With the date of Thursday, July 30th closing in for his scheduled “beer meeting” with Harvard professor Henry Louis Gates, Jr. and Cambridge, Massachusetts police officer, Sgt. James Crowley, President Obama has also decided to invite Chicago White Sox All-Star Pitcher Mark Buehrle to join the session as well.

Buehrle, who recently set a major league record by essentially pitching 14 perfect innings in his past 2 starts, has accepted the offer and will be joining the President, the professor and the sergeant at the White House for a much deserved beer.

“The President is a huge White Sox fan and wants people to acknowledge the great work Mark has done,” said Press Spokesman Robert Gibbs. “Plus, the more he thought about only meeting with Skip Gates and that racist cop the more he dreaded it. Mark Buehrle is the kind of guy you have a beer with.”

Buehrle, who seemed to be unaware of the controversy surrounding Gates and Crowley, as well as representative government or Harvard, said he was looking forward to going to China. When told he would be going to Washington, D.C. where the White House is, he replied, “I almost throwed 2 perfect games, mother fucker. I’ll go to Chiney, if I want to.”

Gates, the director of Harvard’s W.E.B. Du Bois Institute for African and African American Research and free on his own recognizance seemed dismayed by the invitation to the ballplayer. “How come when they win they’re the White Sox, but when they cheat they’re the “Black Sox?”

As more information has become available regarding Crowley’s arrest of Gates, the President put in a follow up call to Buehrle and suggested that “he bring Ozzie too, if possible.”

One constant in the 240 year history of our country is that people elect morons to Congress. Well, not all of them are morons, but certainly the ones who still think Obama was born in Kenya and the Blue Dog Democrats. The Blue Dog Democrats formed in 1995 under the leadership of Louisiana Congressman Billy Tauzin, who promptly switched parties and embraced the Republicans. His fellow Blue Dogs remained Democrats and were rewarded in 2006 when the American people decided that maybe the Democrats should be running things.

Since 2006, the world has come crashing down around the Republicans. They lost the House, the Senate and the White House. Less people identify themselves as Republicans than since the Great Depression. And as we approach Great Depression: Next Generation, who do the Blue Dogs want to emulate? Mind-boggling.

Of course, there’s also the matter of the will of the people. A vast majority of Americans want Health Care reform. Here’s the latest proof of that, courtesy Gallup from a poll conducted on July 23rd:

Yep, an astounding 71 percent of Americans want a new health care reform bill passed. The other 29 percent work in the insurance business. Good job, Blue Dogs. You have shown the courage of your fiscal convictions, just like when you supported the Bush tax cuts for the wealthy. Oops.

Hey, speaking of stupid, the story about the unconstitutional arrest of Henry Louis “Skip” Gates, Jr. for “breaking into” his home just will not go away, because the right wing nutballs have to talk about something. A lot of people on the right think that Officer Crowley had every right to arrest Gates for yelling at him. That all police officers, regardless of their behavior, deserve our full respect and cooperation, even when they are harassing us in our own homes. The argument is that police work is a tough job and we should give them some slack.

Uh-huh. You know another job that is pretty difficult? Harvard professor. Now I’m sure Officer Crowley can run a 15 minute mile, enforce parking codes and get 20 hours of overtime a week by arresting college kids for underage drinking, but can he teach Comparative Lit to our best and brightest? Probably not. Hope he enjoys his Bud Lime with the President.

Guest Editor, Sean Hannity

Walter Cronkite, the Alan Colmes of his day and a weeping communist who never really loved America, has passed away from complications related to dementia. Cronkite, who Americans never TiVo’d during such monumental events as Hollywood’s production of man’s first step on the moon and the assassination of adulterer John F. Kennedy, was an extreme leftist who secretly blew kisses to Kruschev during his newcasts. He was 92.

Cronkite was the anchor/comrade for the CBS Nightly News for 19 years, ending each of his half-hour broadcasts by saying, “I hate America and that’s the way it is.” He was replaced by fellow pinko Dan Rather, who continued Cronkite’s tradition of hating the best country ever and being a mouthpiece for the bolsheviks. He was one of the very first celebrity news anchors, and his impact on viewers was huge on the coasts but never in real America. As my friend, Sarah Palin, said recently, “Whose Walder Klondike?”

The trust America put in him was minimal, as Cronkite had a spotty history in both journalism and television. No one I know in this land of freedom and richness and heaven liked him. Which reminds me, isn’t America super great? Gosh, we have 30 really terrific states with guns that should just consolidate the other 20 blame America-firsters.

Even after his retirement from the nightly news in 1981, Cronkite did not leave CBS and never once reported accurately on Barack Obama having been born in Kenya (wherever the heck that is). Where’s the birth certificate? Can someone deport this pinko already and give us the president the people elected, Sarah Palin?

