"The accident came two days after the National Enquirer published a story alleging that Woods had been seeing a New York nightclub hostess, and that they recently were together in Melbourne, where Woods competed in the Australian Masters." (AP)

RIP, Al Alberts

(Holiday) Weekend Reading Roundup (Part One Edition)

Sure, no gnus is good gnus, but some gnus is entertaining gnus, no? I think so. So, here's a few things me read this weekend.
Like, how Irish Catholic bishops in the homeland covered up kid diddlin'.

Or how aliens are mutilating calves somewhere near Southpark, Colo.

Or how Sen. Bob Casey (whom I've met, and personally like) is trying to toe a fine abortion line.

Or how Q&A "Ask Amy" column appeared in the Inquirer's Black Friday edition ...

Dear Amy: I recently attended a frat party, got drunk and made some bad decisions. I let a guy take me to "his" room because he promised that he wouldn't do anything I wasn't comfortable with.
Many times, I clearly said I didn't want to have sex, and he promised to my face that he wouldn't. Then he quickly proceeded to go against what he "promised." I was shocked, and maybe being intoxicated made my reaction time a bit slow in realizing what was happening.
We were soon kicked out of the room by the guy who lived there.
If I wasn't kicking and fighting him off, is it still rape? I feel like calling it that is a bit extreme, but I haven't felt the same since.
- Victim? in Virginia

Or how Upper Darby slammed a gypsy-looking hit-and-run piglet who left three young lives hanging in the balance with a $1 million bail.

And how former NY Giant Mark Ingram could have been Ashland, Kentucky cellies with T. Milton Street Sr. or Vinnie "Unrepentant Thieving Ladyboy" Fumo ... if only he'd reported to serve time.

(Oh, btw, that pic up top is from this week's Sports Illustrated. It's of IHBA driver Quinten Knight post-eliminator-class-boat crash at Firebird Intl. Raceway in Chandler, Ariz. Credit in the mag goes to Jon Lemoine of US Presswire.)

So, um, yeah, this is from the Philly Turkey Day Parade

This week's Metro column...

... can be found here. TTYM.

The Angelo Lutz Cooking Show!

I'd like to say I saw this coming when I went to Angelo's Going Away To Prison Party down on Shunk Street way back in my Philly Weekly staff writin' days. But I didn't. So let's just pretend.
Attaguy, Angelo. And attasite, Philly.com.

While you were home...

...watching the Mormons rig a celebrity-dance-off show, I was here ...




... watching the hippies of Philadelphia and beyond lose their freakin minds, man, from three rows behind Phish. Just like old times, but without the hazy, cloudy hangover. Man.

Weekend Reading Roundup (No Photo Till the End/Cusp of Online Respite Edition)

Considering that this is the last post I plan till the post-Turkey-Day week (I may throw some factoids up via text bloggering, or throw a couple Divorce Court posts up, though) it figures that the stack of newsprint is about half as tall as my BlackBerry. Does that make sense? Not in the least. But not much does these days. Which leads me into ...
This, which encapsulates Sarah Palin.

Even by the standard of politicians, this is a woman with an outsized ego. Combine that with her performance skills and an insatiable hunger for the limelight, and you can see why she will not stay in Wasilla now that she’s seen 30 Rock.

And this, which just made me go into DVResearch mode to determine whether I'd be adding another show to my -- exaggeration in 5, 4, 3, 2... -- wildly popular Divorce Court presence.

Judge Mazz, as he is known on the air, has been settling small-claims cases weekdays at 1 p.m. since Sept. 21, not in the traditional — stale? — studio courtroom, but at the very scene of the dispute — next to the car that won’t start on a rainy Bronx street, in a cramped Queens basement where someone failed to fix a furnace, on a chilly Upper East Side sidewalk where a Weimaraner is accused of attacking a Chihuahua.

And this, which is why I'm as amped to go to the movies as I've been since the Empire Strikes Back with my mom at the Moorestown Mall...

"One of the things that attracted me to this story is that there is nowhere to hide," says Mortensen of the film based on Cormac McCarthy's Pulitzer Prize winner - a novel about a father and his young son wandering a devastated, ash-dusted America. "Not that doing research is hiding, necessarily, but The Road is very bare-bones. You know, people say, what happened? Was it a war? Was it an environmental catastrophe? Climate change?
"And in a sense it doesn't matter, because it's a device, it's a means to exaggerate a concern that everyone can understand. . . . And that's inherently dramatic, but it's also, as an actor, a big challenge. There are no tricks. You either have to believe that these people are father and son, that they love each other, that they really are going through some difficult things, or you don't. And you have to believe their harrowing emotional journey."

