As you all know, I have no clue how I get to here or there during my quiet time every morning. All I know is, by the time I’m done, I’m wondering where the hour went. Bummer! Alas, it’s time to get moving today, but not before I tell you a cool story.

I was never much of a David Bowie fan, although I do like “Space Oddity.” The whole Ziggy Stardust thing was boring to me, even back in the early 70s, when men dressing up as wo

men was particularly shocking. But some brows really furrowed when Bowie and his American girlfriend named their baby “Zowie.” Zowie Bowie. Poor kid. Anyway, I read a story about the boy, who is now an award-winning film director named Duncan Jones (Duncan is listed first on his birth certificate, and Jones is actually Bowie’s real surname, but he changed it to avoid confusion with Davy Jones of Monkees fame), and who, shockingly, turned out basically normal, in spite of his then-drug addicted, wild rock star father, and a mother who abandoned him.

The most surprising fact in this enlightening story: Jones went to the College of Wooster (about 30 miles from my house) in an effort to get an education while maintaining anonymity, and graduated with a philosophy degree with almost no one knowing who he was. Whoa.

Anyway, it’s an interesting read for, what’s this? Wednesday morning. Now I’ve run out of things to say about it, which means I have to get to work. Yay.

Duncan Jones photo: Ian West/PA Wire

I don’t remember how I got to the Steampunkary site last night, but there you are. And of course, I can’t think of steampunk without thinking of one of my favorite shows from my youth: The Wild, Wild West. I thought Robert Conrad was completely dreamy. Well, that, and the sci-fi flavor made it exciting, and sometimes bizarre. Proof: one episode depicted Jim West (Conrad) having a dream. He went to a waterfront bar to meet a tipster. While there, he’s shot by a mermaid with a blowgun, and wakes up on a ship that’s sunk by an exploding dragon. When he returns, the bar doesn’t exist and he can’t prove anything. Talk about trying to convince the asylum you’re not crazy.

West’s faithful sidekick, Artemus Gordon, was the comic relief, and the pair had the glamorous job of spying on bad guys for president Ulysses Grant during the Civil War. By all comparisons, it was a 19th-century cocktail of James Bond and Batman & Robin, complete with fancy techno-gadgets (fancy for the 1860s, anyway), plenty of criminals gettin’ what’s comin’ to ’em, and West getting the girl. There was always a flavor of the week.

Some neat-o facts, many of which I did not know:

• Ross Martin, who played Artemus Gordon, was born in Poland and raised in New York City, speaking Yiddish, Polish and Russian. He could lapse into any dialect at the drop of a hat. At the time of his death in 1981 (he suffered a fatal heart attack while playing tennis), he and Conrad were planning a revival of the WWW series. That would have been fantastic.
• The show was a treasure trove of awesome guest stars: Suzanne Pleshette, Sammy Davis, Jr., Ricardo Montalban, Robert Duvall, Ed Asner and Boris Karloff (of all people). I imagine it was like the Simpsons of its time: everyone wanted a guest spot, just to say they’d done one.
• The show, which ran from ’65-’69, was not canceled due to poor ratings. Rather, it was pulled because of its violence (unfortunately, necessary to the plot). Network brass felt squeamish about putting so much killing on TV when there was so much killing going on in the war. Hmm. Imagine that. Choosing humanity over profit. Psh.
• The beautiful black locomotive car the pair used as their lair/mode of transportation in the pilot was also the Hooterville Cannonball in CBS’s hillbilly comedy, Petticoat Junction. Ha, love it.
• As you know, all TV series episodes have titles. In WWW, the title of each of the 104 episodes began with the words, “The Night Of…”

I also loved the opening animated sequence and theme song.

One thing’s for sure. The movie ain’t the series. Ick. And yes, I’m one of those die-hards who just couldn’t make the jump from Robert Conrad to Will Smith. No comparison in my old, musty book.

Hey, is it Monday already? Yipes. Time to pound feet on the basement floor. Yay.

Over the last few days, after putting the Js to bed and collapsing on the couch, I watched all eight episodes of The Kennedys, a miniseries that caused lots of hoopla a few months back because of what The History Channel, in their refusal to air it, called “inaccuracies.” DirecTV rejected it, too.

Hmmm, lessee here. Boozing, wh**ing, prescription drugs and mob ties. This is news? This is scandalous to bring up 50 years later? Honestly, hasn’t this been hashed over and over in print and film for decades?

