This afternoon, while walking down 8th Avenue toward 14th Street, I passed by a too-tall, too-obvious drag queen. S/he locked eye contact with me, and slowly drew out these words:

“You look mahhhhvelous!”

I muttered a quick “thank you”. And with that, we went our separate ways.

I don’t know if this complimenting queen was channeling Billy Crystal or Fernando Lamas, or both. Or more likely, neither. Regardless, this vignette gives me a good enough excuse to showcase one of my favorite vintage “Saturday Night Live” skits, Fernando’s Hideaway:

Despite my newly-enshrined marvelousness, I have never been to a Hollywood party where dildo-like bodybuilding objects were offered as hors d’oeuvres. But I do know one thing: That it is better to look good than to feel good. If you know what I am saying to you.

Seems that Fox Network gave Craig Kilborn a new show, and then neglected to tell anyone about it:

After five weeks of its six-week test, “The Kilborn File” is averaging a 0.9 rating/2 share weighted metered market average, according to Nielsen Media Research, across Fox-owned stations in seven markets. That’s down 53% from the show’s 1.9/4 average lead-in and 47% compared to last summer’s 1.7/4 average in the time slots.

From what I can tell, the show’s already off the air in the New York market. That, and the above numbers, indicate that the gamble that Kilborn’s old audience flocking to this vehicle were ill-founded. Given that he hasn’t been on the tube in six years, it was a foolish assumption to begin with.

And I say that as a Kilborn fan. He had a memorable presence on “SportsCenter”, providing a solid supporting role during ESPN’s “Big Show” era. And hold onto your hats: I actually preferred him as the original host of the original iteration of “The Daily Show”, over Jon Stewart and what that show morphed into.

So I’m a little disappointed that “File” tanked. Maybe there’s an opening in Bristol that Kilborn can revert back to; that might actually prompt me to tune into the World Wide Leader in Sports again.

Kudos to New York Times advertising columnist Stuart Elliott, who decoded the I’m-quitting saga of JetBlue flight attendant Steven Slater in a pop-cultural context:

How many see the resemblance between Steven Slater of #jetblue and Stephen Stucker, who played the sassy Johnny character in “Airplane”?

Sure enough, the resemblance is uncanny. I would have run side-by-side headshots of Steven and Stephen, but I couldn’t find decent enough photos of them (not surprisingly for Stucker, who’s been dead for a quarter-century). But it’s there. The fact that they are/were both gay probably also contributes to the similarity.

It also doesn’t hurt that Slater’s real-life meltdown could have been scripted right out of Airplane!. And by the way, don’t call me Shirley.

While Bill Cosby was disputing yet another premature rumor of his demise, he dropped a most succinct definition of the less-popular afterlife alternative:

“Hell is a place where everybody is laughing, but nothing is funny.”

Leave it to The Cos to come up with the first plausible rebuttal to Jean-Paul Sartre’s argument that “Hell is other people”. For added philosophical impact, I’m hoping the comedian was wearing a signature Cosby Sweater whilst quipping.

Looking to challenge an unacceptable status quo, Wyclef Jean is seriously considering a run for president of his native Haiti.

And the former Fugee doesn’t even need to outline his campaign platform, because his body of song lyrics already does that.

Speaking of which, let’s hope that his previous presidential speculation doesn’t jump from melodic fantasy to grim reality:

If I was President

I’d get elected on Friday

Assassinated on Saturday

And buried on Sunday

That was semi-satiric musings from the pre-Obama era. Ironically, Jean really is more prone to experience that fate in the Haitian Presidential Palace, versus a highly improbable (make that impossible) ascent to the White House…

Let’s take note of the contrasting spectacles this past week from the scions of two American political families:

- Chelsea Clinton, daughter of the liberal bogeymen that are Bill and Hillary, got married in a traditional (if opulent) wedding.

- Bristol Palin, the unwed teenage baby-mama offspring of conservative standard-bearer Sarah, broke it off (again) with her child’s father, Levi Johnston.

And this left-right behavioral contrast jibes with the seemingly paradoxical higher divorce rates in red states versus blue states. So, remind me again which end of this country’s political spectrum has the credibility to spout off about “family values”?

Riding a career-revival hot streak that includes a much-hyped “Saturday Night Live” host slot and a starring role in a new sitcom, “Hot in Cleveland”, Betty White is moving on to time-sensitive wall hangings:

It’s true. The 88-year-old actress is posing for her own 2011 calendar. Some of the photos are archival, others are Betty with animals and more than one month features Betty posing with shirtless, beefcake-type men.

