You know what’s crazy? I’ll tell you what’s crazy.™
What passes for Saturday morning news.
Are they broadcasting to children waiting for cartoons to come on? Are they targeting an audience of farmers preparing to throw grain to the chickens? Are the weekend newsrooms run by children who think the hem line of the soon to be princess is breaking news.
I know I used this space to rant last week about NBC Saturday Morning News and the insipid decision to lead with Killiam (Kate and Prince William) over radioactive rice balls in Japan.
Sadly the Earth has rotated on its axis another 7 times and here we are again; Deja Vu all over again.
I’m not sure if Ghadaffi is dead or alive? I don’t know if reactor number 2 has melted down and farted a radioactive isotope into Eastern Europe. I don’t know if the Screaming Eagles of the 101st Airborne have sustained more casualties on the Afghanistan border.
Why don’t I know anything right now? Because I am an idiot who keeps putting on NBC news.
What is the National Broadcasting Company airing you ask?
Another hard hitting story about what celebrities wear when they come to court.
They call their spot courtroom couture.
The package opens with Lindsay Lohan and of course she is wearing that skin tight white dress that envelopes mammoth bosoms that jiggle ever so slightly with each step through the gauntlet of paparazzi. The dress clings to her curves and stops just below her danger zone.
The image looks like a red carpet moment at the Emmy’s more than an entrance at the Beverly Hills Courthouse.
Flash bulbs popping and Lindsay jiggling and the experts in the package go off on stupid Lindsay Lohan throwing hand grenades of insults at the one time diva.
“Is that a dress or a napkin she stole from the Holiday Inn?”
Felony Fashion is what one expert calls it.
“Is there a skirt that goes with that. It is so high”, says Brian Balthazar editor of pop goes the week.
“Sexy for grand theft is risky,” he bellows as if what he is saying is actually important.
Then Nigel Baker, famous fashion photographer weighs in with a deep British Accent that at least adds some credibility to the piece.
“The dress is too short and too tight. You don’t need to reveal that much body even going out at night.”
Well I don’t know if I agree with Baker on the going out at night part. I mean watching a panty-less Lohan exit a limo drunk off her ass is certainly worth the cost of logging onto TMZ.
Baker continues: “Lohan needs to dress appropriate: simple and conservative. Feminine chic and classic.”
Huh?
It’s court dude. Most of us are happy to find a parking spot and arrive on time.
Then the piece cuts to Amy Whitehouse coming to court. Whitehouse is a crack whore who passes for an English pop singer. She is a human train wreck of booze and drugs and bad clothing choices.
On this day she decided to walk through a car wash spraying paint. She emerged on the other side like technicolor vomit. The stains on her smock look like they were conceptualized by stoned monkeys.
The court couture critics are equally as harsh. “She looks like she was ambushed by a picnic and she took the bee hive with her,” says Balthazar.
Nice Barb Balthazar.
The piece goes on to spew about courtroom chic and fashion justice. Somewhere Edward R. Murrow is turning over in his grave trying to dig himself out of the crypt to come to the NBC studios and kick some young weekend producer ass.
The piece moves on to the king of pop and the worst courtroom decision this side of Charles Manson’s forehead swastika tattoo.
Michael Jackson wearing blue pajama pants.
The king of pop couldn’t even bother to change for court.
That’s sad on so many levels. Not only is it disrespectful to the court, it’s an abomination of humanity. You don’t wear night wear in public. What’s next? Feety pajamas? A teddy bear? A pacifier?
Then they cut to Winona Rider in court for shoplifting. Apparently she got it right by wearing black and acting reserved.
“Tight enough to show you are a woman and loose enough to show you are a lady,” Baker again says with flawless British precision.
You would think two minutes of this fatuousness would suffice. Nope.
A break out segment with jury consultant, Tara Task.
REPORTER: how much does what you wear impact your case?
((hard hitting opening question))
TASK: it has some impact.
((So does combing your hair with vomit))
REPORTER: What does the judge think? How about the jury?
((I’m on the edge of my seat now))
TASK: she is not helping herself by showing disrespect to the institution.
((Justice is blind lady. I doubt the judge cares if Lindsay is wearing no panties and she is sitting with her legs slightly askew under the defendant table affording him a private view of Shangri La))
REPORTER: What if she wears that tight white outfit in front of a jury?
((she better wear a plunging neck line top so the guys in the back of the Jury stand can be as distracted as the judge is from the bench))
TASK: She should really wear a suit and take this seriously.
((yeah like celebrating the graduation of your 12 step program at an after hours club on Melrose))
The piece begins to fizzle quickly from this point on. The wet dream of some pimple faced – wet behind the ear – producer’s concoction of news is crashing and burning like a Libyan fighter jet testing the no fly zone.
The first segment was suspect. This break out is simply a peregrine waste of viewer time. I have to literally put tooth picks in my eye lids to keep them from crashing harder than the 1928 stock market.
They banter on like monkey’s throwing their own excrement at each other about eye glasses helping a violent defender. They talk about obscure cases of who gives a damn.
I want to vote the reporter, her guest, and the producer off the island. I want to send the entire NBC network home with their torches snuffed out and Jeff telling them the “The tribe has spoken.”
Perfect.
I punch in any number on my Comcast cable and suddenly Mexican music from the 1940’s begins blaring with a tambourine, a bugle and a salsa serenading vocal.
I laugh out loud and thank the crazy universe. At least this makes sense.
And that is crazy.™