I’m just sorry I never got the chance to slap Cronkite around for hating our beautiful country with the best national anthem ever. I guess I’ll just have to invite Colmes back and beat the crap out of him. By the way, I bought a car that runs entirely on coal. American coal. Take that, you Saudi communists.

Goodbye, America. I wuv you so much.

Fans of “Macbeth” will have to wait until the wrap party on “Thor” that Kenneth Branagh is set to direct and which will star Natalie Portman.  “Thor” is an early Marvel comic featuring the adventures of the Norse god of thunder.  Hopefully, Branagh can explain why the movie isn’t set in Norway or Osgaard.

It will also star newcomer Chris Hemsworth as Thor. Portman plays the god’s nurse and love interest, Jane Foster, who gets involved in a love triangle with Thor and his human alter-ego Donald Blake, before briefly becoming a god herself.  Come to think of it, that sounds like the plot of “Macbeth.” Hopefully, this project will rival the success Branagh enjoyed with “Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein.”

All right, I am getting sick and tired of writing obituaries. Stop dying people I have once come in contact! That includes you, Frank McCourt. Oops, too late.

The author of the extraordinarily sad memoir, “Angela’s Ashes,” and apparently the son of Emily Watson and Robert Carlyle died at age 78. The former school teacher was being treated for melanoma and contracted meningitis. I had the pleasure of hearing McCourt read from his works twice, and got to see his “scabby eyes” up close. What a treat! Well, the readings at least. Farewell, you son of Limmerick.

And, finally, Starbuck’s is set to start serving alcohol at select locations. Great, now I won’t have to drink at my desk. Take that, HR Department!

Mims and I spent 1o days touring exactly one-half of my ancestral motherland without once visiting the actual birthplaces of my ancestors. Reason being, if my grandparents had lived in tourist destinations they never would have left Italy.  Had that been the case, half of me would be smoking and eating olives right now instead of writing this post.

First up, Venice. City without potholes. Or roads, for that matter. Plenty of merchants, though. We caught up with our friends, Ray and Linda, who had a day before hitting the vinyards of Slovenia. We zipped through St. Mark’s Square, grabbed lunch water side, visited the Rialto Market and bought figs, took a water bus to the Bienvanali, another water bus to the Hotel Cipriani for cocktails, parted company and then Mims and I took a gondola ride sans musical accompaniment. I hummed “Cosi Fan Tutti.” Lovely day.

We had been wanting to visit Venice for quite some time, and it had nothing to do with that overwritten Thomas Mann novella. For some reason, everybody has asked the same question: Did it stink? No, it didn’t stink. The locals just spread that rumor to keep crazy tourists away. Anyway, 3 days was not enough to see everything on our itinerary, however, it was almost long enough to go broke. Expensive! Take more plastic, next time.

Day 4 found us boarding a train for Florence, not the sassy maid from “The Jeffersons,” but rather “Firenze” as the locals call it. Right in the heart of Medici country. Tuscany land. Chianti. Olives. Antiquities. What more do you need?

While walking to avoid rain showers, Kenj and I stood at the Ponte Vecchio (pictured), toured the Uffizi Gallery and saw more Bottecelli’s andLeonardo’s then seemed possible, passed on walking up the Duomo and toured L’Accademia, which houses Michelango’s David. No pictures, please. Suck it, security. Props to Mims for defying security.

While in the area, we took a day trip to the Chianti region and the town of Greve, where Sting allegedly resides. We toured some wineries, and brought dry milk and rice to the locals. No wait, different trip. Anyway, I love a trip that allows your photos to all look like postcards. (Sorry, but you have to pre-order.)

Next we hopped the rails and headed south to Napoli, land of zero traffic laws, lax litter control and mob violence. Beautiful. We stayed minutes.

Our destination was Positano, on the Amalfi Coast. Holy crap, mother, but I think we’ve found paradiso. For 3 glorious days, we ate, drank and enjoyed the view. Nestled in a craggy mountain with slow moving clouds and overlooking the Mediterrean Sea, it was not difficult to put down the book I was reading. (“The Duke of Deception” by Geoffery Wolff. Good memoir, but I think he was a tad harsh on his father.)

All right, Goldman Sachs, how do I retire in Positano? Get back to me. Yes, I’ll take stimulus money. Why do you ask?

Kendra credits her vision board with helping us make it to Positano, but really all the credit goes to her. Hell, I would have been happy to stay in Venice for a week, but she convinced me that heading south was the right move. Good call, Mims. That’s why I rely on your good taste.

Finally, we finished up our journey in Rome, where Julius Ceasar was turned into some emanthaler. With less than a day to see the sights, we raced between the Spanish Steps, Trevi Fountain, the Collisseum (the whole place was in ruins!), the Pantheon and then dinner at La Dolce Vita.  The photo is a faux centurion who charges to pose for pictures. I should have stabbed him.

