I'm shocked. Shocked not only that comedian George Carlin has died at 71, but that media coverage of his death has been sparse. (One daily e-mail newsletter I receive even listed his name as "George Karlin.") I guess a relatively old man dying of heart failure in a hospital just isn't as good a story as a former Playboy Playmate being found unresponsive at the Hard Rock Hotel or an up-and-coming actor dying from a prescription drug overdose.

When I was a kid, my two favorite comedians were Bill Cosby and George Carlin. I played their records constantly. While the two couldn't have been further apart in terms of their material and their use of profanity, both Cosby and Carlin were able to mesmerize me in how they could start from a seemingly minor topic and expand on it for several minutes or even an entire album side.

Both were experts in their chosen field: Cosby was unparalleled in discussing family life whereas Carlin was peerless in breaking down not only the language that Americans spoke but also the ridiculousness of many aspects of American life. Throughout what many would consider his "classic" period of the seventies, Carlin's targets for humor were often fairly mundane, ranging from language to drugs to supermarkets to bodily functions to the differences between baseball and football.

Undoubtedly his most famous routine of this era is his "Seven Dirty Words You Can Never Say On Television," which led to Carlin's arrest in 1972 after performing the routine at Milwaukee's Summerfest. Unfortunately, for many this routine surely pigeonholed Carlin as a "shock" or "dirty" comedian. Ironically, the point behind "SDWYCNSOT" and later material such as "Filthy Words" (a radio broadcast of which led to a famous Supreme Court ruling) was that words weren't in and of themselves shocking and that we had arbitrarily empowered certain words with the power to offend. Carlin wanted to remove that power from words; to train his audience to be less, not more, shocked by such routines.

Following years of incessant touring and recording (not to mention much admitted drug use), Carlin suffered a heart attack in 1978 and took several years off, reemerging in the early eighties with material broader in scope and a delivery angrier in tone. (I'd like to think that Rick Moranis's brutal impression of him on SCTV had something to do with his decision to alter his material, but it's doubtful.) No longer was Carlin annoyed by food, dogs, and farting, but he incessantly ranted on politics, religion, death, war, and corruption.

His more recent material was no less brilliant than his earlier routines, but some audiences undoubtedly found his increasingly darker tirades tougher to take. When I saw him at the MGM Grand Hotel on the Las Vegas Strip earlier this decade, I was stunned that such a weighty, intense, and at times profound show could move tickets on one of the most gaudy, ornate, and superficial streets in the world. Perhaps not surprisingly, he was fired from the MGM Grand in 2004 after lambasting his audience, including ranting about wanting to get out of Las Vegas and back east to "where the real people are."

I recently read Steve Martin's memoir Born Standing Up, after which I became a little saddened at remembering how quickly Martin gave up his stand-up career once he found acceptance in films. Carlin dabbled in films, television, and books, but it was clear that his passion was squarely in stand-up. He performed as recently as last weekend, and despite passing seventy, showed no signs of slowing down or taming down his act. In fact, just the opposite.

In 2004, Comedy Central unveiled their list of the 100 Greatest Stand-Ups of All Time. Richard Pryor was first, with Carlin placing second. Comedy Central got the names right, but the order wrong. Carlin was undoubtedly the greatest. At a time when we need him most, Carlin will be sorely missed.

Oh, and did I mention he hosted the October 11, 1975, series premiere of Saturday Night Live?

McCartney Does Lennon, O’Donnell Does Stern, Myers Does Himself
Current mood: Double Quarter Pounder = Mild Heart Attack

Paul McCartney played a homecoming show in Liverpool this past week, which was notable not only for who was in attendance - Yoko Ono, George Harrison's widow Olivia Harrison, and Beatles record producer George Martin - but also for one of the songs McCartney performed.

