'Lord See that cat, Yeah I do mean you. See that cat. Yeah I do mean you. She got a TV eye on me.' - I. Pop, 1970

Television: Do I let the channel clicker rest on the second half of Chasing Amy (which I've seen a zillion times but is still very watchable) or catch an (apparently new) episode of NYC Prep.

Gotta go with the Manhattan debs over Holden, Banky and Alyssa.

Bad choice.

After five minutes and still no sign of sex or drugs (or anything else for that matter) I decided it was time to cut bait and flush this turd down the toilet/off my radar. Who'd have thunk rich, spoiled NYC teens and no vice? What's the world coming to?

Maybe the History Channel's 'Life After People'? The WASP Wet Dream (all the people of the Earth disappear but the animals and all man-made structures/everything else is fine). This is an actual series that each week takes a look at how different aspects of mankind's handiwork slowly (or quickly) erodes over time and/or neglect. As exciting as that sounds, it's a dull scene.

The Science Channel has a 'Humanology' marathon. First up: Electric Human. It's about how some guy is unaffected by being exposed to high voltage electricity. How can he absorb all this current? Who cares? Burn that motherfucker down, goes the song. He'll eventually go the way of Frank Grimes. And the show is a snooze. My favorite Science Channel show (which admittedly isn't limited to the Science Channel but rather makes its way around basic cable) is Survivorman. Less Stroud is the outdoor survivalist answer to MacGyver. If MacGyver was Canadian. But strangely, tonight is one of the few that Les isn't to be found on the dial.

So I incessantly scan for something to take my mind off of the insanity of work that threatens to reach up out of my Blackberry. I am often surprised that certain folks manage to figure out how to put their clothes on and drive to work each day. They must stop at each and every button of their shirt, calling and asking what they should do next. 'See that fourth button, the one right below the third button I just had you do? Well, do the same thing with that one. What? Yes, I know the third hole is already filled with the third button - put it in the fourth hole, directly across from it.'

Hey, one of Discovery's Hot 100 Infomercials is on - rocking up the charts.
High Definition Shades. 'Everything just ... Pops!' 'I got Thumbs Up from the Wife so I'll take them!' 'I can see the Blue of the Ocean!' 'Only 19.95? You kiddin' me!? And they're HD?' This is the 21st Century equivalent to Blue Blockers (an infomercial golden oldie).

Anyway, I think the paint is dry now - maybe I can catch what looks to be an exciting CNBC special on NASCAR weathering the down economy (and looks like I missed CNBC's take on the Porn Industry but I'm sure that'll repeat).

Or I can keep it on the TV Land Cosby Show Retrospective.

Or watch some of the Phillies.

Or the breaking news on Michael Jackson's toxicology report - flash! breaking news! And the news? That the toxicology report won't be released until next week! When can we kill the Jackson death? Or at least kill all the rest of the characters in this badly written play? Hey, Heir Doktor Sanjay Gupta is all scrubbed up and in the OR to show how a pre-op patient is put under with MJ's Drug of Choice, Diprivan and requires a machine to breath because the stuff zaps you so hard. The Chief of Anesthesiology tells the good Dr. Gupta that he 'hasn't heard of this being used in a home for legit reasons.' Really?!? Sounds like a fine, mellow high.

Speaking of the dead, here's my ol pal BILLY MAYS! So loud hawking 'Fix It' ('Now this scratch has met it's match!!!') that he can hear himself in ... well, whatever purgatory Infomercial ghosts are condemned to).

Maybe I should just shove my hand into the blender and hit the Frappe, wrap the stump with gauze and go to bed. Maybe after the Daily Show.

Pay Now or Palin

The man that truly defined both Mr. Tambourine Man and Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds in the sixties (Dylan/Byrds, who? Lennon, what?), Mr. T.J. Kirk himself Bill Shatner, raised the bar with a beatnik style reading of Sarah Palin's recent Farewell Speech. Palin was obviously channeling Allen Ginsberg's the Howl for her inspiration and Shatner does her proud. The girl with kaleidoscope eyes, indeed.

I can't wait to see what she's up to next! In an entertaining but not a good way!

Seriously, if we let her within 500 yards of either the White House or Capital Hill (and I mean even on a public tour), we will have really jumped the national shark and it'll be time to go live life under a more reasonable leader ... Like Lil' Kim Jong-Il (with my luck, they'll band together: Jong-Il - Palin 2012 bumper stickers are surely being printed as I write this). Or maybe Ted Nugent. Nugent-Palin, bringing Wolf hunting back to the mainstream where it belongs.

Fear and Loathing on the Autopsy Table - The other Dr. Gonzo, her Forensic Follies and Liberation from the Pain of run-of-the-mill Catheters

For every time you "cath" - Liberator. I guess folks that need to pee through a tube constitute at least part of the target demographic for Dr. G. Medical Examiner, though thankfully that's not me just yet.

