THE HOLLYWOOD RAGE PAGE

Ever have one of those days that is just one of those days?   That’s the kind of day that I’ve been having for the last month or so. Sometimes life seems like one huge highly cooperative jigsaw puzzle, where each individual piece seems to have its very own, all-knowing consciousness that cosmically knows how to come together like a well-oiled Thanksgiving day marching band that spells out the words SUCCESS. And then there are the other 300+ days where evidently the band dropped acid right before the parade and instead of marching down Broadway it takes a hard left down 46th Street and you suddenly find yourself plunged into the Hudson River wishing that you had remembered to take swimming lessons as you slowly sink to the bottom of the abyss.  Eventually you will get that the floor of the river is actually a slow reacting trampoline, but until you figure that out, I would not take off that oxygen mask. Helplessness is a lifeguard free existence where your cries for

Move over Disneyland, the number one tourist attraction in America is officially the barely year-old   Trumpland which guarantees thrills and confusion with more bewilderment than amusement. Here is a list of just some of the attractions: HALL OF PRESIDENTS:   Get ready for a parade of animatronic Presidents shown in their natural habitats!   There’s Washington crossing the Delaware!   See Lincoln delivering his Gettysburg Address!   FDR delivering his wartime fireside chat!   See Trump playing golf while a bullet mutilated student from Parkland is buried just a few miles away!   See him getting spanked by a Forbes Magazine by a porn star, having his hair bleached with all the other seniors at the Boca Raton salon, Blonde Ambition, followed by him skipping blithely naked through a car wash as he is bombarded with a tanning solution that makes him look like the landlady in “Something About Mary.”   THE HAUNTED HOUSE:   Like the Louvre, you can’t possibly see it all

Trump has finally made good on his promise to make life for the American family great again! Unfortunately they are the Conners and they do not exist. Dan and Roseanne live in the very same Twilight zip code of The Apprentice where dreams come true, especially if you are easily seduced by all these splashy ads that they show in-between act breaks that are carefully crafted to  hypnotize you into spend lavishly, in the true style of Vegas, on cars, clothes or any number of drugs which just might lift you out of the real, actual depression, both behaviorally and financially. The star of the show, like Trump, is a multi-millionaire loud mouth who is pretending to care about the average American Joe and Jane while laughing  all the way to the bank.   Roseanne Barr, I remind you, did not take a knee at a football game.  She manically shrieked the National Anthem at the top of her lungs and then grabbed her cynical crotch, just like, well, the other guy who prefers his

In this era of Trump, where instead of draining the swamp, we are doing Olympic- size laps in it, where we have to hear the creepy intimate details of his Forbesplay with his porn star/daughter replicant,   I am finding myself yearning for the America that I grew up in. Somewhat to our rescue, network TV is offering us one antidote in the form of seemingly heartfelt, nostalgic archeology, as they exhume the tombs of Will and Grace, Murphy Brown and Roseanne.     The real reason that they are doing that is because (A) it’s the one thing that the cable companies can’t do and (B) they get to overstuff their syndication packages by adding more epi$odes to the mix.   So like your current government, it is only the illusion that it is all for you.   Broadway is doing the exact same thing.  There are more revivals than the Deep South on the not so bright white way and there are more fake jukebox musicals than ever, hatched in the the world of Margaritavile. At the moment, t