And:

Well, since then, the Orange Fog, in all of his Love Boat glory, has been unceremoniously ousted from the show. I think the big black football player is next, upon which he'll never be able to show his face at a dance party again without feeling the hot shame of apparently being the only black man in the world (other than Colin Powell, maybe) who can't get down. But really, the self-applied ochre aura of Hamilton still hangs in the air on DWTS, as he was the viewer's way in.Television has not been this wholesome and just plain dopey since Fantasy Island.

I'm leaving Serge Gainsbourg Scopitone clips on my friends' MySpace profiles. I'm looking at Rolling Stones videos I never knew existed. I just watched a clip of a cat with a computerized voice giving a lengthy monologue about the nature of dating in the Internet era, Photoshop and the old sitcom Perfect Strangers. YouTube.com, thank you. Cable TV, go fuck yourself.

Late last night, I was getting drunk alone at 3 a.m. and watching the Torino Games. If you have not done this yet, hurry up, because it's totally your shit. You'll love it. Anyway, the figure skating was on. Now, figure skating is gay. That's just a universal truth; there's no judgement in the statement, so don't get all pissy with me lest I show you my Doris Day CDs, and really, there is no getting around it. But here is the silver lining: Watching these corporate fucko jocks-turned-"sports journalists" try to narrate their way through one of these figure skating cotillions is a joy to behold. They're like Fred Willard in Best in Show: They simply cannot get through a sentence without saying something unconscionably stupid. Meanwhile, the Bruces and Tatyanas out there on the ice are literally breaking their backs in what has to be, seriously, one of the most grueling physical sports out there. When they fall, you can, if you concentrate, hear bones crack and souls implode. When you factor in the ridiculousness of having to wear one of Liza Minnelli's old Studio 54 outfits every time you go out on the ice, the debate ceases to be about whether or not this sport is "tough." Why? Because it's punk as fuck, and that is always, always more important.

TV/Tivo Tips! Feb. 23-March 9

From the TLC Web site: "Jesus 'Chuy' Aceves was born with hypertrichosis, a condition that causes facial hair to grow over his entire face. He's been supporting his family by performing as the Wolf Boy in a circus. He now wants a regular job and may have to shave his face." Chewbacca, Eddie Munster and Ed Rendell are all coming over to my place on Thursday to watch this. We're going to get totally stoned, and then we're gonna head up to some bar in the Northeast where we hear there's mad hairy bitches. You down?

I'm not kidding: Get into this. Last day includes ice hockey and cross-country skiing. Fight! FIGHT!

For the Sept. 10 that still lurks in all of us.

A new game show in which Howie Mandel makes guests guess what is in his briefcase. Hint: It's not rubber gloves and lube.