Welcome back, Bigfoot

One of the most heartwarming sights of last week was the BeloJo's front page photograph showing a beaming Governor Bigfoot inside his automobile after returning from his surgery in Baltimore. Everything appears to have gone well for the guv, and we're sure that our fellow Vo Dilunduhs join your superior correspondents in wishing the big guy a full, complete and speedy recovery.

The governor also deserves a tip of the sombrero for the public demeanor he displayed in facing a difficult personal situation. Undoubtedly, he's given support and positive reinforcement to others facing prostate cancer. As for those who suggest that Bigfoot was wrong to seek medical care in some place outside of the Biggest Little, P&J say, "get a grip, you idiots." You get the best care you can -- and that's exactly what Bigfoot did.

The 'Where's the Rest of Me'?poll

Phillipe & Jorge were fascinated to find that the brilliance of the American public has remained undiminished since the heyday of P.T. Barnum and H.L. Mencken. On Monday, President's Day, the Gallup organization released the results of a poll in which Americans were asked who they regarded as the greatest president of the United States.

Could it be that recently broken hip that propelled Ronald Reagan to the top of the heap? Either that, or, in much the same way that young hip-hop 'utes dig Hugh Hefner because of his "mack daddy" bona fides, the kids have seen the photo of the time when Ronbo flashed his really cool, avant-garde half-shaved head to the paparazzi (much to the chagrin of Mommy Nancy).

Your superior correspondents would really like to believe that it certainly isn't because of Reagan's screw the poor/fellate the wealthy economic policies, his wonderful arms for drugs and cash Iran/contra initiatives, or his Bonzo goes to Bitburg salute of old Nazis that so impressed the public.

One hint as to why Reagan came in first might be gleaned from the fact that, in second place, we find John F. Kennedy. Camelot may have been really swell if you were poking Marilyn Monroe, but for the rest of us there was legalized segregation, Cuban missiles, weird female hairdos, and bad dance crazes like the twist. JFK was more about unfulfilled promise than true greatness. And poor Abraham Lincoln! The guy with some actual claims to greatness came in third behind these two beauty boys. What's this? Bill Clinton in fourth place, ahead of both FDR and George Washington?!?!

American public, you've done it again. In honor of Ronald "We're Number 1" Reagan, P&J suggest that we call this most recent chunk of data from Gallup, the "Where's the Rest of Me?" poll. Only, unlike in King's Row, when Ronzo was inquiring about the loss of his legs below the knees, we're referring to the region above the shoulders that appears to be missing from so many of our fellow residents of Gringolandia.

On stage with the Supremes

A very interesting case involving the Ocean State's coastal environment will be taking place on the national stage next Monday, when that Casa Diablo fave, AG Sherbet Whitebread, pleads a case before the US Supreme Court that is meant to prevent an end run on tidal wetlands regulations. Friends of the environment couldn't have a better champion speaking on behalf of mute Mother Nature, and we'll be following this David-versus-Goliath drama as Sherbet, and a bevy of pro bono lawyers and scientists, take on the conservative Pacific Legal Foundation (which is helping a Westerly landowner fight Vo Dilun's state law). Needless to say, the Pacific Legal Foundation has more money than God, and is just the type of firm that Gale Norton, the new secretary of the interior, would love to support.

Given that the chief justice of the Super Supremes, "Percodan Bill" Rehnquist, styles his own judicial robes with stripes inspired by Gilbert and Sullivan productions, Phillipe and Jorge suggested that Sherbet display some panache of his own by dressing in a similarly flamboyant Pirates of Penzance, D'Artagnan-meets-Puss in Boots motif. Unfortunately, he believed that more lawyerly attire might make a better impression upon his high-end audience on the bench. We'll still be rooting for you though, Mr. Whitebread. Go get 'em.

We don't know art, but we know what we like

It was a weekend of artistic pursuits for Phillipe and Jorge in the Big Apple, provided that taking a few cocktails at Fanelli's, our old SoHo haunt, qualifies as a cultural activity.

