What will you swallow?

As Americans continue to show their absolute gullibility and willingness to swallow anything they are told by politicians or media anchors (take a bow, NBC’s Brian Williams, the Bush administration’s new No. 1 butt-boy), here are a couple of items and ideas that sparked P&J’s curiosity recently.

The first is examining the cost of the upcoming and obscene presidential inaugural as we officially crown President Dubya the Dumb in Washington. Is there anyone involved in DC politics that might actually take the high road, suggesting that the buckets of money (being paid by the unspeakable elitist vermin who will attend the various spectaculars) might instead go for disaster relief for the tsunami/ earthquake victims in Sri Lanka, Indonesia, and Thailand? Or might that make it inconvenient to curry favor with the GOP for future financial propositions?

Second, where is the outrage at Dubya spending the immediate hours and day following the catastrophe hidden on his ranch in Crawford, purportedly clearing brush? The only things this little inconsiderate twit does that are remotely similar to such attempts at invented manliness are clearing a pretzel lodged in his throat, brushing his teeth before bed, or possibly reading children’s stories to Laura in his pajamas.

SAGACITY AND SADISM ON C-SPAN

C-SPAN has always been a favorite at Casa Diablo, in particular its a.m. roundtable discussion and call-in show. On Saturday morning, New Year’s Day, we were watching at around 9 a.m. when a man called in with what we think was a very astute observation.

He noted that for months, during the run-up to the November election, the Department of Homeland Security issued fairly regular warnings with varying levels of color-coded alerts concerning potential terrorist activity. At the time, some of us (P&J included) concluded that this was an example of the Bush administration’s cynical manipulation of the fear card to strengthen its reelection hand.

Since the election, has anyone noticed that there have been no alerts? The Thanksgiving, Christmas, and New Year’s holidays have all come and gone, bin Laden has had two (CIA-certified) tapes aired, and yet there have been no alerts. You don’t possibly think that Bush, Rove, Ridge, and Co. were a bit too eager to issue alerts during an election campaign to manipulate and increase our fear for political purposes? We’re sure they would never be so cynical — just as we’re sure they were not in possession of in-depth polling data indicating that scaring the bejesus out of the public would work in their favor.

And by the way, much as we love C-SPAN, it does appear that it is not beyond a bit of holiday sadism. About five minutes after the call we just detailed came in, the station aired one of its trademark "live camera sans commentary" set-ups. This time, the camera was set up on the streets of DC. The crawl indicated they were showing workers preparing the stands and performing construction in preparation for the upcoming presidential inauguration. For a full two minutes, the sound one heard was the roar of jackhammer — just what someone nursing a New Year’s Eve-induced hangover wants to hear at 9 a.m. the next day.

DARK DAY ON FOUNTAIN STREET

Phillipe & Jorge began our day on Monday, January 3, with a painful slap in the face — the news that Mimi Dolbier Burkhardt had died suddenly. Mimi was a highly respected editor at the Other Paper (and kudos to Charlie Bakst for giving Mimi her journalistic due in his column of January 4, and to Brian C. Jones for his appreciation). She will be greatly missed by many of the ink-stained wretches in Our Little Towne, as well as your superior correspondents, who were fortunate enough to know her. She was at once a kind, caring, and talented individual with no affectations, despite being a recognized newsroom ace. Our condolences to her husband Andy, a former editor on Fountain Street, who remains a generous volunteer to the public, and an extended group of family, friends, and colleagues. Life just ain’t fair when the best ones go first.

THE COOLEST GUY IN THE WORLD

Your superior correspondents were deeply saddened by the passing last week of Jerry Orbach, someone, for us, who had come to represent "the coolest guy in the world." He was one of the greatest stars of the musical stage, and his work as hangdog detective Lennie Briscoe on Law & Order will undoubtedly be around in reruns until at least 2100.

A few years back, in recognition of how Jerry seemed to have all the good lines on L&O, Casa Diablo regular Susan E. Murphy (or, as Mike Stanton’s publishers would have it, "Mrs. Cheeks"), suggested that a book of Lennie Briscoe’s best lines (Quotations from Sgt. Briscoe:The Little Blue Book) could be easily assembled and would likely be a big seller.

The actor Richard Donelly, another Casa D. regular, was cast over the years in a few small roles on the series. Richard reported that frequently, during lunch breaks taken at various city taverns, Jerry would whup ass on all comers at the billiard table. He also said that he was a stone pro as an actor, and an obviously generous and kind person. Yes, Jerry Orbach, the coolest guy in the world may be gone, but thanks to the telly, he still rules the roost at Casa D.