To the best of my Beatles-drenched knowledge, before last Sunday's show, McCartney had never played the Sgt. Pepper closer "A Day in the Life" live before. See clip here. And for good reason: The song, though a collaboration between him and John Lennon, is mostly a Lennon composition. And while McCartney has played virtually all of "his" Beatle tunes live over the last twenty years (sadly, no reports of him breaking out underappreciated Rubber Soul tunes "I'm Looking Through You" and "You Won't See Me"), he has steered clear of songs written (or mostly written) by Lennon and thus recorded with Lennon singing the lead vocal.

I'm not suggesting that McCartney is going to make Lennon tunes part of his ongoing live repertoire (if he even has an ongoing live repertoire, since the dude's 65), but if he were, there's two ways to look at it. One, no one has more right to play whatever Beatle tunes he wants to than McCartney. (Sorry, Ringo.) And it's not as if Lennon never borrowed songs from McCartney - when Lennon made his final concert appearance in 1975 alongside Elton John, he chose as one of only three songs to perform McCartney's "I Saw Her Standing There" (though he did give credit, referring to the song as from "an old estranged fiancé of mine called Paul"). The more cynical argument though is that McCartney is trying to hog the Beatles legacy all to himself by laying claim to music and lyrics that aren't his but that many might assume are.

Personally, I'd prefer it if McCartney stayed away from Lennon tunes. He's got enough of his own, and if he ever does tour again (which I doubt, dude's 65), I'd hope that he'd lay off some of the Beatle concert warhorses in favor of some of his own overlooked solo tracks. "Junior's Farm," anyone? "Letting Go"? "Wanderlust"?

A big fan of Paul McCartney, Howard Stern, had a fascinating bit of radio over the last week, as he interviewed Rosie O'Donnell for about 45 minutes. What made the interview interesting was O'Donnell's complete openness in answering all of Stern's questions, many of which (no surprise here) were very frank sexually. Stern said his appreciation of O'Donnell started several years ago when she began doing what he called "honest" broadcasting. I have to agree with Stern here; while O'Donnell could be uncomfortable on her old talk show (remember her questioning Tom Selleck about his NRA membership?) and especially on The View (we get it, you hate George W. Bush), it is ultimately more interesting to hear a broadcaster take a stand. And while Ellen DeGeneres gets lauded for mentioning gay marriage to guest John McCain, we all know that O'Donnell would have made better television with McCain by not letting him off the hook with humor as did the more milquetoast DeGeneres.

For the record, O'Donnell revealed that she believed 9/11 was an inside job, that her overmatched View political sparring partner Elisabeth Hasselbeck was "very attractive," and that while she admires Barbara Walters, O'Donnell didn't believe her to be a feminist because she got to where she is by playing by the boys' rules. O'Donnell also seemed open to the possibility of hosting a show on Sirius Satellite Radio, perhaps even on one of the two channels that Stern controls. Interesting stuff from two seemingly different but actually very like-minded broadcasters.

So SNL alums Adam Sandler and Mike Myers are both attempting comebacks this summer with big blockbuster movies. While I think life is probably too short to waste time on either, if I had to choose I'd go with Sandler, and the reason is simple. Operaman is smart enough to know that comedy is collaborative - his film features John Turturro, Rob Schneider (another SNL alum), and even Mrs. Garrett herself, Charlotte Rae. Myers is egotistical enough to think that people want to see him play every freakin' role. Comedy works when actors play off of each other, not when narcissists use special effects to play with themselves. (Yes, Eddie Murphy, I'm talking to you.) Actually, if I had to invest time with any SNL alum this summer, I'd be most likely to catch Dana Carvey's HBO special. Carvey has been sadly MIA since his underappreciated ABC series was cancelled twelve years ago.

Got to go, I think Million Dollar Password is coming on. I can't get enough Regis . . .

I don't want to sound like a backwards-thinking Luddite, but there are plenty of times when I hate the Internet.