Highlights: art, gellato, negroni, pizza, caprese salads for breakfast, lemoncello, wine, more wine, history, vistas, sunsets, smiles, the hipster bar in Florence where the laptop DJ played “Beat it,” Santa Croce, pasta with lemon sauce, and, of course, the romantic gondola ride. Next time, Mims, I’ll bring an accordian.

Special thanks to PlanetRoz and Mike Lindsay for keeping the wheels of commerce greased while I was away. Huzzah!

How insensitive are we to celebrity deaths that the passing of legendary impressionist Fred Travalena doesn’t even warrant a single tear on “Larry King Live?” Or is just Fred pulling off another one of his mind-blowing impersonations, this one of a dead celebrity? Did anyone check the casket for a white, sequined glove?

No glove? Then Fred’s dead. And with him goes his broad repertoire of voices that ranged from Jack Nicholson to Robert DeNiro to Bugs Bunny. He was 66.

Travalena, who began treatment for an aggressive form of non-Hodgkin’s lymphoma (I thought that was the kind that didn’t kill you!)  in 2002 and saw the disease return last July after going into remission in 2003, died Sunday, June 28th at his home in Encino, according to his publicist, Roger Neal. Travalena also was diagnosed with prostate cancer in 2003 but had been in complete remission since then. (God’s not that cruel.)

I will always remember fondly Travalena for his frequent appearances on “The Tonight Show” and “The Mike Douglas Show,” not to mention his ability to always execute “the block” on “Hollywood Squares.”  While most Italian-American performers were either brooding actors or brooding singers, Travalena proved we could also be smark alecks. He was the Chico Marx of the 70s. Just rent some episodes of the original “Love Boat” if you don’t believe me.

Visit www.fredtravalena.com for information about a public service and where to send a donation. While you’re there, though, check out his photo page to see a veritable who’s that of Hollywood yesteryear. He has shots of himself with Jon Voight and Dennis Miller, so I assume he went a little right-winger, but he also has a picture with President Clinton so there’s some balance.

Fred “Man of a Thousand Faces” “Mr. Everybody”  Travalena, you will be missed. Again.

Listener to our much ballyhooed radio show, The Radio Philistine, might remember an offensive character I used to play, Jackson Michaels, America’s Number One Child Molestation Comic. Basically it involved insentive jokes about being a pederast and it played to absolutely zero laughs. I assume, it was radio, remember. Anyway, I retired Jackson Michaels because there came a point when “he” couldn’t really compete with his namesake for tasteless and offensive output. Of course, I just assume innocent people don’t settle law suits for $25 million. But I’m not here to judge…

I’d like to remember Michael Jackson when he was younger, energetic and black. Also, when he was recording for CBS/Epic. The Motown stuff was too aspartame for my tastes.

I would put forth that his creative output from 1979 through 1982 ranks up there with any of the great recording artists of the late 20th and early 21st centuries. His Quincy Jones produced solo record “Off the Wall,” his Jacksons (not Jackson 5 anymore) record “Triumph” and his monster hit “Thriller” all came within a four year period of inspired genius.

The young adult Michael sang about girls, break ups and boogie. He was a smooth bridge between the Beatles and James Brown with a vastly superior vocal range. And he was an innovator in the studio with an ear for orchestrated production. Listen to “This Place Hotel (Heartbreak Hotel)” from “Triumph” and hear a confident songwriter/singer about to grow into being the King of Pop.

Of course, it will be the funk and rock songs people most remember. “Don’t Stop ‘Til You Get Enough” and “Wanna Be Startin’ Somethin’ ” will always fill a dance floor, and “Billie Jean” and “Beat It” will continue to dominate terrestrial radio forever.  And while you’re loading up your ipoop, don’t forget “Rock with You,” “Can You Feel It” and  “Lovely One” for shear pleasure.

Mims and I had the pleasure of seeing Michael live around 1983/84. Despite my music snobbery, I still rank it as one of the top 10 shows I have ever seen. He performed with so much passion and enthusiasm it was difficult not to name him the Elvis of our generation.

Unfortunately, that comparison seems all too easy now. A caricature of his former self  – dead at a way too young age. Off the charts whacked out of his mind on pain pills and, incomprehensibly, anaesthesia, he will leave behind a legacy of accusations, court appearances, homunculi and, oh yeah, music.

So forget his friendships with animals and “Webster,” his sleep overs with children, his chiselled “good” looks and his “wives.” Remember instead that for a brief period, Michael Jackson really was a King and that king died some time around the mid 80s.

And, hey, speaking of music, have you purchased “Wilco (the album)” by Wilco yet? Run don’t run to a locally owned record store and buy it now. I’ll wait.  Lalalalalala. Got it? Great, isn’t it? It grabs you right from the start with “Wilco (the song)” and never lets up. Nels Cline remains a god! I’ll even forgive the duet with Feist, because lyrically it’s Jeff Tweedy at his darkest. Say, didn’t he also have a pain pill addiction? And I just dropped the kids off at his house!!! Tweedy!!!!