Silent Shatter

I hear the sound of glass ceilings shattering all over the place. Where is the celebratory reportage? Yelling yay from the balconies? Women taking over the top jobs at the most unlikely places. Gina Haspel, CIA Director. Suzanne Scott CEO at Fox News. Okay. You say Faux News. But. It still kills in the ratings. And. Stacey Cummingham, New York Stock Exchange President. The feminists’ silence is deafening. Except for Hillary’s never-ending wearisome whining.

Oh. And. Only Brainstorm. Never Green Needle.

The Royal Bachelor Show

Bachelorette Meghan got the rose. An American actress divorcée (not that there’s anything wrong with that) finds love again with Harry. The exceedingly eligible cute redheaded Bachelor. An English guy. They survive the destination date to Africa. Hot tubs may have been involved. Yet. He is a prince and a Prince.

They eschew the hometown parents visit. Her family may be a little too colorful for the BBC and his dysfunctionally royal clan. But. In the finale he does present her with a ring. She says yes. The engagement is of course a very public affair with lots of rules. And photo shoots.

The wedding production is certainly worthy of weeks-long wall-to-wall media coverage on every outlet. Gaggles of anchors crossing the pond to narrate the anointed nuptials. It’ll be a ratings extravaganza! Life has become a never-ending reality show. This more than fits the bill.

Yanny or Laurel?

I hear Cilantro. One person’s soap is another’s parsley. Seriously. Never once heard Laurel on any frequency. Always Yanny. Son heard Laurel. Husband and others hear both. A metaphor for miscommunication. Everyone hears and tastes and reads the same thing yet interprets it differently. If only we all heard Yanny. World peace!

Up Front

This week in NYC the up-fronts come to town. Traditional old television networks present advertisers with their lineup for the new season. Tough times with all of the alternatives for watching shows now. Can hardly name more than a handful that are worth tuning in to NBC, ABC, CBS. Or Fox. Maybe the competition will make them better. So far not so much.

However, there does seem to be a tide turning. ABC’s Jimmy Kimmel and NBC’s SNL are starting to admit that Trump-bashing comedy, low-hanging jokes are falling flat with general audiences. Hope Democrats will take the hint and realize that a positive message and charismatic candidate will gain more voters than a constant TTSD rant.

Crowd Went Wild

Fox1 Sports’ The Crowd Goes Wild from a few years ago at Chelsea Piers studio. Today, Regis Philbin at 86 the former Playboy mansion and Mar-A-Lago hangout bff of “The Trumpster” as he called him, is low profile in L.A. Journalist Jason Gay still has a great sports column in the Wall Street Journal. Trevor Pryce. Don’t know. Michael Kosta is killing it with Trevor Noah on Comedy Central’s Daily Show. Georgie Thompson married Sir Ben Ainslie, UK olympic sailing champ, and had a baby girl. Katie Nolan went to ESPN and is making seven figures there.

Miss them together on that show.

Media Finally Woke

Some in the media got a clue. Michelle Wolf’s outrageous yet often apt comedic rant rang true. Three op-eds in the NYTimes today discuss the media’s Trump obsession and overreach which give him a constant stage and control of his agenda. Dowd. Douthat. Kristof. Well done. Stormy on SNL. That’s funny. Right place and time. Not on CNN and MSNBC all day.

Derby fire soundly doused. As was the track. Tiger still in play on the course at Quail Hollow. Phippy carded a 64 yesterday.

Terrible’s

Road trip through the Great American South West. Summer of 2002. Grand Canyon. Sedona. Troon North. Scottsdale. Las Vegas. All the usual stops. But. True destination was Pahrump, Nevada. To find Art Bell. His double-wide. Where he broadcasted his overnight radio show. UFO’s. Militias. Ghosts. Witches. Crop Circles. Chem-trails. An insomniac’s aphrodisiac.

Arrived in Pahrump after a ridiculously long drive from Las Vegas. Every saloon, casino, convenience store, gas station had the same name. Terrible’s. We went to each one asking customers and management alike if they knew where Art Bell lived. They all gave us a disinterested or ignorant fake-shake of the head. Some provided directions. Which were all different. So. We drove around a while and finally gave up.

Godspeed Art. Midnights in the Desert will never be the same. Apologies to Crystal Gayle.

Speaking of terrible. Crying Comey makes Trump look like an adult.