Circus maximus

Phillipe and Jorge will definitely be in attendance on Thursday, May 17, when Governor Bigfoot's Economic Development Corporation puppet show is held at the O Club at Quonset Point. Once again, the Missing Linc's troops will trot out the idea of a container port for the QP-Davisville site. This, of course, is the misguided scheme that has been vehemently opposed by anyone with more than half a brain. These folks recognize the port plan for the environmental and economic disaster it would be for everyone in the state, not just nearby neighbors.

Focusing on the port at the meeting, says an EDC spokesmodel, "would be a disservice to residents across the state." But this is the virtual equivalent of the EDC asking, "Other than that, how did you like the play Mrs. Lincoln?" So sorry, but until our lazy, lumbering Bigfoot gives up this futile quest, and heads off into the Cape Cod sunset, the port will be the first and only topic of discussion. And given the way that Tom Schumpert, the EDC's head ramrod, got steamed up (geddit, Tom?) at the last meeting with the local QP/Davisville advisory group, the energy production (geddit, Tom?) will be high on Thursday.

Has anyone informed the Missing Linc that he's a lame duck with little remaining political goodwill with which to bargain? The guv even had two more fingers recently stuck up his nose by members of the Rhode Island Salt Water Anglers Association. After entering a meeting with Bigfoot that was meant to bring them around on the issue, they left rolling their eyes and not believing a word of what was said. Gee, that's strange, given the legion of lies that the EDC has cranked out and the wonderful antics of the Bankruptcy Boys of Quonset Point Partners, who couldn't pass a financial due-diligence test with a cashier's check in hand.

If you've never seen a 6'8" politician get pants-ed, be at the O Club on May 17. Oh, and bring cash if you want a drink. We hear that the O Club doesn't take credit cards when the EDC's in town.

Jockular

Much hullabaloo in the sports sections on Monday, May 14, after obscure Florida Marlins pitcher A.J. Burnett threw a no-hitter the day before against the San Diego Padres. Coincidentally, in the "This Day in Sports" section of the New York Times, where notable achievements from throughout the years are listed, it was noted that on a May 14 many moons ago, Dock Ellis of the Pittsburgh Pirates fired a no-hitter against the Padres. However, what they failed to mention for discerning baseball fans was that after Ellis retired, he admitted in his autobiography that he was actually tripping his brains out on LSD that day. Obviously, this was just an oversight by the toy department editors who are eternal truth-seekers.

In the spirit of Heywood Jablome

Our friends in Newport report a real live human with the name C. Matthews Dick Jr. No word on if he's any relation to Anne Gettaloada Mibutt.

There's something about family values

As your superior correspondents were lolling about Casa D last week, perusing the latest New York papers for the entertaining high jinks of Rudy, Judy, and Donna -- the tabloid love triangle of the moment -- we were quickly sidetracked by the even more entertaining Jeb Bush rumors swirling about the Florida papers and the Internet.

Right-wing columnist Robert Novak of the Chicago Sun-Times gets credit for starting the ball rolling, mentioning that "well-placed Florida Republicans" say there's a real chance that Florida governor won't seek another term. One of the reasons that Jeb might pass in 2002, Novak added, was "family troubles." The Jebster shot back, "Bob Novak doesn't know what he's talking about."

Numerous Florida papers were already cryptically referring to the fact that the governor's wife, Columba, who rarely appears with her husband, is said to loathe Tallahassee and spends most of her time in Miami. Was this the "family troubles"?

Not according to the UK's Guardian or the renegade Web site mediawhoresonline.com. They gave us the real rumor -- Jeb's poking Cynthia Henderson, the former Playboy bunny-turned lawyer he appointed as head of the state's Department of Management Services.

This isn't Henderson's first state appointment under Jeb. She initially headed the Florida Department of Business and Professional Regulation, but there were a few problems. Like the time she lied to the Department of Agriculture while trying to procure a job for her live-in nanny and her boyfriend. Or the time, soon after arriving at the agency, that she got the DBPR to drop an investigation, on which the state had already spent $650,000, into the largest developer in Florida. It's only a coincidence that Henderson came from a Tampa law firm that represented developers on a regular basis.

