Clown Strike

This is incredible.

He can dish it out, but he can't take it. Except by dish it out, I mean bombs, depleted uranium, unwarranted wiretaps, and poverty. And by take it, I mean fifteen minutes of jokes.

Watch Colbert for yourself here (and Part II here). Think about how brave it was to stand next to the president--especially THIS president--and do this routine.

It's one thing to speak truth to power, but it's quite another when power is sitting two seats to your right. At several points, even after it's become clear that Bush is Not Amused, Colbert talks DIRECTLY at him.

I hope he enjoys his audit.

Gimme Shelter

I'm not going anywhere on Monday. I'm staying right here in my apartment. Maybe I'll cook, maybe I'll write, but I am definitely Not Going Anywhere.

On Monday, there's going to be a protest. A month ago, there was a protest--against an absurd immigration law that will never be passed--and between 500,000 and 750,000 people showed up downtown. It was the single largest march in the history of this city.

There will almost certainly be more people on Monday, and not just downtown. They'll be marching down Wilshire Boulevard, shutting down one the busiest streets in the whole country. They're supposedly stopping at La Brea. Businesses on Wilshire as far west as La Cienega are closing Monday, though, awaiting an overflow crowd that will want to keep walking.

Last month, there was not a single arrest for disorderly conduct, disturbing the peace, you name it. I'll be really surprised if we get that lucky again. That's because this march isn't for one specific cause. The immigration issue is still going to have the spotlight, but they're getting company this time. It'll be the anti-war people with the pro-immigrant crowd and the environmental folks. When you get that many people together who are all trying to say different things, everyone tends to get louder so as to make sure theirs is the message that gets heard.

Beyond my general agreement with the various causes, I hope this turns out peacefully. During the 2000 Democratic convention at the Staples Center, the cops were showing off all their new riot gear and there was a report in the press that there were something like a thousand bodybags ready if necessary. Amazingly, none of them were needed.

The riot gear will be out on display again Monday. Let's take a deep breath and hope it stays clean.

Police and Thieves

About two weeks ago, some guy put a heavy shoulder into two apartment doors in my building, shattered the frames, and made off with some jewelry and cash. He did this at 1:30 in the afternoon on an April day in Los Angeles--about the broadest daylight you'll ever see.

The doors were the only ones not directly visible from the street, and mine is right on the corner sidewalk. Also, the thief didn't take anything he couldn't carry out of the place on foot and I don't really own anything valuable that isn't heavy or on my person at all times. The upshot of this is that it was an interesting day, but I wasn't very worried about my place. Basically, I did what you would do. I checked my renter's insurance policy, told myself I'd get a new lock soon, and forgot about it.

Yesterday, I heard a loud banging from somewhere in the building. The walls here aren't too thick, so if someone puts up a picture next door you know it. Still, this was pretty loud. I walked outside and checked it out. There, up in the stairwell, was the guy who broke into those same apartments two weeks ago, breaking into them again. He saw me and began knocking on the door softly, as though he was just coming by to say hello and accidentally jammed the frame open about six inches.

I asked him what he was doing and he came down the stairs, mumbling something not in English--or any Spanish I could recognize. I kept trying to talk to him as another neighbor came out of her apartment to see what was going on. The guy calmly walked past me and around the corner. I followed from about fifty feet behind as he walked down the long block, finally ducking into a cut-through to the major street and out of sight.

Now, a better man might have tried to detain him. Here's my excuse for my cowardice--I didn't know if he was armed and I didn't even have on a pair of shoes. I figured that now that he knew that we knew what he looked like, he'd stop robbing the building. I didn't do anything except talk to him. Granted, that's usually enough for me to keep people away, but still.

A police officer asked later for my description of the suspect, which I gave to him: 5'10" Latino guy, maybe 40 years old, slicked back black hair, light green checked shirt.

"Did he seem homeless to you, or transient?"

"I don't know. He hadn't shaved in a couple of days but, you know, I haven't either..."

"He didn't seem homeless?"

"He looked cleaner than homeless, if that makes any sense."

"Okay. Did he seem like he was a just a regular cholo, or was he--and I just use this for description, sir--a wetback? You know, like an illegal or just a homegrown Mexican?"

Wow... I thought both about the answer to his question and the fact that he had actually asked it. What possible relevance does a question like that have?

"I don't know. He seemed like any of the people I see on the street. I don't know if they're illegal or not...Officer Martinez."

Yup. I've changed the blatantly Latino surname to protect...well, no one, but he was Latino and asking that kind of question with those kinds of words. Guess what they say is true--when you become a cop, it just becomes Us and Them and that's just the way it has to be.

The officer said they'd be in touch. I got a new lock on my front door.

Lord, A Plague Is On The World

Remember when they announced the movie version of "The Dukes of Hazzard?" There was a thought that crossed your mind. The first thing you thought. That immediate flicker. Remember what your brain said to you in that instant? It said to you, "Christ. Hollywood is finally out of ideas."

There was the movie version of "Starsky and Hutch," remakes of "Alfie" and "The Italian Job," and the third sequel to "Scary Movie." You had to figure that those folks in LA had finally grown so desperate for money that any recognizable concept would trump originality. That the left coast had finally and utterly proven its cultural bankruptcy and New York could laugh at us for all time. Well, you were wrong. The cannibalization of ideas is not the scourge of Hollywood. It is the scourge of Broadway.

"High Fidelity" is being turned into a Broadway musical.

Now, normally I wouldn't give half of a low-flying fuck about anything that prances onto a Broadway stage. High Fidelity is special, though, and it's about to be massacred. How do I know? This quote from one of the producers:

"I thought, 'This must be my next musical,'" Seller said. "It's a great story about a guy who can't figure out how to hold on to a girl."

This is not what "High Fidelity" is about. It isn't about a guy who can't hold onto a girl any more than "Fever Pitch" was about a guy whose girlfriends didn't like soccer as much as he did. Those are romantic stories. Broadway loves romantic stories. Nick Hornby does not write romantic stories.

He writes stories about men who are crippled by obsession, be it to sports or music. They are trapped in nostalgia. They can't "hold on to a girl" because they aren't capable of seeing around what is, in effect, depression.

Yes, Hornby can be incredibly funny. That doesn't change the fact that "High Fidelity" is at heart a very dark story. The movie treated it like that and largely succeeded. "Fever Pitch" was turned into a romance and failed miserably (taking my Sox down with it).

Broadway will fail "High Fidelity." Don't worry, though. I hear "The Dukes of Hazzard" is opening at the Winter Garden Theater next year. They can't screw that up.