BEATING ON THE MEAT

Okay, kids, it's shameless plug time again. A couple months back I wrote and produced a few episodes of the venerable Biography series; one of which, featuring the entertainer Meat Loaf, debuts April 23 (check your local listings for airtime). Check it out. The show was produced on a very tight budget, but thanks to folks like segment producer Ken Sharp (who made sure we didn't spend much money) and editor Tim Rush, (who made the show look a lot better than it had any right to), I think we did all right. Angelica Cobb at Virgin was also a big help. Meat's management... not so much. I could go on a rant about how programs are seriously compromised when blackmail tactics are used and things like that, but, well, life's too short. I'm sure everyone was just looking out for everyone's best interest. All I can say is if I had to make a living doing those sorts of things, I'd have to shower in boiling water and take a bottle of sleeping pills every night.

WHY, OH WHY

I'm as guilty as anyone about pumping up stuff I've written with too-clever phraseology. For example, I've probably used "the fuzzy end of the lollipop" more times than I care to remember (in the context of someone getting screwed over), but I'll probably use it again. It's something I picked up from a college girlfriend who was a Marilyn Monroe fan and it just stuck. But one thing always gets me -- when people insist on calling Los Angeles El Lay. What, exactly, does this signify? When I see this in a story, the first thing I think about is what an asshole the writer must be. I mean, is that the best you can come up with? And you actually think you're being clever? Oy veigh.

DEAD AIM

I had a rare few hours of leisure time last weekend so I decided to curl myself up in bed with the latest offering from our Netflix que -- Death of a President. I've been curious about this film since it came and went from Los Angeles in about a week last year. I've read that theater chains banned it, and the politically correct police said all the proper things about how horrified they were at the film's very premise -- a mock documentary about the assassination of President George W. Bush. What struck me is not the film itslef, which was mildly compelling, but fairly predictable if you get all your political information from The New Yorker and Air America radio, as I do. What I find more fascinating is the idea that the world climate is such that this film exists at all. I mean, how fucked-up, how much vitriol and hate, must tens of millions of people around the world have toward Bush, that allows for such a film be conceived and released into the marketplace.

How bad has it become that a sitting president becomes the target of a faux doc revolving around his murder and its aftermath? It really gave me some perspective on how awful the country -- and the world -- has become largely because of the policies of the present administration. Of course, I would argue that Bush has made his own bed and thus is fair game for such cinematic treatments.

But remember, boys and girls (and Death of a President makes this abundantly clear), things could be worse. I give you the three scariest words in the English language: President Dick Cheney.