Your superior correspondents naturally stayed at the Algonquin Hotel, home of the famed Round Table, where the bon mots and ripostes flowed with nearly as much abundance as at Casa Diablo. It's hard not to have a good time in a place adorned with wallpaper featuring New Yorker cartoons of yore, Hirschfeld caricatures in the Blue Bar, and some of the more arch comments by members of the Round Table adorning each doorway, such as Dorothy Parker's comment about the women attending the Yale prom: "If all those pretty young things were laid end-to-end I wouldn't be surprised." Or Edna Ferber, who, after Noel Coward commented on her suitcoat and pants outfit, "You look almost like a man," parried, "So do you."

A leisurely stroll through the Guggenheim revealed that they had indeed rifled Kandinsky's entire oeuvre upon his death, which led to us to boldly go to see the new movie Pollock. We thought this was about the fishing industry, but instead was a biopic of painter Jackson Pollock, whose memory was tortured by Ed Harris's relentless scenery-chewing. P&J can frankly say we have rarely, if ever, seen a worse movie, and Marcia Gay Harden, who played Pollock's longtime companion, Lee Krasner, portrayed that artist with an atrocious Brooklyn accent that approximated the sound of breaking glass. Ali McGraw was more realistic, as a Cranstonian in Love Story, than Harden's Noo Yawkah, whose every other sentence was "Pawwllluck!"

As they say in the blurbs, "Run -- don't walk" away from any theater showing this bomb.

Bridges to the 19th Century

It looks like the fabled bridge to the 21st-century is getting a little shakier, for Vo Dilunduhs, anyway. Earlier this week, the Federal Highway Administration released data indicating that Vo Dilun's bridges are the second worst in the nation. Only Hawaii ranks behind us, and, assuming that many of theirs are of the pontoon variety, this isn't a good sign.

DOT Head Ramrod "Banquet" Bill Ankner tried his best to explain away the shortcomings, pointing out that the report treats all bridges the same. Therefore, the Washington Street bridge on I-95, which deals with the awesome daily force of more than 90,000 cars, is compared to rural bridges that carry no cars at all. Of course, there is some suspicion that the added structural stress of having to support Banquet Bill, when he's out on an inspection, may have something to do with the poor condition of the bridges.

Coach class, please

We hate to do this while the shocking news is still sinking in that, for some reason or another, Rick Pitino won't be coaching the URI Rams next season, but P&J feel compelled to tell the truth. Michael Jordan will also not be coaching the Rams. Neither will Bill Russell, Bill Bradley, or Bill Clinton; Clint Eastwood, Clint Black, or Clutch Cargo; and Puffy Combs, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, or Muffy Farmer.

As to the rumor that URI would seriously consider hiring the Indiana sociopath, Bobby Knight, there are no confirmed reports that URI President Bob Carothers has received a lobotomy in recent weeks, so we would assume that any offer to Knight would be closely tied to the weather. In other words, when Hell freezes over.

Brotherly love

Your superior correspondents like nothing better than family loyalty. A tip of the sombrero, therefore, to the ex-presidential bro, Roger Clinton. Roger, the '90s answer to Billy Carter, was one of the 140 people pardoned by Big Brother Bill in his final daze, for his cocaine conviction in Arkansas in the mid-'80s.

Assuming Roger was aware that the pardon was not a lifetime free pass, it must have been his deep desire to take some of the heat off Bill that led him to get arrested again last Saturday in Hermosa Beach, California. An officer on routine patrol pulled Rog over for driving erratically. He eventually was brought to the city jail for a breath alcohol analysis that qualified him for arrest.

Roger's selfless act seems not to have taken the negative media spotlight away from his older brother. But we can only hope the episode was precipitated when someone played him a recording of his way, way, over the top singing, and Roger realized that the only appropriate response was to drink heavily.

Send rumors, Pulitzer-worthy tips, and accolades to p&j[a]phx.com.

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