Not to be unduly morbid, but let’s face it — White is 88. There’s a reasonable chance that she may not make it through the rest of this year, let alone next. So it’s entirely possible that this calendar could outlast her. If so, this merchandise would become an instant collector’s item, if ghoulishly so. Very much of a tempting-fate air to all this…

Paisley Park’s own Prince has roused the online rabble by declaring that he’s done with the Web:

Unlike most other rock stars, he has banned YouTube and iTunes from using any of his music and has even closed down his own official website.

He says: “The internet’s completely over. I don’t see why I should give my new music to iTunes or anyone else. They won’t pay me an advance for it and then they get angry when they can’t get it.

“The internet’s like MTV. At one time MTV was hip and suddenly it became outdated. Anyway, all these computers and digital gadgets are no good. They just fill your head with numbers and that can’t be good for you.”

Quite the Luddite approach to modern media. I’m sure someone else, somewhere, has referenced Prince’s classic “1999″ as a reference point, as in His Royal Badness wishing that the InterWebz would revert to that year, when MP3 downloads were an iffy affair on dialup speeds. If not, I’m doing it here.

Once again, David Letterman nails it. Here, from tonight’s “Late Show”, is his pithy definition of why soccer has never caught on in the United States:

Because in this country, soccer is not a sport. It’s daycare.

Pretty effectively sums it up. Kids take to the game because it’s relatively simple to pick up and develop teamwork around. After you hit puberty, it wears off. The “world’s game” doesn’t grow up with American tykes, and hasn’t since the 1970s.

I see that upcoming new release Grown Ups features Kevin James in the role of The Fat Guy (not really his character’s name, but it might as well be).

Meanwhile, the rest of this comedy’s main-character ensemble is: Adam Sandler, Chris Rock, David Spade, and Rob Schneider. Those four share a common history as former cast-members of “Saturday Night Live” — in fact, they were all on the show at roughly the same time.

That background makes James the odd-man-out. In more ways than one: I can’t look at this movie’s lineup and not think that another “SNL” alum from the same era, the late Chris Farley, would have slotted into this project perfectly. Farley is, in essence, the missing ingredient in this de facto “SNL” reunion.

Not that Farley, had he survived, would have made this flick look any less sucky than it now does. The domestication of former frat-boy comics is predictable enough, but it doesn’t guarantee any laughs. Not even with a substitute fat schlub.

Practically live off the Web: Earlier tonight, someone landed on this blog from a Google search for this quote attributed to David Letterman:

“Sometimes, when you look in his eyes, you get the feeling that someone else is driving.”

The searcher presumably was looking for the object of Letterman’s assessment. And surprisingly, the scads of Web cruft don’t offer a clue as to who that is. Myriad sites reproduce the quote, and credit Letterman — but they offer absolutely no context. Just another example of the online echo chamber diffusing our collective ignorance…

If it helps anyone, I’m pretty sure I know who Letterman was referring to: The late Andy Kaufman. I can’t absolutely verify this at the moment, because, as I said, the Web is proving pretty useless in providing this information. But I recall the quotation pretty well, probably from some long-ago documentary on Kaufman’s life. Letterman would have uttered this sometime in the early ’80s, before Kaufman departed this mortal coil. I’m about 95 percent positive about this.

So, at least this website won’t be yet another dead end in the pursuit of the answer to Letterman’s pithy saying. At least, not anymore. And you’re welcome.

Gary Coleman is now dead, but his “Avenue Q” character lives on:

“Avenue Q,” which won the Tony Award for best musical in 2004, as well as Tonys for [writer Jeff] Whitty and the composers, Robert Lopez and Jeff Marx, has included a character called Gary Coleman since its debut.

Introduced in the show’s opening number, “It Sucks to Be Me,” the character (who is played by a woman) identifies himself as the former child star who “made a lot of money that got stolen by my folks.”

Now he works as the superintendent in the tenement where the show’s puppet and human characters live, and he often reminds them that, as bad as their lives may seem, his is much worse. (“Try having people stopping you to ask you, ‘What’choo talkin’ ’bout, Willis?’ ” he sings. “It gets old.”)

After some debate and a little tweaking, this character will remain on the stage. In pop-cultural terms, maybe that’s more of a sign of respect for the deceased. It’s certainly a case of diff’rent strokes for different folks.