Some of the other folks at the DBPR were not thrilled with her lack of interest in pursuing high rollers. One male co-worker sued Henderson for choking him after she accused him of interfering with the case. He was fired. Soon after, it was discovered that she flew to the Kentucky Derby on a corporate jet owned by the Outback Steakhouse company, and was staying in expensive hotel suites on their dime. DBPR regulates the restaurant industry in Florida, and some spoilsports pointed out a conflict of interest. Jeb decided he had to do something about Henderson, so he appointed her as the head of another state agency, management services.

It seems only a matter of time before Henderson is offered the vacant position as head ramrod of the state Ethics Commission here in the Biggest Little. She has just the right kind of resume and Vo Dilun-style to make Bigfoot and Pucky sit up and take notice.

Of course, your superior correspondents must add that on Monday, May 14, Jeb responded to questions about Henderson by calling the rumor of their tie "an outright lie," adding, "The fact you have to ask that question and I have to answer is sick, it really is." If there's any hard evidence of an affair, it's in Jeb Bush's pants, a place the press has yet to venture. On the other hand, Ms. Henderson's Teflon ride through the stratosphere of Florida state government, along with Columba Bush's conspicuous absences in Tallahassee (for instance, she wasn't at the May 14 press conference to chime in on how sick she thought the rumor is), lead P&J to the faith-based conclusion that the rumor is true. This being faith-based, we believe the Bush family will understand and support it.

Rubber soul

Your superior correspondents are among the minority of people in the Biggest Little who do not turn into sycophantic, doting grandparents every time see a mention of Billy "Jonnycakebenet" Gilman, the creepy little Wayne Newton wannabe, and 12-year-old country music sensation and recent Grammy nominee from Hope Valley. But we know who else is in our camp.

That would be the guys and gals who recently worked with an LA film crew to tape a video of one of Jonnycakebenet's chartbusters here in Vo Dilun. They were paid for their service in checks that were conveniently left unsigned. Although the worthless mementos were eventually replaced with chits that didn't leave the bank tellers laughing, little Billy might do well to look elsewhere for assistance when he begins his next shoot.

The Cider House Rules OK

Immediate ascension to the Casa Diablo A invitation list for Trinity Rep supremo Oskar Eustis and the cast of The Cider House Rules, the John Irving novel that was also made into a movie starring Michael Caine and Tobey Maguire, for a completely bedazzling performance, now running on Washington Street.

Phillipe, who normally has to be strapped into a seat and hauled like Hannibal Lecter into the theater to see a play, came away gushing tributes after watching the first half of the epic, two-part, six-hour extravaganza being directed by Eustis in Our Little Towne. Special mention to the brilliant Brian McEleney, in the role of Dr. Wilbur Larch (for which Caine picked up an Oscar), for a tour de force performance as the doctor at the fictional St. Cloud's, a home for orphans in Maine. To hell with watching Providence on NBC. Get downtown to the Lederer Theatre right now and get some real cultcha.

Goodnight, you princes of Maine, you kings of New England!

"Can you please crawl out your winder . . .

"Use your arms and legs, it won't ruin you," and then make it out to the Fourth Annual Bob Dylan Night at Patrick's Pub on Smith Street, this Saturday, May 19. It all starts "between sundown's finish and midnight's broken toll" (in more prosaic, less Zimmy terms, that's 7:30 p.m.). Featuring Bob videos, Bob-talk, open mike Bob songs, and a Bob buffet (no, not "brown rice, seaweed and a dirty hot dog"), this is the ultimate Dylan fan event. Since they are legion, you might want to get there early. Both goofy and inspiring (we know it sounds silly, but you go and then tell us we're not right), this year's show will include some built in poignancy for many in the crowd since it will be dedicated to the late Mike White, one of the folks responsible for this event. If you're any kind of Dylan fan, you ought to be at Patrick's.

Send tales of whimsy and Pulitzer-grade tips to p&j[a]phx.com.

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