Mob seen

My kids occasionally go away for three-day weekends. I'm never sure exactly where they go - camp, retreat, rehab. Wherever the hell it is, I know I sign the check for it. Usually it's one of them at a time, but this past week the stars aligned just right and they were both gone at the same time, leaving my wife and I to our own devices for three days.

Naturally we took the opportunity to engage in some adult activity that's difficult to do when the kids are around.

We had a non-stop Sopranos-thon.

I don't know how long HBO has been showing reruns of The Sopranos, but I stumbled onto them last week. Monday through Friday afternoons, we record the shows. This weekend we caught up with all of them.

Not sure what season it is, but we're at the part involving Ralphie played by Joe Pantoliano (Joey Pants to his friends). I don't remember every detail from the first time around, but I do remember it doesn't end well for Ralphie. Also Christopher's wife Adriana has just found out that her new best friend is an FBI agent who's been taping her. I don't want to go into to much detail about how she reacts when she finds out, other than to say projectile vomiting is always a nice touch.

It's an absolute pleasure to see the nuance, subtlety, loyalty and savagery of Tony Soprano and family living by their own bent rules while confronting the same problems we all do.

It's "leave the gun, take the cannoli" television at its best.

Stop sharing

It probably says something about me that I won't let go (figuratively, not literally) of the fact Al Roker admitted on national television to pooping his pants. Or as the kids so delicately call it, sharting.

It bothers me because, and feel free to color me old-fashioned, I still believe that even in these Kardashian-esque days of everybody revealing everything, there's still some information that just doesn't need to be shared.

Here's the thing: we just don't need to know this. I believe that Roker believes he's doing a service by disclosing this information. After all, he had gastric bypass surgery, and the occasional pants pooping is a common side effect. So I hear.

Being a very visible public figure, my guess is he felt he was relaying essential information to everyone watching who's either had or is thinking about having the procedure.

But you know what? That's what the doctors are for.

You don't see Mary Tyler Moore or Halle Berry rattling on in interviews about the digestive issues, nausea, constipation and diarrhea that comes from living with diabetes.

I happen to like Roker. On the Today Show he's often the honest breath of fresh air, for example here where he ripped Spencer Pratt and Heidi Montag a new one, or here where he busts Matt Lauer for getting Anne Curry fired.

It's when he starts discussing business south of the border that I have to draw the line.

Life is good for Al Roker. He's got one of the best jobs on television. He makes tons of money every year. He has his own production company. And he's recognized, respected and loved by millions of people every day.

The only thing he doesn't have is a filter.

That guy

Last night my son and I watched The Green Mile. It was the first time he'd seen it. It was my millionth.

From Tom Hanks to Sam Rockwell to Michael Clark Duncan, there are lots of reasons to love it. One is because of that guy. You know, the guy who plays the older Tom Hanks character at the beginning and end. The guy who's always a judge. Or priest. Cowboy. Reporter. The guy that was on every TV show when we were growing up.

Yeah, that guy.

His real name is Dabbs Greer. It's the kind of name that could've been one of the more than three hundred character roles he played before he died five years ago.

When I was growing up (no, I'm not finished yet), I remember seeing him most on the old Superman television series. He was on it all the time, as a reporter (not mild-mannered) or one of the bad guys.

It's an interesting career being a character actor. If you're lucky, like Dabbs was, you work for decades. You avoid the spotlight and glare of the tabloids. You turn in one quality, scene or movie stealing performance after another. And absolutely everyone knows who you are: you're that guy.

There are many sites like this one dedicated to all the "that guys" who've graced the large and small screen over the years.

Every once in awhile an A-list actor becomes, either by choice or a career slow down, more of a character actor. The one that comes to mind is Alec Baldwin. Of course, as an A-lister he carried some great films like Hunt For Red October, Miami Blues (a personal favorite) and The Cooler. But the problem is you have to balance the mix. When you do films like The Marrying Man and The Shadow, people tend to forget the good ones.

