Better dressed

Lately I can't get enough of What Not to Wear, the TLC makeover show that every week sees its two catty hosts destroying the ego of some wan schlub, then building it up again with structured jackets and pencil skirts.

What appeals to me most are those hosts, Clinton Kelly and Stacey London. For one thing, unlike many TV hosts, they come from the world of print journalism. I respect that. I think I may have heard Stacey London use the word gerund once, or was it Faustian. More than that, the two remind me of the University of Chicago undergraduates I went to college with: Overbearing, rather pretentious, given to lashing out, ultimately well-meaning. Reasonably attractive, also well-spoken. Doubtless deeply troubled, or they wouldn't dispense so much abuse.

Except that what really appeals to me most is Carmindy, the makeup maven. There's really no problem she can't fix with lip gloss.

Staying alive?

Random thoughts on Saturday Night Fever, which I had somehow never seen till last Friday night:

* Why did I deny myself this pleasure?

* The Brooklyn disco is much shabbier than I expected. I think that based on the promotional imagery, I expected the nightclub to be sleek and chic, almost like something out of science fiction. But it really just looks like the crummy neighborhood bar, except with a flashing plastic floor.

* That said, the film reminded me that in the disco era, when I was a lad of 7 or 8, I thought disco lights were wonderfully sophisticated and evocative, and I wanted nothing more than to decorate my bedroom with them. At the mall I would stand in the darkened, disco-light section of Spencer's and covet every whirling bulb.

* The line-dancing sequence to "Night Fever" made me weep a little. Like the other dance segments -- which are electrifying -- it is a moment of beauty, conviviality, focus in an otherwise depressing milieu of violence, racism, homophobia, desperation, chaos.

* The Bee Gees' "More Than a Woman" is perfect.

* It is chill-inducing to see iconic cinematic imagery in context. Yes, I nearly melted at the sight, finally, of Travolta in the white three-piece suit -- and was surprised to learn that when Travolta dances in the white suit, his face is grotesquely bruised and bandaged as a result of brutish street violence. The bandage doesn't appear in the promotional stills. Seeing Travolta in the suit reminded me of when, ten or so years ago, I went to see The Seven-Year Itch in a morning matinee at Chicago's Music Box Theatre. There I was, enjoying the film, and then suddenly the universe stopped turning as the moment arrived when Marilyn Monroe steps onto the subway grate and her skirt is blown up by the draft. My mouth went dry. I had never known that was in Seven-Year Itch! I think on some level it had never even occurred to me that this image was actually in a film, that it occurs as a moment in an unfolding narrative -- granted, as a searing, heartstopping non sequitur of a moment in an unfolding narrative. My mouth also went dry when I saw the white suit.

* The credit sequence, with Travolta strutting and swinging a paint can to "Stayin' Alive," is sheer joy.

* The disco is called the 2001 Odyssey, and the cinematic reference is striking. Like 2001: A Space Odyssey, Saturday Night Fever is a film about transformation, evolution, human development, about people striving to move beyond messy, violent origins. The flashing lights of the disco remind me of the psychedelic freakout segment of 2001, and the gracefulness of the dancing reminds me of 2001's elegant "Blue Danube Waltz" sequence, where the spaceships spin lazily around. Of course, one of the messages of 2001 is that even in the Space Age, man remains the animal that murders. I'm not sure the Disco Age is any less grim.

Logging off

I'm struck -- but not surprised -- that PC Magazine, the venerable technology periodical, is dropping its print product. I'm a longtime reader and subscriber and have noticed that the magazine is not the phonebook-sized thing it was in the 1990s. I also noticed when it dropped back to a monthly, not all that long ago.

I was reminiscing just the other day about PC Magazine in connection with one of my first post-college jobs, at a Chicago software firm 15 years ago. Like the entry-level employees who came before and after me, I had the task of maintaining the company's library of computer periodicals, including PC Magazine. Something tells me they no longer keep that library.

It makes sense that a technology magazine would be among the first to go all-Web. But as an editor with a general-readership periodical, the Madison, Wis. alt-weekly newspaper Isthmus, I gotta say that the change is unsettling.

Paging Thomas Wolfe

I'm happy to announce that I Grew Up in Donelson, Tenn., a Facebook group I started, is going great guns with 52 members and counting. Yes, I am That Guy, and I started one of Those Groups. It pleases me that from this group Facebook points members to other, possibly related groups, like I Took Dance at Miss Hill's and Still Know the Spaghetti Rag.

I liked growing up in Donelson. So far we have reminisced about Western Auto, Western Sizzlin and Coiffures Hair Design. Oh yes, and the Lad and Dad.

Critics' choice

As a weekly writer of entertainment blurbs myself, I must say these three- and four- and six-word television blurbs in a 1983 New York Times are paragons of the form. Sheer poetry, and I do mean haiku.

Titans blurbed then. "Not bad. Try it."

Bad word

"Among new information surfacing from inside the McCain campaign is that Palin didn't know that Africa is a continent rather than a country unto itself."

-- Kathleen Parker

Match made in Valhalla

Some weeks back I posted about a computer video card I briefly owned. The card -- which is meant to go inside a computer, mind you -- was emblazoned with an illustration of a pretty, busty young woman brandishing some sort of martial arts weapon. What's it all about? I wondered.

I'm still not ready to answer the question, but I do have a response of sorts. I just bought still another video card, and on the outside of the box is an illustration of a pretty, busty young man who appears to be a bit player in Norse mythology, or else a professional wrestler.

So how can we get these kids together?