Personally, I thought Greg Kinnear (JFK) and Barry Pepper (RFK) were outstanding. I wonder how many hours they spent analyzing film footage of their characters. Right down to the very gesture, they channeled Jack and Bobby. It was completely believable and entertaining.  Tom Wilkinson, who I really enjoyed as Ben Franklin in the HBO series John Adams (and for which he won a Golden Globe) was brilliant as patriarch and megalomaniac Joe Kennedy.

The only weak spot was Katie Holmes’s accent. Lordy it was bad. Cross between a Brooklyn housewife and Scarlett O’Hara. Bizarre.

Anyway, the History Channel and other networks were afraid of accusations of right-wing conspiracy, because the show did not paint the Kennedy men in an altogether positive light. I beg to differ. I submit that the script depicted a family in a constant state of perseverance in crisis; of trying to do right by the country while failing sometimes as husbands and fathers. Hello, it happens. And for some, it happens on a grander scale. So what? Compared with what has come after, is “Camelot” that sacred a cow? And artistic license in historical film is not a new concept. Every filmmaker doing this kind of production has employed it, and in this case, it was done wisely and tastefully.

That said, I did wonder a few times: “Where’s Eunice? Where’s Teddy?” They, along with a couple of other K-sibs, were never mentioned. At. All. Never even depicted by random children in the background. Maybe it was too much story, as the tale picked up before WWII and ended with Bobby’s assassination. Still, it was kind of confusing.

But “controversial?” No way.

Bottom line: for whatever “inaccuracies,” I was completely entertained, and so very impressed with the work of the three lead actors (Kinnear, Pepper and Wilkinson). It’s worth watching for that alone. You end up really “pulling” for Jack and Bobby. Therefore, the actors did their jobs. Home run.

So this wasn’t a bona fide review, per se, but I highly recommend it. Go watch it, wouldya.

Hey, I’m off to start the long process of getting the domicile ready for three weeks of wanderlust. Yep, I be excited. Happy Finkday.

Photo © 2010 Kennedys Productions (Ontario) Inc. and Zak Cassar

…if this is a size 10 (as she claims).

If that’s a size 10…

I  mean, I think it’s fantastic that she’s dropped so much weight since being on DWTS, but let’s call a spade a spade…and a 14 a 14. And who cares what size she is, really? It’s no one’s business, but if you’re going to make a claim, be honest. Vanity sizing, anyone?

Even when you say it’s not, it is. It *is* about money.

I’ve been watching with great interest the whole Mad Men story with Matthew Weiner, and how his battle with AMC to retain the series the way he wants it almost cost him the whole shootin’ match with Lionsgate. Weiner swears it’s not about money, but rather artistic freedom. Well, sorry Matt, but artistic freedom IS about money, or at least the freedom from being weighed down by its constraints. In other words, it’s always about money for somebody. Looking at the deal he finally struck with the studio (demands that cast members not be cut for financial reasons, Weiner’s reticence to give up two minutes of episode time so AMC could air two more commercials), money is indeed at the forefront of this drama — only with the studio on the major spending end.

I suppose that’s what producers do, after all. Spend money to bring something to the screen. And I’d be more cynical about the whole issue if MM was not my favorite show ever. Worst part: only three more seasons, and it’s all over for good. I guess it had to end somewhere. Truthfully, who wants to see Roger Sterling in a leisure suit? Or anyone else, for that matter? I think 1970 is a good place to stop if it all has to end. Besides, I’m sure Weiner wants the show to go out on a “high,” as opposed to dragging it into an era when the players would surely be watching themselves become extinct in a world that has definitely moved on.

Why do we (I) even get so incredibly attached to a made-up story on television anyway? The vicarious lifestyle, seeing people endure real problems like one’s own, fantasizing about being someone else…I suppose it all figures in. I know that’s why I love fiction, in books and on the screen. This show also brings back memories for me — a kid growing up in the 1960s and 70s. I recognize (and recall fondly) the clothing, the hats, the decor; everything has a personal place for me.

Mad Men will remain my absolute favorite drama of all time — unless something better comes along in the future, which just might happen. But I have to get through the final three seasons, which, at this rate, could take ten years.

What show is your favorite, and why? (Yes, this is where you participate in the discourse, my fiends.)

Yipes I’m late for the shower.

Photo – AMC, Lionsgate