his men hacks into CTU's security system--which apparently is not as difficult as one might imagine--and shuts everything down. As things start going haywire upstairs, Nadia calls for a lockdown, but it is too late. Cheng's men are inside CTU! They come in guns-a-blazing.

Billy Bob Brosnan, or B3, is leading the attack. He orders everyone at CTU to get on the floor, then asks who is in command. Nadia is frozen. Milo raises his hand and says he's in charge. B3 shoots Milo in the neck! Grief counseling for female admirers of Milo Pressman will be offered in the comments section below.

Jack hears the commotion and finally convinces the guard outside his Holding cell to let him out. The guard gets shot by one of Cheng's men. Jack takes his gun and begins trying to work his way to the main floor.

Two of Cheng's men come and get JoshLyn. As they are being taken back to the main area, they run into Jack. He takes out Cheng's men and leads JoshLyn to a ventilation duct. Josh climbs in, but before Jack and Marilyn can, more of Cheng's men show up and take the two of them into custody.

Meanwhile, Ricky keeps trying to call in. B3 decides to let Nadia answer and instructs her to tell Ricky everything is OK. As they hang up, Ricky looks a little suspicious. Wait a second. That wasn't Alfonso Ribeiro. What show is this!?

Jack and Marilyn are brought back to the main area. B3 gets on the PA system and tells Josh his mother will be shot if he doesn't show himself within ten seconds. Josh comes back. B3 informs Cheng that Josh has been captured.

Cheng calls someone and says, "The operation was successful. We have your grandson." Then we see Jack's father on the other end. OK, that wasn't obvious or anything. Cheng asks Jack's father if he's finished repairing the sub-circuit board yet. Jack's father says he will trade Cheng one sub-circuit board for one grandson. Cheng says they will meet in twenty minutes at the rendezvous point.

The good:
The direct attack on CTU. Even though it is extremely far-fetched, it's still eight hundred times better than the sub-circuit board/Russians attacking Central Asia plot. *yawn*

The Milo surprise. That's old school 24, making you like someone then killing them off.

Marilyn, Josh, and Jack's father being brought back. Now if they'll just bring back Buchanan and Pierce... and Tony :)

The bad:
Nadia. As if her incompetence wasn't enough, now her cowardice leads to Milo getting shot. Buchanan never would have done that!

The Lisa/Daniels/Bishop storyline. It seems so detached from the rest of the show. I usually go to check my laundry during these scenes, even if I don't happen to be doing laundry that particular night.

More Chloe/Morris soap-style drama. I want the old Chloe, working with Jack on the downlow, uploading files to his PDA.

Did you know...
Evan Ellingson, who plays Josh Bauer, portrayed a young Luke Spencer in the November 5, 2001, episode of General Hospital.

Questions:
Why didn't one of Cheng's men just go into the ventilation duct after Josh? Let's see, an armed man chasing an unarmed teen thru a crawlspace. Naaah! Too easy.

Will Buchanan and Pierce come back to help save the day? Please, can they?

Where will the rendezvous point be? I mean, where do you go to exchange a grandchild for computer parts? Best Buy, maybe? There seem to be lots of kids running around in there.

Will Elizabeth ever tell Lucky that the baby is Jason's on General Hospital? Seriously, she is getting on my nerves almost as bad as Nadia.

"Splinter taught them to be ninja teens. Leonardo leads, Donatello does machines.
Raphael is cool but crude. Michelangelo is a party dude..."