Yes!

The Gallagher interview is on lock for Tuesday. This means we won't have to go with our back-up plan, which was to interview a watermelon about what it's like to be the foil to Gallagher's act. I'm strangely, uncomfortably nervous, especially after receiving this from his publicist today.

Please Remember:
1. check out Gallagher's website at www.gallaghersmash.com
2. www.gorillauglyfilms.com/uncleearth
3. www.youtube.com/riverpoem
4. DO NOT ASK GALLAGHER HOW HE GOT STARTED OR ABOUT HIS BROTHER.

If you'll recall, Gallagher and his brother had a big dust up over the rights to the Gallagher name. If you don't recall, you should watch more E! True Hollywood Story. If you click on that No. 2 link, you will be taken to a Web site of bizarrity and confusion. The No. 3 link takes you to a YouTube user who has no videos posted. This could be the best interview of my life.

Why Not More Serious?

Driving back from the beach yesterday, I did a double take when a car passed me headed into Palmetto Dunes. I swore it had a bumper sticker that said "Heath Ledger" in big, curly-q letters on a bright yellow background. I pulled up closer and took another look. My eyes had not lied to me. It said: "Heath Ledger: Gone But Not Forgotten."

I was surprised to see that someone cared enough about Heath Ledger to bedeck their car with a semi-permanent message. But I was more surprised that it was such an unprofessional, silly looking tribute to the dead actor. It could easily have been an advertisement for Signe's Heaven Bound Bakery or one of those wretched bumper stickers that inform other motorists of the perils of driving faster than their angels could fly. You'd think something more somber and reserved would be appropriate.

The only other thing adorning this SUV was one of those Jesus fish. So the two causes in this person's life that they care passionately enough about to warrant brandishing on their vehicle are a) the son of God and b) Sir William Thatcher from A Knight's Tale.

Here's the only thing I could find on the interweb of a Heath Ledger bumper sticker. Maybe this person was just part of the extensive viral marketing campaign for The Dark Knight. Regardless, I'm getting more and more damned excited for this movie by the day.

Your Poncho Is No Match for Flying Watermelon

If you had approached the 8-year-old me and told me one day I would leave the following voice mail message, I would have thrown my Man-E-Faces at you and told you to get your lying ass out of my couch fortress before you bring down the blue cushiony Walls of Solitude with your deception:

"Hi, this is (my name) and I was calling to set up an interview with Gallagher."

Yes, that's THE Gallagher, not Gallagher II or even Liam Gallagher. The watermelon smashing, long-haired stage hound who put the prop in "prop comedy" long before Carrot Top was even a Carrot Seed. For whatever reason, his TV specials dominated VH-1 in the late 80s and early 90s, apparently before they discovered they could pump out cheap programming by filming people wistfully reminiscing about things that happened TWO EFFING YEARS AGO. ("Oh hey, remember the iPhone? What a crazy fad that was! People back then were so silly!")

I was a huge fan, because I was 8, and because I loved the idea of a grown man on stage spraying an audience with fruit bits, cleaning products and cake for 20 minutes while the squares in the front row held up their plastic sheeting. "Not me," I'd say to myself, envisioning the day Gallagher finally came to the Toms River Community Center or something. "Only wimps would bring plastic." To me, this was the equivalent of wearing one of those cheap plastic ponchos when going down Splashwater Falls at Great Adventure. Um, hello? The entire purpose is to get wet. Embrace it! Love it! Treat the squishing of your sneakers as a badge of honor as you wolf down your $10 cheeseburger next to those squeaky clean youth group members whose leader won't let them ride the "Devil's Flume."

The poncho wearers were the kinds of people I wanted to follow to the parking lot and spray with a gigantic fire hose just as they opened their car door. "Goddamnit, Esther!" the frustrated dad would say, "I told you these stupid ponchos were a bad idea!" Then a kid would cry, and I would squeak away in my sneakers, contented with another day at the amusement park.

I haven't heard back from the Gallagher people yet (also: Gallagher has people? Who knew?) so I don't know if I will actually get the interview. But if I do, I expect great things, mainly because this interview with The Oregonian went so well. From Wikipedia, which, as you know, is always accurate:

In January 2005, the Oregonian’s entertainment section printed a short interview with Gallagher where he gave scathing reviews about many of the top comedic performers in America. He criticized stand-up performers including David Letterman, Robin Williams, Jim Carrey, Tom Hanks, and Michael Keaton. Gallagher expressed frustration over Hanks and Keaton’s success, remarking that they were millionaires while he was renting a condo. While criticising Jay Leno and Letterman, he expressed surprise that they never invited him to appear in their shows, citing that Johnny Carson never liked him, but still booked him.

