This Can't Be Broccoli

This week, the greatest trial in the history of ever came to a close. Well, maybe not--trials never really end these days, but all the fun stuff seems to be over. I'm talking about Nicolette Sheridan vs. Marc Cherry, ABC, and pretty much anybody who had anything to do with Desperate Housewives . I should preface this post by saying I know absolutely nothing about the law or about the legalities of whatever it is that happened during this trial. All I know is that a television show that passed its prime years ago was being argued about in court as if it was the Magna Carta...or something. My favorite day had to be opening statements, when Sheridan's lawyer accused Cherry of killing off her character, not just prematurely, but in a poorly written episode . Has this guy watched Desperate Housewives recently? Every episode is poorly written. Then there was an argument about whether or not the show has killed off any of its main characters. Again, I side with Sheri...

There's usually one thing that people only do with me once. (Get your minds out of the gutter.) I'm talking about shopping for clothes. Everyone is always so eager to help me, but then they experience the madness that is Kevin Broccoli picking out clothing. It's something like Glenn Close's shower scene from The Big Chill except it takes place in a dressing room while I'm surrounded by polos. Every time I complain about shopping for clothes, people complain that I have trouble finding clothes I like because I'm too skinny and I should gain weight and blah blah blah. I don't know when it became okay to comment on someone's weight as long as they're underweight instead of overweight, but let's cut to the case and say if you're going to say something along those lines, go read some article on the Huffington post about a 10-year-old giving birth to a baby gorilla. It's my party and I'll bitch if I want to. Why is it that ...

I tend to really love this time of year. It's always exciting when theaters start announcing their seasons for the upcoming year. What astounds me, however, is how little imagination seems to be presenting itself lately in some of the chosen seasons. Mostly, theaters seem to want to fight over what was new and hot from New York, or in some cases, new and cold. It doesn't seem to matter if a show was successful on the Great White Way, as long as it made it there in the first place. Sometimes I wonder if producers don't push some shows to Broadway simply because it'll guarantee it a longer life on the regional circuit. It's surprising to me that these theaters don't look at some of the trends occurring in New York and try to replicate them--namely, taking a chance on new talent. We might brand New York and Broadway as mainstream disappointment, but the fact is, a lot of risks are taken there--especially on new, exciting work. So then why don't we...

My newsfeed is currently littered with petitions dealing with Rush Limbaugh. They run the gamut from having him removed from the radio to having him strung up and poked at with burning sticks. Here's an idea: Why don't we just stop listening to him? A few weeks ago, I posted a theory that attention has become the new currency. Pundits and pseudo-celebrities are becoming more and more outrageous because they understand that as long as people are talking about you, you have some modicum of power. So it would seem that the easiest way to take the air's out of someone's sails is to simply stop giving them attention. Of course what Rush Limbaugh did isn't okay, but to suggest that his advertisers aren't aware that it's who he is would be naive. They support him because people listen to him--for whatever reason. Of course I feel bad for the girl who got verbally harassed by him, but why on Earth would any intelligent person engage in an argument with...

Working in a public place, I hear one phrase over and over again: "Is this what I pay taxes for?" I usually don't respond, because whenever anybody starts yelling about how their taxes aren't paying for what they'd like them to pay for, it's a sure sign they're only a few steps away from dementia, ignorance, or both. It's not that I don't think you should have an interest in where your taxes go, but to use it as an excuse to complain about something you don't like seems fruitless. I mean, don't we all pay taxes? The people who make the rules you don't like pay taxes. The people who benefit from the services you don't agree with pay taxes. The guy you're yelling at who works behind a desk pays taxes. What if he were to say to you-- "You know, I don't pay taxes so you can yell at me." Have we then reached mutually assured destruction? The fact is, if we really knew what our taxes were going toward...

(GLENN CLOSE is sitting around a conference table with JEFF, VAL, ALEX, and IKE.) GLENN: As some of you may know, I lost the Oscar for Best Leading Actress to She-Who-Will-Die-of-Being-Eaten-By-Mountain-Goats. ALEX: You mean Meryl Streep? (GLENN takes out a baseball bat, and hits ALEX in the stomach. He falls to the ground screaming in pain.) GLENN: Sorry, that's an immediate reaction I have to hearing that name. JEFF: You carry a baseball bat around with you? GLENN: You never know when you're going to run into Julianne Moore. VAL: Am I the only one who's turned on right now? IKE: Miss Close, I'm sure you'll win the next time you're nominated. (GLENN strokes his cheek tenderly, like Ted Bundy would have.) GLENN: Oh little Andrew. I was going to wait until after we'd made love tonight and I'd rubbed your little head between my withered breasts, but I suppose I can explain it to you now-- IKE: Wait, you were going to do wha...