A Dr. G Sunday afternoon marathon hits the spot after three hours of scrambling around on the tennis court in high humidity with a group of people many years my junior and I'm guessing many gym visits up on me.

Oddly, though, I feel a lot better now than I remember feeling after much shorter Sunday tennis excursions in the late 1980s.

How could that be?

It might have something to do with my lifestyle back then: Wednesday and Thursday evening, most of Friday afternoon and evening, and all of Saturday being generally spent in an alcoholic haze.

I recall thinking back then that with a bit of normal exercise on a Sunday, I'd trick my body into forgetting the pummeling I'd given it the rest of the week. My body wasn't fooled, but that never stopped me from trying. What's that definition of insanity? Trying the same thing over and over and expecting a different result? Something like that.

Anyway, back to the Morgue!

Man, Good ol' Doc G. is SO enthusiastic about finding some sort of hidden, ruptured vein deep within a supposedly healthy brain or an unknown spray of tumors in the colon of an apparent accident victim. Yek! Fun stuff! I don't see with all that digging around in cadavers that she has any time to investigate crime. I don't remember Jack Klugman doing much poking around on the autopsy slab - he was more apt to be poking around in the holes of your alibi, because every case was criminal in his world.

Hey, there's Vince with his ShamWow! Guess the Dr. G target demo needs a ShamWow or two: changing catheters can be a messy business, I'd imagine. Though Vince doesn't mention "caths" specifically, you can tell he'd readily agree that the ShamWow could handle that situation for you with class and dignity.

Followed by a Cadillac commercial? That seems out of place. Unless it comes with an available in-seat cath tube. That'd be sweet.

Activia - now we're back on track with the shut-in/piss-on-yourself target audience and in fact are entering the wing of this exclusive club that I hang out in. My kingdom for a bowel movement! Thanks, Jamie Lee! You've come a long way from Trading Places and Perfect!

Meanwhile, back out of the Yogurt and into the "standard Y incision" (love the animated graphics). Dr. G is narrowing down the root cause of the corpse in her charge.

Excited delirium resulting from ... Maybe drugs? Oh, oh. She's got those monster rib separators and is digging into the chest cavity. Nothing there. No anatomical smoking gun as to the ultimate cause of death - no trauma. It could be an overdose or cardiac arrhythmia. I'm on the edge of my seat! Oh, darn, more commercials - the toxicology results await!

Another Liberator commercial! Man, I must be keeping company with a lot of defective urinary tracts! Almost makes you wish yours was fucked up too, just so you could enjoy Liberator's fantastic product! I haven't yet seen a 'Depends' commercial here but it's just a matter of time (which reminds me of the one bright spot in an otherwise all-too-typically-unfunny SNL repeat last night: Chewable Pampers).

[Postscript - 6pm, several hours deep into the Dr. G Marathon - I feel I'm ready for the pathologist board exam and whattayaknow: A 'mega-depends' commercial for home delivery of all your incontinent supplies with HDIS. It shows an embarrassed elderly lady wheeling up to the checkout counter, her shopping cart stuffed full of nothing but bladder control products. I'm surprised they didn't pan down to a trail of shit and piss tracking her path through the store, followed by a quick shot of the disgusted patrons, finally landing on a close up of our red-faced protagonist. This could be you! Why chance going out into public! Let us ship this shit to your door! Discovery Health Ad execs didn't let me down.]

Back to Dr. G.

The results are in! Dr. G. says, 'The tox screen will speak to me'. And the tox-screen says ... Cocaine, not O.D. level. The process of elimination answers: 'Cardiac Arrhythmia!' Wow.

Oh, and the Phillies seems to be beating the shit out of the ball again today. Feast or famine with that crew.

If ya wanna know 'bout the bishop and the actress ...you can read it in the Sunday Papers ...

Sunday morning. Hillary's sending Lil' Kim to bed without supper, wheels of fire end on the Champs-Elysees, and I'm catching up with Nati Shalom (check out his post on leadership versus management, adding Tribes to my reading list).

Speaking of Scarlett Johansson - and if we weren't, why not? Also, speaking of Neve Campbell and Mary Louise Parker ... Anyway, concerning Ms. Johansson, I see she's teaming with Robert Downey, Jr. (he of many second acts in life and one of my favorite actors) in Iron Man 2. I wasn't necessarily a fan of the first (not because it wasn't mildly entertaining - it was - just that special effects laden movies aren't my cup of tea) but I'll be queuing up for the sequel for sure. Go ScarJo as Black Widow. Now I just need to arrange to get my holy trinity of babaliciousnous into a movie together: ScarJo, NevBell, and MarLoPar. Calling Harvey Weinstein ...

