It takes a Tucker to know a Tucker

Newsflash - Tucker Carlson jumped the shark 5 years ago. Double newsflash - he's still bitter about the bitch-slap-fest Jon Stewart delivered to him in the waning days of "Crossfire" on CNN (Tucker hosted, before being fired and sequentially being dumped by just about every other network besides Al Jezeera). I'm no fan of Tina Brown's new blog, The Daily Beast. But they are getting the buzz (e.g. Meghan McCain's work). So to connect the dots, Tucker Carlson has a rant posted there today that tries to take Jon Stewart to task for his recent dust-up with CNBC and Jim Cramer. If you've not already eaten a meal you enjoyed, you must read it. However you click through to things inconsequential, I must provide a personal memory of Tucker Carlson's career prior to jumping that shark like Fonzie in two leather jackets.

Way back when it was still cool, Tina Brown started up a magazine via Miramax called "Talk". She'd been dumped by "The New Yorker" (thankfully) and needed a new platform to ruin. "Talk" was inconsequential. But one profile sticks in my mind. A young and not quite as prickish Tucker Carlson interviewed the then Governor George W. Bush as he tested the waters of running for Prezidunt. In that piece, Tucker described a car ride conversation with Dubya wherein he asked about a hot-button issue from those halcyon days long ago - the scheduled execution of Karla Faye Tucker. When asked by Tucker what the female Tucker might say to gain an execution reprieve, Dubya responded mockingly with "please don't kill me" accompanied by frat guy disdain and unbridled assholery. And that, dear reader, is the man Tucker Carlson went on to defend time and time again. Now, after 5 years of being surely mocked by the same reporters he made so much hay from attacking, he's coming back at Jon Stewart. What. A. Dick. I only hope Jon Stewart takes the bait and lights that fuse. Because if we as a society of people willing to tilt at windmills, we might as well shoot for another feeble structure that's almost down on the ground already. Easy targets make Hulk happy.

Hope your own willingness to get in the scrum today isn't due to some sort of St. Patty's Day streetfight gone awry. Rock on.

Up next - Colin Powell tells us all that the vial of anthrax was from Dubya's private "forgotten" stock from those wild days

Santa Barbara is so gorgeous that I'm even slated to go play golf this afternoon. For those keeping score at home, this will be my first official outing on the links since just before my wedding. So I'm due for a killer round. Define that however you'd like. Regardless, I'm looking forward to describing my efforts soon for y'all.

While we're loving the vacation atmosphere and catching up with friends and family, DC is warming its cockles over the burning phraseologies lit by Scott McClellan's new book. Like every other pundit and unemployed Bushie, I've got an uninformed opinion to offer. Here goes - SO? Dubya's reputation is set in stone. A soggy self-cleansing weepy like McClellan's won't change a single damn thing. If this changes one single uninformed opinion of this Administration's tenure, I'll eat a Chicago Cubs hat. But, if as I expect, no one will benefit from this aside from McClellan in terms of book sales, Tucker Carlson and Karl Rove must eat a Milwaukee Brewers hat. On camera. Wearing a diaper. So the challenge is out there. Do with it what you will.

As we always love to do on vacation while ample babysitting options abound for Maya, Sarah and I have seen a few movies. Two quick reviews. "Indiana Jones and the Overwrought Pseudo-mystical Bank of Crap Metaphors" - a despicable D rating. Worst movie of the summer. It pains me to say that because I fondly remember seeing the first Indy movie in Ann Arbor with my aunt during a junior high summer and falling in love with the spectacle of this form of event movie. George Lucas is obviously insane. Again. Harrison Ford looks amazing. But if I was asked to pay to see a two-hour pilates class, I fear it might have been more compelling than this mess. Avoid it, if possible. Secondly, as we await opening night for "Sex and the City" (yes, I bought advance tickets for Sarah and me) we played catch-up by seeing "Forgetting Sarah Marshall". My rating - a fun B-minus. Definite rental quality. Better yet, hit the dollar theatres that it's surely bound for in the next month. Jason Segal is sweet, Mila Kundis is surprisingly good for anyone that struggled through the weekly torture that was "That 70s Show", the Judd Apatow cast of hilarious misfits is on its game as always. Silly fun should always be this silly.

Hope your own tee times don't require anything more than a shirt and shoes in the bag today. Rock on.