Gallagher reserved special wrath for Comedy Central’s list of the 100 Greatest Stand-ups of All Time, where he was listed as #100, just below Janeane Garofalo. Gallagher insulted the list as a whole, stating that when reading it he “was trying to find anyone I ever heard of.” He went on to claim that he had invented the concept of the one-person comedy show on cable television.

Either way, Gallagher will be here July 5. Leave your plastic at home.

"Get an extension cord for my plug"

I plan to watch as much of this George Carlin marathon as possible this week, even if it means calling out sick tomorrow, as I was once informed by Carlin that You (meaning me) Are All Diseased. But well done HBO; this is a pretty excellent tribute.

Watching this makes me miss my dad something terrible. It has something to do with the common cultural touchstones my dad and I shared in the old living room on Cable Avenue. "Married With Children" has the same effect on me these days. And this should pretty much explain everything you need to know about my upbringing.

Then, one of the last Christmas presents I got for my dad was this book:

Again, this about explains our father-son relationship pretty well.

At Least Bob Woodward Knows My Name

When you're in the newspaper business, you have to deal with a certain number of people who have, let's say, special qualities that distinguishes them from the average iteration of humanity. They might be someone who was wronged years ago and has dedicated their life to fighting for their cause, which somehow inevitably involves e-mailing a local news reporter upwards of 19 times a day with long diatribes. Or they might be a person who sits at home counting the dew drops on their windowpane and gathering evidence for the Suburban Crisis Discovery Revolution Squad she fears is plotting to steal her rhododendron bushes and turn her cat gay.
Or they might just have a case of what we like to call "The Bat Fucking Shit Crazies."

I'll let you figure out in which category this character resides. Suffice it to say our entire newsroom, as well as Bob Woodward, the newsrooms of the Washington Post, the USA Today, the New York Times, Fox News, Bill O'Reilly, Rupert Murdoch, and seemingly every member of Congress have been bombarded by e-mails by this guy. Here is where I would normally try to summarize his supposed gripe, if, that is, I had any success at deciphering his ramblings and getting at his actual issue. It has something to do with being arrested for driving a car and spending time in jail, then apparently a bunch of white people were racist against him, though it has never been made clear how or why. I have been instructed by my bosses I'd best ignore his e-mails, or else he will just get more riled up. But today's is classic because he's e-mailing the Rev. Al Sharpton, comparing me directly to Don Imus's latest racial foot-in-mouth. Finally, the big time.

I would just cut and copy the text of the e-mail here, but you really need to see an image of it to get the full stylistic fireworks display of fonts and colors. This all started when I asked why he was attacking Shanda, probably the quietest and most non-threatening copy editor on an already pretty quiet and non-threatening copy desk. I also was trying to figure out exactly how he had been the subject of such vehement racism by white people when he is (and he is) a big white guy. My fault for trying to get a straight answer out of a big mess of crazy pie I guess.

This is all one continuous e-mail. Click on the images to read the whole thing. Some names have been removed to protect the innocent.

A Riddikulus Diagnosis

What I learned from a visit to a new doctor this morning: I may be dying from a disease found only in the fictional world of Harry Potter.

I complained to the doctor about this weird thing I've had for a few weeks now that makes me feel like there's something interminably stuck in my throat, or maybe that there's some sort of lump there. He poked and prodded and asked a few questions, then took out his pad and started writing something down.

"I hope this isn't too offensive.." (always a good way to start) "but this is what I think the case is. You can Google it."

This is what he wrote down: globus hystericus.

My first reaction was to look towards the door, as I assumed he was instructing me to banish an approaching boggart by turning it into a basketball.

This was, sadly, not the case, which was just as well as my wand is in the shop. But I looked it up when I got to work and, truth be told, it is real:

The sensation of having a lump in the throat when there is nothing there. Sometimes simply called globus.

Globus hystericus is a symptom of some physical disorders such as reflux laryngitis as well as a psychosomatic disorder characterized by a change or loss of physical function (such as blurred vision or paralysis of the legs) that suggests a physical disorder but instead is an expression of a psychological conflict or need.

The "lump in the throat" sensation that characterizes globus pharyngis is usually due to the inflammation of one or more parts of the throat such as the larynx or hypopharynx.

Here's the kicker:

It may also be caused by hysterical neurosis or anxiety disorders.

Merlin's beard! Here I expected to find out I had some inflamed tonsils or a gigantic wedge of tofu blocking my esophagus, and instead I'm informed I've finally pitched myself over the edge and descended into hysterical neurosis. If it is anxiety, I wonder what could be causing it?

The doctor's prescription for this? "Well, the more you think about it the worse it gets." So stop thinking about it? You try cramming a wool sock down your throat and see how easy it is to stop thinking about it.

I should have gone to see Madame Pomfrey instead.

Kanye explains the Bonnaroo incident

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