Taking on character parts, he's doing some of the best work of his career. We got a hint of it from his ten unforgettable minutes in Glengarry Glen Ross. Then he sealed it with roles in The Aviator, The Departed, The Good Shepherd and State and Main.

For my money - $8.50 matinee or $12.50 after 6PM - character actors are the foundation of any great film. They put craft and art before pride and ego, and they make every actor on screen who comes near them look better. It forces everyone to raise their game.

They don't get recognized nearly as often as they should. So consider this post a thank you to all the character actors that've brought joy and memories to every person who's ever seen an image flicker on the large or small screen.

Especially that guy.

Cut to the chase

You'd think I live in a rusty Airstream trailer, strewn with beer cans, yellowed newspapers and cigarette smoke stains on the fake wood-veneer cabinets and shag carpet.

But God help me, I loves me a good high-speed chase.

I have a system - what I like to call my personal HSC Alert Hotline. Several friends and relatives are in place near their phones at all times. When they happen to come upon a HSC as they're switching channels, they immediately call and let me know.

I take it from there. I immediately leap into action. By action, I mean drop everything I'm doing, grab the remote, switch to the station(s) covering the chase, plant my ever expanding derriere on the couch then sit back, settle in and watch the chase until it reaches it's inevitable conclusion no matter how long it takes. And know this: the really good ones can go on for hours, especially if it's an SUV with a spare gas tank.

Now you might say to yourself, "How sad he has to watch his high speed chases all alone." First, thank you for your concern. But you'll be happy to hear I don't.

The other person in my house, the only other person who appreciates the extremely high entertainment value of them as much as I do is my 12-year old daughter. The apple doesn't fall far from the police helicopter.

As we switch back and forth between channels covering the chase, looking to see which news chopper has the best overhead shot, we always ask the same question: how does the guy driving think this is going to end? Does he think the police chasing him will:

A) Run out of gas

B) Get tired and go home

C) Get lost and have to pull over for directions

D) Not drive nearly as well as he can when he's that high

And by the way, what exactly does he think that bright white light shining down on him from overhead no matter which neighborhood, on-ramp or back alley he turns on to is. The sun? The angel on his shoulder?

Not so much.

The police helicopter pilots are the unsung heroes of the high speed chase. Oh sure, we all love seeing the perp narrowly avoid crashing into pedestrians, trash cans, trees and other vehicles. And what viewer doesn't get tingly at the prospect of seeing one of the several police cars in pursuit deciding to do the PIT maneuver.

By the way, only hardcore chase fans know that PIT stands for Pursuit Intervention Technique. Go ahead, impress your friends. Win bar bets. You're welcome.

Earlier I mentioned the inevitable conclusion: here's what it is, although you've probably guessed by now. After the suspect runs out of gas, crashes the car, turns on to a dead end street, drives the tires that have been flattened by a spike strip down to the wheels - which now look like sparklers riding on the cement, loses his buzz or jumps out of the car and makes a run for it, the chopper pilot just shines the light on him as a guiding beacon for the police to come and get their man (or woman - seen a few of those too).

Occasionally they won't come out of the car when asked, and that's when it gets tense. The police surround the car, guns drawn and make it very clear what they want him to do. It gets really good sometimes when the police are distracting him on one side of the car, and then more police open the door on the other side and drag him out (sometimes they just pull him through the window if he's pissed them off enough).

I've never seen a suspect get shot, which is a good thing since my daughter is almost always next to me watching. I suppose there's always the chance that could happen, and if it does I'll try to use it as a teaching moment. You want to play, you have to pay.

When it's all over, the feeling is exactly like coming home from Vegas. Everything seems a lot slower and a little duller.

The good thing is that this is Los Angeles, so high speed chases are like buses - miss one, there'll be another along any minute.

Many people think the saddest words are "what might've been."

For me, they're "we now return you to our regular programming."