Anyway, I'm heading to the tennis courts for the first time in the 21st century in a few minutes. It's just like riding a bike, right Lance? The form of yore will kick in with the sense memory. Just have to dig the ol' wooden racket out of the closet, grab some extra fishing line in case I snap a string, climb into the Chuck Talyors and tighty whities and I'm prepped for combat. More to follow, I'm sure ...

The least interesting man in the world

I must be the antithesis of the Dos Equis 'most interesting man in the world'. Why else would yours truly be typing into the blogosphere void and watching a repeat of Cops on a lovely summer evening?

The neighborhood is empty - folks must be down at the beach. I hate to use the colloquialism 'down the shore.' If it involves sand, it's a beach. And if they are there, then it would follow that they are @ the beach - they're not down the beach, unless they are down the beach from (south of) you, implying that you are up the beach from (north of) them. All clear?

Having fun yet? Ready to watch paint dry with me?

I should close this post with my take on the Dos Equis 'most interesting man' catchphrase: "I don't drink beer but when I did, I preferred whatever was in front of me. Stay thirsty, my friends."

Speaking of which, you really have to visit this great booze movie web site.

My vote for the very best of soused cinema goes to Billy Wilder's The Lost Weekend, following the trials and tribulations of Mr. Don Birnam, played with cheese by Ray Milland (many years before reaching the summit of his craft as Rosey Grier's right head man). The score is tops, as are the Bellevue/DT/Rats-on-the-walls special effects. And Gloria, with her loathsome abbreviations. Just leave me my vicious circles, Nat.

Close second is Mickey Rourke's triple hamtastic ('on rye') spin as Charles Bukowsi's alter-ego Henry Chinaski in Barfly. 'Empty bottle. Broken Glass. Euphoria!' Lilly: 'Anyone can be a drunk.' Henry: 'Anyone can be a non-drunk. It takes a special talent to be a drunk. It takes endurance.'

Coming in to show at third is Leaving Las Vegas ('Have you been drinking all day?' 'But of course!'). Ben Sanderson, Sera, and Gooey Blender Drinks. Terri: 'Maybe you shouldn't drink so much.' Ben: 'Maybe I shouldn't breathe so much, Terri - Ha Ha!'

The Office of Ruminant Procurement (I'm trying - real hard Ringo - to be the Shepherd)

'When the governed act like sheep, they beget a government of wolves' - Edward R. Murrow. This quote kicks off the recent book, "The Emperor's New Clothes" by Richard Ben-Veniste (interesting read that is part biography/part dictum on Government Hubris).

And the wolves are only being instinctive when they perpetuate such a ruminant-centric environment, rewarding the 'well behaved' and demeaning those that question authority. Promotion and attrition follow their 'natural' course and before you know it taking a census cures your insomnia (employee surveys are their corollary in corporate nations).

Are your organizations blanketed in wool?

Is Shari Lewis meandering around your cube looking for her Lamb Chop? (Speaking of which, is it just me or did others also have an innate loathing of Shari Lewis and that filthy sock puppet mint-jelly receptacle of hers as a kid? And now her daughter is attempting to perpetrate that insipid creature on another generation of unsuspecting children. Jumpin' Jeziz, No!)

But I digress (again).

Sheep make great coats and diplomas but aren't known for their creativity, intelligence, humor or common sense (that's why it's horse sense, though God knows those filthy beasts are no smarter, except for maybe Mr. Ed and on the odd occasion, Silver).

Of course, participatory government is harder and actually requires, well - governing. It's easy to herd sheep but takes a bit more intelligence to effectively shepherd people.

But enough of this incoherent chatter and back to the herd ...

The return of Eeyore

What ever happened to my childhood hero, Eeyore? Why hasn't there been a Pixar Eeyore movie? It's a sure-fire summer blockbuster waiting to happen. Maybe a live-action take on the character.

Instead of a donkey, Eeyore could be an American Staffordshire Terrier, Winnie the Pooh wouldn't be a bear - he'd instead be a larger, more vicious and hungry canine. Christopher Robin would be played, of course, by noted thespian and animal loving scamp Michael Vick.

Eeyore loses his tail! Pooh finds it for him! Just like the stories Mom used to read me!

But with a modern twist ...

Pooh would follow up the 'de-tailing' by ripping out Eeyore's right eye and sinking his fangs into the vicinity of his jugular, giving him something truly worth complaining about for the first time. Christopher and his many friends would gather round one of his many 'Pits O' Fun' and exchange laughter and money with the other woodland creatures. Eeoyore is no match for Pooh and alas, it just wasn't his night (shades of Terry Malloy).

And when it was all said and done and the Poo had prevailed, Christopher then would gently apply the electrodes to ol' Eeyore's gonads and out go the lights!

What a magical tale for the children!

Teach the kids the value of lowered expectations while they're young. Welcome back to the NFL, already in progress ...