And this, which has me playing "Where Have I Seen That Before"...

"We always have to be careful about coming up the Delaware because the depth is only 40 feet," said Maersk vice president William Duggan Jr. "Having the ability to load more cargo would be a major benefit. It allows more commerce to come into the terminal in Philadelphia."

And this, which has me playing the "Where Have I Seen That Before" home edition...

And there was Terry Oleson, 37, a handyman from Salem County. Oleson came under scrutiny after his arrest on unrelated charges but never was implicated in the killings, said James Leonard, his attorney. Oleson would like investigators to clear his name.

And this, in which Philadelphia's mayor gets rightfully excoriated...

We elected a mayor who, given the strictures of the Democratic machine, may well get a second term.
For those of us who live here and get once-a-week garbage collection in return for the wage tax, the business-privilege tax, the net-profits tax, the franchise tax, the increased sales tax, and a million other tax gnats, what does the continuation of Mayor Nutter mean?
Disaster.

And this, in which a college professor of mine gets plaudited (if that's a word) in the Times Book Review...

Finally, on the second-to-last page of his history of memoir, a tale packed from beginning to end with scandals, liars and cheats, Ben Yagoda asks the question we’ve been waiting for: How do we know when we’re being duped?

And this, where SI's Chris Ballard makes a pretty logical case as to why Bronnie (the hoopster, not the Real World Cancun inbred) should spurn a salary...

Of course the next time an NBA player leaves $50 million on the table will be the first, and for most athletes in their prime such an idea would be foolish. But then, LeBron isn't most athletes. When it comes to curating his image, he's always been a trailblazer...

And, finally, this, where White Jesus, Usain Bolt, the guys from The Hangover, and ...

... get shouted out.
You're welcome.

Why Thierry Henry will sizzle in hell

The Irish just can't catch a break, even on the pitch.
I wasn't down with the whole Freedom Fries thing. Till now. Even if Thierry Henry has handled his been-caught-cheating fracas with dignity. I've already added an * to the 2010 World Cup winner. Unless it's the US. Which is as likely as Ireland winning it, methinks.

This aggression will not stand

Suffice it to say, whoever Selena Gomez is will scorch in hell for doing what she did to what I'm not ashamed to say is a wonderful Backstreet Boys song. (Big ups, Krimpet.)

Charlie Dawg update

Just thought I'd share a couple shots to bring all y'all up to speed on how Chuck Diesel, aka Chas D, aka Charlie Dawg is doing post-surgery and post-suture removal. Suffice it to say, she's A-OK ...

"About 30 Ireland fans traveled to the French embassy in Dublin on a double-decker bus Friday, but they were blocked at the entrance by guards ..."

And in an instant, my inherent good-will for Philadelphia Police returns ...

Hey, remember a couple weeks back when I got hit-and-ran again and wondered, nay, lambasted the Philly police for not investigating when I gave them a license plate, and knew the address of the person who hit my car?
Yeah, well, I apologize. Got a call today. They're working on it, albeit two weeks later than they would have like to have started.
My bad.
In related news, yesterday, I was back at the spot where I should've been killed last November. I'll share why next week.
Have a good weekend.
And remember, if you're driving, don't drink. And if you're drinking, don't drive.

"Gonna spread my word, by standing on this box."

The Hickey Endorsement: The Killers Live at Royal Albert Hall

Each time I've left a Killers show, I've always wished they had a live-CD so I could go back and pinpoint the differences between live and studio. The differences are subtle. The energy isn't. Dudes are totally into a kind of music that I respect for getting me amped at every turn. Well, this week, they released the Live at Royal Albert Hall CD and DVD. I got it Wednesday night. I didn't go do sleep until early Thursday.
If you're already a fan, get it. There are a few off-beaten-path songs that really bang in concert (Bling, notably).
If you're a hater, I defy you to watch the DVD performance and then tell me why they're too poppy or mainstream for your tastes.
And if you're in between, well I'd say you should get it too.
Shit's tight.
And if you're not moved by the A Dustland Fairytale performance like I continually am, we can just agree to disagree and move on. (Though, I'll think you have bad taste for 'ternity.)