In response to an investigative journalist moving in next door, Sarah Palin is walling off her Wasilla homestead:

“[Husband] Todd and his buddies started a fence yesterday and it’s looking good,” Palin said. “It’s about 14 feet high. That’s what we’re going to have to do this summer, I guess.”

The real tragedy here? The hit to Caribou Barbie’s foreign policy preparedness. Because with this fence in place, Palin obviously won’t be able to see Russia from her house anymore.

Well, that was quick. Less than a year after Twitter account @ShitMyDadSays was launched, it’s been turned into a network sitcom, set to debut this Fall on CBS.

Absorb that for a moment. Because here comes bombshell No. 2:

William Shatner himself is starring, as Dad. Yeah. (As always, I’m hoping some of the Shit He Says will be in Esperanto.)

The realization of this social-media-to-television deal only confirms my original suspicions:

Call me crackpot, but I wouldn’t be surprised to find out that SMDS was a false front from the start. Frankly, I’ve been suspicious of its authenticity all along — some of those quips come off as totally made-up. Maybe CBS launched the Twitter account months ahead of time to build a Web audience for a supposedly-real screwball family, as pre-marketing for developing the series that they were going to produce all along. Crazier things have happened.

I say this has been one big, elaborate set-up, designed to look like a grassroots effort. Not that it ultimately matters, since the officially-entitled “$#*! My Dad Says” probably will be canceled after one season. No amount of Shatner-ization will prevent that shit from happening.

Conan O’Brien finally had his televised say on “60 Minutes”, and came off as a gracious loser in the entire “Tonight Show” fiasco.

I like Conan; always have. But one thing bothers me about this ordeal:

CONAN O’BRIEN: …I think for anyone to say that the results were in after six months — that doesn’t ring true to me.

Team Coco’s chief complaint has been that the show just wasn’t given a fair chance, in the form of enough time to hit its stride and (re)build an audience. But wasn’t six months long enough? Every television season, new and existing shows are given far less time to make or break themselves — and that’s on a once-weekly basis, versus the five episodes per week that Conan had. To argue that “The Tonight Show with Conan O’Brien” wasn’t on the air long enough to stick comes off as a feeble excuse.

Six months on network TV is an eternity. If that long of a tryout wasn’t enough, nothing else was going to save Conan. Had he raked in the ratings in the first place, he wouldn’t have felt he was on the clock at all.

Back in the late ’70s, the much-ballyhooed U.S tour of the King Tutankhanmun archaeological exhibition inspired Steve Martin to add his contribution to pop culture’s trove of novelty songs:

Now when he was a young man
He never thought he’d see (King Tut)
People stand in line
To see the boy king (King Tut)

How’d you get so funky (Funky Tut)
Did you do the monkey
(Born in Arizona)
(Moved to Babylonia, King Tut)

Now that King Tut’s baubles have returned to the States, will Martin write and perform a new rendition of “King Tut”? I realize he’s long since shed his former wild-and-crazy-guy schtick, but for nostalgia’s sake, the re-booted Egyptian theme practically demands Martin’s participation.

Assuming that he won’t, here’s a live 1979 performance by Martin of “King Tut”, complete with the wacky headdress/white suit ensemble, and the hieroglyphics-inspired stage shimmying. My chief childhood memories of Martin are informed directly by this act, so it’s a trip to see it again thirty years later:

The surprise low-key appearance by The Fonz was a nice closing touch. He’s my favorite honky.

Not to discount Kelly LeBrock’s much-publicized struggles, but this quote from her, on her, is telling:

“I was constantly raped and abused my whole life,” she revealed.

Is there any clearer sign that she’s completely internalized a culture of victimhood? I don’t doubt any of the allegations of abuse she’s suffered from ex-husband Steven Seagal and others. But it’s hard to take such a blanket statement seriously. All it does is undermine her own credibility.

In an industry where a secret is never really a secret, today’s news that Conan O’Brien will return to television in November with an 11pm show on cable network TBS qualifies as a wild curveball.

I’m hoping he keeps his guest-warlock-on-“Bewitched” beard. Or regrows it, if necessary. It works for his Twitter avatar, so it’s sure to work for his return to latenight! (Speaking of which, he needs to book his lone Twitter followee as one of his first guests.) Plus, he needs to decamp from Los Angeles and bring his new show back to where he belongs: New York. Make it happen!

Nothing to do now but wait until the show’s debut toward the end of the year. And to heed the closing comments on this development to O’Brien himself:

“In three months I’ve gone from network television to Twitter to performing live in theaters, and now I’m headed to basic cable. My plan is working perfectly.”

