As a matter of fact, I do occasionally stray off the Fox reservation. As a

Johnny Carson addict from way back in the 1970s, I occasionally, if

circumstances keep me up past my regular bedtime (10pm, like Calvin

Coolidge), catch one of the late night chat shows. If I could just keep my

eyes open into the small hours, in fact, I could be a big Conan O’Brien fan.

He has a silly, anarchic approach that appeals deeply to the still-British

part of my soul. Interesting guests, too. The other night he had Billy Connolly on. I haven’t seen Billy

since his early career as a TV comic in Britain 25 years ago. Now he is

gray-haired and paunchy–strange how that happens. Not as funny as I

remember, either. He used to have a wonderful vein of scatological humor,

and British-born Boomers can recite whole Connolly routines from that

period. “I were sittin’ on the karzy, squeezin’ the blackheads oot o’ my

thighs. You know, the way you _doooo_… Joinin’ up the dots to make a

giraffe…” These people are all political idiots, of course, air-head

lefties–but hey, so was Einstein… [NB for non-Brit readers: “karzy” is

low-Brit slang for “toilet.” I don’t know the etymology, but have a vague

feeling it’s one of those Arabic words the squaddies brought back from Egypt

and that other place–what’s it called?–oh, yeah: Palestine. Like “bint”

for “young woman.”] [NB NB: “squaddie” means “soldier of rank below

sergeant.”]