I try to avoid judgmentalism, holier-than-thou-ism, and especially annoying finger-pointing about that which I do not possess inside information. All that leads, as we know, to periodic visits from Kaptain Karma. But really, Jesse…did ya think these gold-diggers were going to be happy staying in the shadows forever?

From the Miami Herald:

It’s beginning to sound a little too familiar. A fourth woman has come forth claiming she too had an affair with Sandra Bullock’s husband Jesse James. And this woman (a model, naturally) has guns blazing — lawyering up with scorned woman specialist Gloria Allred.

“She is in the process of trying to decide if she will come forward. She has proof of their relationship including hundreds of texts, e-mails and photos. The relationship just ended recently after the scandal broke,” read Allred’s statement released by Entertainment Tonight.

Days after Michelle McGee alleged she had an 11-month fling with James, two other women — fetish model Brigitte Daguerre (whose mortgage he was reportedly paying) and stripper Michelle Smith — also claimed affairs. Smith claims her relationship with James began in 2006, while he was already married to Bullock. RadarOnline.com reported that the biker dude found her on MySpace.

Tiger Woods has got to be exhaling right about now.

You just never know when stuff is gonna jump up and bite you on the hiney. I’ve learned that the hard way at various times in my life, I must admit. The point is that I’ve had to try to learn from it, so I don’t repeat past mistakes.

And I’ll go you one further. I think these “addictions,” like those which have “afflicted” Tiger Woods (and Jesse James too, which we will likely hear about soon), are little more than conscious decisions to let your proclivities run rampant. It’s become the insanity defense for repeat adulterers/adulteresses. I’m not casting aspersions (or I’m trying not to), but let’s call it what it is. “I did this thing over and over and over with ten different women, but it *really* wasn’t my fault — I need rehab.”

Right.

On a brighter note: the shows went well last night! A few alterations here and there for today and tonight, and we should be good to go. Two down, three left. I’m actually looking forward to it. (Did I just say that?)

Happy Saturday, fiends, and a big hug for fellow Finkite Bando, who lost her precious dog Benny yesterday to sickness.

The dramedy and the romantic drama-fantasy.

Here are two of my fave TV shows from the 80s, when I was a young mom and TV time at night was a restful reward after a crazy day with two energetic boys.

For the younger Finkites: Moonlighting was Bruce Willis’s launch to fame. He was pretty much an unknown until he landed the part of David Addison, the wise-cracking but cute-as-a-puppy detective working for Maddie Hayes (played by 60s fashion model Cybill Shepherd). The seriousness of solving crimes was always interspersed with silliness, like this, for instance, and the romantic tension between Shepherd and Willis was always stretching, stretching, stretching…and once they declared their love (as often happens in real life), things were just weird from then on.

Once Shepherd had kids and Willis made the first Die Hard movie, the series was pretty much over. And they chose the most bizarro way of ending it, too: the crew just came in and started dismantling the set.

Beauty and the Beast falls into the category of Serious Suspension of Disbelief. But I loved it anyway, and refused to miss it. An impossible romance combined with detective plots made this show totally irresistible for me. Catherine (Linda Hamilton) and Vincent (Ron Perlman) were the star-crossed, tragic soulmates. Vincent always appeared at the crucial moment, either to save Catherine or to comfort her. Again with the unresolved tension. I was so sad when it was canceled after only three seasons. Apparently, so were a lot of other people.

Time was (strangely, in my lifetime), when a show was canceled, it disappeared for years until syndication caught up with it. Now, shows go immediately to disc/online, so there’s no waiting. These two programs are now available on DVD in their entirety.

*sigh*Reminiscing about a simpler time…

“They took the job I loved most. I just wanted to be a cop, and they took it away from me.”

Reading the Times yesterday, I had a “whoa, I remember that movie” moment. Sad story, too. It surprised me to learn that Frank Serpico — a zealous New York cop who blew the whistle on his corrupt colleagues back in the 70s — is now living in a cabin a hundred miles from the city. (Read the article while it’s still free — it won’t be for long.) It’s the basic disillusioned good cop story, but with tons more angst and righteous indignation. Frank Serpico was what the Times review called an “anti-cop cop.” He refused even the slightest insinuation of a kickback or bribe; he wouldn’t even accept a free meal out on the beat.

When he discovered that his fellow police officers were on the take, he was outraged. He tried to alert his superiors on several occasions, but the writing was on the wall: NYC cops don’t squeal — they just take the deal. When Serpico was shot in the face during a drug bust in Brooklyn in 1971, his fellow officers wouldn’t even call for an ambulance. He was taken to the hospital — bleeding profusely from his wound — in a squad car. Brutal.

While recuperating, he received cards from his colleagues, telling him to rot in hell.

I remember seeing the movie Serpico with Al Pacino (yaaay) in the late 70s. It was his first starring role, and he won a Golden Globe for it. I must watch it again soon, and I highly recommend it to you.

I just wish the real story was as satisfying. But hey…he appears to be happy, so it’s good. Living in a one-room cabin in the middle of the woods seems to suit him well. But he still carries a lot of pain (see opening line). His recollections are still, after almost 40 years, laced with bitterness and anger.

I say you should watch it sometime, if for no other reason than Al Pacino is dreamy.

Now, since my phone did not ring this morning, telling me I don’t need to drive into school in the snow, it is time to hit the shower and the frozen tundra.

FO