Does Chelsea Handler, and her caustic talkshow, represent the next wave of late-night TV comedy?

All of this is slightly reminiscent of the original Not Ready for Prime Time Players. Nobody is going to argue that [Jo] Koy and [Heather] McDonald are the next Chevy Chase and Gilda Radner. But there is something about the shambolic round table sessions of “Chelsea Lately” that recalls the early days of “Saturday Night Live,” where the skits sometimes fell flat (except to the people who were performing them), where no one looked quite like what people imagined a TV star to look like — and yet a small, fiercely loyal audience responded and made the show a hit.

I’m more a fan of Handler’s than of that roundtable she insists upon holding. There’s insider patter, and then there’s the baseless preening that Koy, McDonald, and the other second-rate comics engage in in front of the “Lately” cameras. They’re desperate for televised attention and exposure, and it shows, and it also shows how not ready for prime time they truly are. Handler probably does have what it takes to ascend to the next level, but she’ll do it without those hangers-on.

Anyway, on to the main reason I wrote this post: As an excuse to run the above photo again. Both billboard and van are long since gone from their original locations on Lafayette Street in NoHo; last I looked, a vodka ad had replaced the “sharpest tongue” messaging for “Chelsea Lately”. It’s not nearly as eye-catching.

The reinvention of Mike Tyson continues: He’s literally going to the birds, via a reality show on Animal Planet.

Tyson, a life-long pigeon keeper, will star in a series about bird racing… “I may have stopped fighting,” says the former heavyweight champ. “But I never stopped flying birds. It’s my first love.”

The show, to be called “Take on Tyson,” pits Tyson and his birds against the best racing-pigeon owners in New York.

Apparently, pigeon racing is an organized sport, governed by something called the American Racing Pigeon Union. Presumably, the world of cockfighting would have been Plan B.

I don’t doubt Tyson’s devotion to his winged friends, as displayed on this old “Jimmy Kimmel Live!” segment. Still, don’t be surprised if one of the signature moments from this show ends up being Tyson taking a bird-sized bite out of an under-performing flier.

Rielle Hunter is back, with a tell-all interview in GQ Magazine about her Presidential-quashing paternity affair with John Edwards.

Not that I care much for political scandal, even one as sorted as this one. I am happy to see that Hunter took a little time in the interview to acknowledge her antecedaneous 1980s fictional depiction:

There’s been one time period in my entire life that I would qualify myself as promiscuous. There’s this Jay McInerney book ["Story of My Life," narrated by a character based on Hunter, who briefly dated McInerney], and let’s correct a part of that right now. In my early twenties, there was a time period when I, in the late ’80s, did cocaine. And partied. I was living in New York City… But the point being, I was never, as it’s been reported, a drug addict. The word “addiction” means inability to stop. I stopped doing drugs in my twenties. As for being promiscuous, I would say that I was a bit promiscuous for about six months. But it was because I was partying, and there were a lot of very good-looking available 20-year-old men around that you’d be partying with, and there was a lot of, you know, hooking up going on.

So Hunter confirms that she was the inspiration for Alison Poole. At least, the Alison Poole character in “Story of My Life”. Maybe not so much for Poole’s crossover appearance in another, contemporary literary setting:

It must have also impressed fellow ’80s lit sensation Bret Easton Ellis, because he wrote McInerney’s Alison Poole right into the cultural earthquake that was “American Psycho.” Being “American Psycho,” Poole’s scene was short and includes brutal sodomy — and the Kentucky Derby, if memory serves.

No need for Hunter to deny ever attending the Kentucky Derby. Or hooking up with Patrick Bateman — because let’s face it, Edwards was close enough.

UPDATE: I guess I need to reread “Glamorama”, because I’d completely forgotten that Ellis had revived Poole-slash-Hunter in that later novel:

In “Glamorama”, Poole’s characterization is amplified, but only slightly more nuanced. She’s the coke-addled, sex-fiend girlfriend of a jealous club owner who happens to also be sleeping with the protagonist of the novel, Victor Ward, who is a model and promoter. Once again, the first time readers meet her is during a sex scene. After which, she berates Ward for not breaking up with his other girlfriend, a supermodel… Later, Poole loses it at her boyfriend Damien’s club opening after a rival for Ward’s affections, Lauren Hynde, sets her off.

As with the “American Psycho” appearance, no surprise that Hunter wouldn’t have brought up this later, even more unflattering portrayal. All told, I still go with the late truth about Hunter, because it’s easily stranger than either Ellis’ or McInerney’s fiction.