Take this week's Rachael Ray scandal. Now I have no love for Rachael Ray. I find her constant cheeriness impossibly grating; someone once referred to her personality as being like a "spider monkey on crack," which is a description I cannot improve upon. Not only is she committing the crime of putting on an unwatchable daily television program, but through her role as spokesperson for Nabisco and Dunkin' Donuts, she is promoting some pretty unhealthy eating habits, which as perhaps the single celebrity most associated with food and eating, seems to me to be highly irresponsible.

But is Rachael Ray a terrorist supporter? Some conservative bloggers -- who I won't name because they don't deserve the promotion -- say she is. Why? Because of a scarf she wore in an on-line Dunkin' Donuts ad that supposedly symbolizes support for Muslim extremism. This is the most ridiculous thing I've heard since radio stations were told not to play John Lennon's "Imagine" after 9/11.

So am I wishing to go back to pre-Internet, pre-i Tunes, let's go down to K-Mart and buy the latest 45 from Toto, days because of these bloggers? Well, that's the least of it. What infuriates me is that Dunkin' Donuts actually caved to these idiotic pseudo-journalists and pulled the ad. That's the danger of the Internet -- not that it allows people the freedom to write and post whatever crap they can think of, but that some people, not to mention major corporations, will take that crap seriously and act on it.

Dunkin' Donuts is the major offender here for giving these conservative bloggers the attention that they work so tirelessly to get at any costs and to hell with truth, common sense, or human compassion. Unfortunately, there are no Dunkin' Donuts franchises in Madison, so I can't even boycott them. Guess I'll boycott Sonic instead. Oh wait . . . What about White Castle? Oh, that's right . . .

[That reminds me of the time that I personally boycotted McDonald's for about nine months. The reason? I brought home three cheeseburgers that had no meat -- or whatever McDonald's substitutes for meat -- inside. What steamed me even more than that though was the reaction I got when I took the empty buns back: no apologies, just a lot of insider laughter at their silly mistake. I still get annoyed thinking about it, but I gave up the boycott long ago. Boycotts. Who has the time?]

Since I'm on this theme of hating technology, I'll talk about DVRs. Now it's hard for me to complain too much about my DVR, since in all honesty it's my favorite thing in my house that isn't human or canine. But the DVR does make it a tad too easy to fall behind on TV shows, which can limit your enjoyment of them. Case in point: I just watched the last few shows from season three of Lost. Yes, that's season three, not season four, which just came to a conclusion last Thursday night. So what probably would have been a big shocker -- the premiere of the "flash-forwards," the first of which showed Jack (Matthew Fox) leading a drunken, drugged, miserable post-Island existence, had long since been spoiled for me through numerous articles I couldn't avoid (most of them on-line; hey, another reason to rail against that demon Internet!).

I know there are people out there who wait for their favorite shows to be released on DVD, but I could never do it. One, I could never wait to enjoy new episodes of The Office or 30 Rock (to name but a couple; the Lost thing snowballed because of the birth of our daughter and it being basically the only show my wife and I watch together). And two, because of the insaneness of that line of thinking, which seems to ignore the rule that shows have to have viewers on their first go-round not only to succeed but to be deemed marketable enough to release on DVD. Well, at least to succeed. I guess pretty much anything goes nowadays with DVD releases; I mean, you can buy the James Woods show Shark on DVD. Can a DVD release of Viva Laughlin be far behind?

Don't look now, but My Network TV is gaining on CW. When the formation of CW was announced and then My Network TV was started as a reaction to that, I would have bet my house, car, and Pepsi machine that CW would do well and My Network would fail. Now My Network hasn't exactly been garnering Super Bowl-like ratings, but it's steadily improving, and should continue to do so with the fall addition of WWE Smackdown. Meanwhile, CW is languishing and bleeding money faster than the airline industry. The only thing CW can do right is PR -- if you believed the hype, you would think that Gossip Girl is the hottest show in the country. Whereas in reality, it scores about the same number of viewers weekly that watched the Monona Memorial Day parade on public access cable TV. I guess CW really stands for Colossal Waste.

Off to catch up on season four of Lost . . . hey, I heard a rumor that Boone dies. Is that true?