HE Will Actually Watch Superbowl — First Time Since Late ’90s

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Because I’ve never watched Travis Kelce on the field and because of the presence of Taylor Swift and the likely halftime wedding ceremony, HE has decided to actually sit down and watch Super Bowl LVIII — the Kansas City Chiefs and San Francisco 49ers meeting at Allegiant Stadium in Las Vegas — CBS, 6:30 pm eastern.

I haven’t watched any pro football game this century, although I think I watched a game sometime in the late ’90s.

I’m kidding about the halftime wedding, of course. I don’t expect Swift and Kelce to stay together for too many months longer. They might last until the late summer or early fall, but that’s all.

Citizens Revolt Against Driverless Cars

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HE doesn’t approve of torching cars in the middle of San Francisco, but I understand the sentiment. Fuck those Waymo self-driving vehicles! Rowdy and dangerous, but I get it.

Bob Costas Is 100% Correct

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For the good of the country and our currently fragile tradition of democracy, President Joe Biden really, really has to do a Lyndon Johnson as soon as possible — “I shall not seek and I will not accept the nomination of the Democratic Party for another term as your president.”

Because while he may be able to muddle through, Woodrow Wilson– or Ronald Reagan-style, between now and January 20, 2029 if re-elected, Biden is obviously too old and diminished to run against The Beast.

C’mon, man…wake up. Johnson read the writing on the wall 56 years ago and right now there are only two people who can’t read the present moment — Joe and Jill Biden.

It’s possible that Biden might be able to squeak through to a micro-slender victory in November…maybe…but nobody believes this to be a likely scenario. People are finally starting to realize that it’s actually, truth be told, unlikely.

If he comes to his senses and throws in the towel, Biden’s reputation will suddenly become that of a noble statesman.

Spoken two nights ago on Real Time with Bill Maher but for some reason not on YouTube:

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Comedy Is Hard To Get Right

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I never laughed at the original James Carville joke of ruthlessness, to wit:

But I just heard the same line tweaked by The Warning’s Steve Schmidt — he omitted “sonuvabitch” and changed “anvil” to “fucking bowling ball” — and suddenly it was funny.

Anvil = not funny. Bowling ball = funny. Probably because most of us have never even seen an anvil but everyone knows how heavy a bowling ball is

Funny Judd Apatow line from last night’s DGA Awards: The 2024 Presidential race is going to be between “a guy old enough to have met Hitler and a guy who wishes he had.”

No, It’s Not Mark Robson’s “Earthquake”

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Yesterday Dakota Johnson was doing an interview in Los Angeles for the doomed Madame Web (Sony, 2.14) when a mild (4.6) earthquake hit. No biggie if you’re a Californian but some freak out anyway. An interviewer or a publicist in the room went “hah-hah-hah-hah-HAH-HAH-HAH-HAH-HAH-HAH!!” The louder the cackling, the more jolted a person feels.

Calm off-camera dude: “There was one reported hours ago that happened in Hawaii.”

Johnson: “Oh, that’s what it is. That makes sense. Yeah. For sure.”

Off-camera interviewer / publicist: “Huh-huh-HAH-HAH-HAH-HAH-HAH-HAH!”

HE to Johnson: “Uhm…not really. Hawaii is roughly 2500 miles from Los Angeles.”

A 4.6 earthquake is nothing. Barely an eyebrow-raiser. A quake needs to be at least a 5.5 to write home about it. I vividly recall the Northridge earthquake of January 17, 1994, which happened in the wee hours (4:31 am) and registered as a 6​.7. I remember looking out the window toward the street and seeing the blue-white flare of telephone pole juncture boxes lighting up the immediate area. Johnson was a little more than four years old at the time.

Stabbing Violins

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In Paul McCartney‘s “The Lyrics: 1956 to the Present“, there’s a passage on the writing of “Eleanor Rigby.” But the last paragraph is about the string quartet accompaniment, and he mentions that the idea for the stabbing staccato strings came from George Martin, who wanted to imitate Bernard Herrmann‘s Psycho score. I’d never read this until today.

“Rigby” was created in April ’66, which was slightly less than six years after Psycho‘s release. There was no real Bernard Herrmann cult of soundtrack album collectors back then so Martin was purely working from his memory of the film.

“Flying Lessons” Encounter (2.5.10)

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It wouldn’t be fair to write about Derek Magyar‘s Flying Lessons, which opened the Santa Barbara Film Festival last night (2.4.10). I watched the first few minutes, but I had to leave to buy some cough syrup and spray. For some reason a slight cough caused by a throat tickle blew up into something worse yesterday. It was awful. So I got the damn cough syrup, came back, watched the film for another 20 or 25 minutes. And then I gave up.

I don’t have to watch a film for a half hour or 15 minutes, even, to know it’s not working. I can tell within two or three minutes. I knew Flying Lessons was in trouble within seconds. It’s one of those “who am I really?,” “I’ve made some mistakes,” “maybe I should wake up?” meditative dramas that makes you want to get a stiff drink — make that several drinks. Except I don’t like stiff drinks any more. A glass or two of wine is my limit. [Note: HE embraced sobriety on 3.20.12.]

But I needed to escape so I did, and I went across the street to a first-class Argentinian restaurant. Beautifully designed place, old Spanish flavor, etc.. And there, sitting at a small table with a friend, was Derek Magyar. And there I was with my my press badge, so I didn’t say hello. Magyar is a youngish actor. Flying Lessons is his first stab at directing. The screenwriter is Thomas Kuehl. I know how difficult it can be to make a film even half-succeed, and I didn’t want to say or do anything that would seem harsh or cruel.

So I kept my distance from Magyar and ordered my Pinot Grigio. I sat down at a table and struck up a conversation with a Swedish blonde who was wearing a long fur coat. And then a local friend, Rochelle Rose, dropped by and joined us.

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