Culling the info-pile herd

Don't know how I managed to let a stack of mags and papers accumulate on my desk this week but I did. And, since I'm going to take some respite from the keyboard next week, I might as well share them with yous today, rapid-fire style.

-- Seems as if an AP poll found that most football players lie about head injuries so they can keep playing. Seems as if an AP poll came to conclusions that will allow rich team owners and league deities to claim they just didn't know they were forcing workers to ruin their lives so they could cash in during a limited period of their lives.
Classy.
I'll remember this when Westbrook sounds like Frazier.

-- Who knew that flavorists wallowed in a sect of secrecy? Slugworth, that's who.

-- Who knew that Glenn Beck was a calculated racism-, xenophobia-, hate-mongering imp who will sizzle in hell fire? Me, that's who. And the New Yorker's Nancy Frankln, too.

A headline at the top of Beck’s Web site announces what he thinks he’s selling: “the fusion of entertainment and enlightenment.” If by this Beck means that his product is radioactive, he’s got that right. We can only hope that its toxic charge will fade over time.

-- Saw a blurb about Transylmania in Maxim. It's a movie with "hunchbacks, evil scientists and orgiastic vampires." Mmm, hunchbacks.


-- Maxim also had a great, great story about the former "top narco cop in Texas" who now trades his wares smoking weeeeeeed and telling fellow users how best to avoid arrest. This redeems my faith in the story of humanity. But Maxim's lack of a link on its site sends me right back to cold reality. So, I looked Barry Cooper up elsewhere. Here's where you can find him. You know, to say thanks.

-- Oh, after reading this last week's Rolling Stone, I'd highly recommend -- no post-pun intended -- catching the four-hour R n R HOF Concert on HBO next Sunday. Mick's there. So are other people who are great in their own rights (like Bruce, about whom Killers front-man Brandon Flowers wrote a tribute as his inspiration: "He wipes the floor with any 25-year-old kid.") but just not as great as Mick. Except maybe Aretha. She's bad-ass. Mike Love's speech from '88 is, too.

Coming tomorrow (or so): My endorsement of a newly-released CD/DVD combo. Predictable, yes, but wholly accurate.

Hydroponics

Ok, not exactly. But I did write about hydrogen for KeystoneEdge.com today. Check the story out here.

And my anger about Brian Westbrook only grows...

Here's what I haven't seen from the Eagles or anybody else amid the whole march-Brian-Westbrook-toward-brain-death charade: A single person accept responsibility for letting him play just weeks after suffering a head-shaking concussion, or even for -- if it's the case -- letting him talk his way back onto the field.
In fact, the positivity coming from Pittsburgh yesterday ...

The University of Pittsburgh Medical Center released a statement last night, after Westbrook was examined by Dr. Joseph Maroon and Dr. Michael (Micky) Collins, a neurosurgeon and a neuropsychologist who work closely with Dr. Mark Lovell, director of the center's concussion program and developer of the treatment protocols the NFL uses.
"The UPMC doctors report that Mr. Westbrook's symptoms have improved significantly over the last three days. He was retested today with a battery of neuro-cognitive tests, including ImPACT (Immediate Post-Concussion Assessment and Cognitive Testing), a computerized tool that is used by all NFL teams for evaluating injury recovery. He also underwent comprehensive physical and neurological exam, results of which were favorable," the statement said.
"We are very encouraged by Brian's progress, we believe that he has an excellent prognosis and we expect a full recovery," Maroon and Collins were quoted as saying. "We developed a comprehensive physical rehab plan for Brian, and we will repeat the detailed testing in the next two to three weeks."

... makes me wonder whether Carson Palmer was right: We are going to see someone die on a National Football League field, and sooner rather than later.
If Westbrook is back on that field this year, I'm done with the Eagles. Mark it down.

Finally, a reason to at least sorta-respect what Miley Cyrus is all about

And I use even "sorta-respect" loosely. But when I-dont-even-know-what-to-label her was asked about Twilight and the Twilight sequel, here's what she had to say ...

"I've never seen it and nor will I ever," Cyrus, 16, said recently during an interview with Cleveland radio station Q92.

You go, um, Miley.