ARTIE WAS COOL, TOO

While there is no doubt that the Phoenix is a rock ’n’ roll kind of publication, we also know that our highly intelligent and sophisticated readers have pretty broad and eclectic tastes. Jorge, in particular, revered Artie Shaw, the jazz great and all-around iconoclastic personality who passed away last week at the ripe old age of 94.

He had the richest, woodiest tone, total control over his clarinet, and an unerring sense of melody. Like the alto god Charlie Parker or the pianist Bill Evans, his playing was filled with improvisational passages that made complete compositional sense. That is an awesome musical gift and Artie had it in spades. Check out the records, especially the truly unique Gramercy Five stuff (if you can find it). Artie Shaw was one of the uber-musical artistes of the last century.

OH, REALLY?

The funniest (or most preposterous) line of the week came out at T.F. Green Airport. Phillipe unfortunately had to pass through Philadelphia during US Airways’ version of Night of the Living Dead Baggage Handlers over the holidays. With literally hundreds of lost and mislaid pieces of luggage littering the baggage claim area back home, P. laughed out loud when the prerecorded, constantly repeated message came over the intercom: "Please do not leave pieces of luggage unattended in the airport terminal." It warned that they may be confiscated or destroyed. Certainly not by any of the lazy louts in the employ of US Air, we can assure you.

TALES FROM TINY TOWN

P&J don’t usually print items verbatim from other papers, but we can’t resist the following from the December 30 edition of the New York Times. It reminds us very much of David Sedaris’s hilarious short piece about Christmas in Holland, "Six to Eight Black Men," which is required reading for anyone with a sense of the absurd:

Shortage of Dwarves

A four-dwarf version of Snow White prompted protests from grumpy Christmas theatergoers in Stendal, Germany, who preferred the traditional complement of seven. Citing an article in the newspaper Hannoversche Allgemeine Zeitung, Reuters reported that the Altmark Stendal theater told the audience, from nearby Hanover, that it could afford only six actors for the show but tried to make theatergoers happy by attaching two puppets costumed as dwarfs to a background wall. The actor cast as the prince was supposed to double as the seventh dwarf but made only a brief appearance onstage. Susanne Kreuzer, a spokeswoman for the theater, told the newspaper, "The seventh dwarf wasn't onstage the whole time because he was stuck down in the mine, working overtime."

HOT ROD IN BASEBALL HEAVEN

Since this initial column of 2005 appears to be turning into the obituary page, P&J would like to also note the passing of one of New York’s iconic sports figures, Rod "Hot Rod" Kanehl of the inaugural New York Mets team of 1962. A moderately talented utility man, he was one of those players who constantly hustled and never ended a game with a clean uniform. He was a personal favorite of his manager, the legendary Casey Stengel, as well as of Mets fans who had very little to cheer about that first year besides Kanehl’s balls-out style. (He was reportedly the only member of that team to attend Stengel’s funeral, showing a well-concealed compassionate side.) Thanks for the memories, Hot Rod. Between you and Choo Choo Coleman, it was baseball as it should have been out at the old Polo Grounds.

MCLARTY DOES WELL

Back in 1967, Jorge’s friend Bob Merrill took him to a tavern near the campus of Rhode Island College (it had some sort of wildly creative name like, the College Pub). Jorge remembers very little about that evening, but he does vividly recall a table full of boisterous collegians. Jorge was a mere senior in high school at this time, and the center of all attention was a guy named "McLarty." Jorge’s friend Bob had grown up in East Providence with Ron McLarty, the guy with the bulbous Irish head and a commanding presence, who explained he was on his way to becoming a great actor.

Jorge went on to URI, where he met a couple of other powerful stage actors (Jim "J.T." Walsh and Tom Griffin), but he never forgot McLarty, who went on to act on stage and film and television. Perhaps you’ve seen him as a judge on a number of Law & Order episodes or during a regular stint he had on Spenser:For Hire. He also got to show his singing voice on the late and generally unlamented TV bomb, Cop Rock. McLarty has done quite well for himself on the boards.

So, it was with great interest that we opened up the New York Times at Casa Diablo Monday morning to see a review of Ron McLarty’s first novel, The Memory of Running (Viking). According to the review, the main character in the novel comes from "East Providence, RI." Sounds like something we might want to pick up. You might want to as well. And kudos and congrats to Mr. Ron McLarty.

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