SUNDAY TOP KILL

Yep, it's time to review the week that was, to bring you, my blissfully ignorant readers, up to date on the happenings that made us laugh, cry and stare blankly into space over the last seven days.

The "Top Kill" didn't work. No big surprise there- I'm not in favour of solutions to environmental disasters sounding like bad reality shows on Spike. This thing is going to go on and on and none of the talking heads who represent BP or the Administration seem to care all that much. Yes, the President is saying all the right things and presumably doing everything he can short of strapping on a snorkel (is that what they use for deep dives? I think so) and getting down there himself, but nowhere do I see the urgency and outrage witnessed in the aftermath of Katrina. Have we all become so myopic and short-sighted that we cannot see disaster until it has arrived, had its moment and left us helpless in its wake? Must we see flooded cities and people stranded on rooftops in order to be sufficiently galvanised to act? Just as we wanted to know, in the wake of Katrina, why levees that were known to be inadequate in the face of a massive storm were not improved to meet the needs of the city they were designed to protect, we also must discover how it came to pass that a company like BP could be allowed to conduct a deep water drilling process while having no proven way of safely halting the process if something went awry. A parent doesn't toss a child into the water before that child has learnt to swim; there should have been regulation and testing in place that guaranteed nothing like this unstoppable leak could occur. If that guarantee was impossible to make, then sorry, BP, you don't get to endanger the natural world as a way of making your billions.

Gary Coleman is dead. Lindsay Lohan is in court, flashing her boobs and a horribly puffy face due, I'm sure, to one or several kinds of substance abuse. Money doesn't make you happy, folks, and clearly neither does fame. But money and fame do allow for easier access to pills, hooch and lawyers. Mr. Coleman died a seemingly troubled person- he must have been, for pete's sake: he lived and died in Utah. Utah reminds me of Ms.Lohan in her better moments: nice place to look at, but you wouldn't want to live there. She now has to wear a band on her lower leg that can detect alcohol use. Sounds like a handy invention; I could use one for any of my vices: watching UFC, eating vast swathes of Ben & Jerry's Chunky Monkey (the best), watching UFC... it's a vicious cycle, as you can see.

The salient thought that leaps to my mind when watching these sad soapies unfold is what a waste. These people may not have possessed the most profound talent in the world but I speak not of that; it is the throwing away of the opportunities and resources available to them that is the great shame, opportunities that many people would be ecstatic to obtain. Mr. Coleman and Ms.Lohan had a platform from which to contribute, in whatever form a contribution to one's community, society and world might take. The latter still has ample time and, amazingly, occasion in which to do it.

I must admit I watched my share of the NBA Conference Finals this week. Exciting stuff, wholly unlike the soporific effects that most sane people feel from the stupefying monotony of the endless regular season, with the accent heavily on 'regular', as in stone dead boring. I've always said that a basketball game should be five minutes in length- as long as it's the last five. These last few playoffs, however, have been played with a skill and, more importantly, an intensity that has been magnetic. Kobe Bryant may be an errant jerk or worse, but his passion and talent are pretty special to behold when on show in the games that matter. 

Nicole Scherzinger, AKA Satan, AKA Evil Incarnate, won Dancing With The Stars this week. My outrage has not dimmed. Who's on next year, Mikhail Baryshnikov? While I'm certainly not comparing Ms. Scherzinger to any of the great dancers who have graced us with their presence, the fact remains that this chick is a professional singer and stage performer who trained as a dancer.  This was an absolute sham. The show must be renamed A Bunch of Dancers Who Dance A Lot. Now, don't get me wrong. Am I saying Buzz Aldrin, Kate Gosselin and that himbo from The Bachelor got a raw deal? Um... no. As dancers, they all have a tremendous future in industrial plumbing. But isn't the whole point of the show to bring on celebrities who aren't dancers? I'm furious, as you surely can tell. Please show up to all future Pussycat Dolls gigs armed with plastic bags stuffed with human feces.

Last, but in no possible way least...

Fergie. Wow. And I thought I was broke. She's since apologised for trying to sell Andrew's secrets, citing an "error in judgement". Oh, I see. Kind of like taking a left one street too early on your way to the mall. Or putting a little too much cayenne in your jambalaya. Right. Got it. I'm glad she's taking full responsibility and is feeling the requisite amount of remorse over this whole production. It's always funny how these celebrities, be it Fergie, or A-Rod, or Kobe, or Eliot Spitzer always talk about "mistakes" and "screwing up" and "errors in judgement". I guess that's what otherwise perfect people are really doing when we all think they're lying, cheating, stealing and hurting. Just making tiny little boo- boos. Whoops. Sorry, folks. Won't happen again. Hey honey, would you mind sitting next to me at the press conference? It'll make me look a tad more human while I'm swimming in all that denial.

I know. My tone's a little harsh this week. Any chance of plugging that leak with the producers of Dancing With The Stars? Nicole, be a darling and give them a hand, won't you?

Pictures, from top: The Leak, Lohan getting lit, Kobe, 
                               Buzz in his prime and poor Fergie.