GET SOME REST, PAM, YOU LOOK TIRED: Much has already been said about the brilliance that is Paul Greengrass' The Bourne Ultimatum, but a few points I want to make/add:

• One of the great things about the series is how it's been cast--primarily with actors who you don't normally see in "big blockbusters," and typically against type. David Straithairn is the the big addition in this one, and he gets to play the polar opposite of Edward R. Murrow.
• It's a movie resolutely set in the here and now, with political resonance (though some of the parallels are a bit too "on the nose" and blatant), but it doesn't feel the need to remind us of that every five minutes--I don't believe the words "9/11," "Patriot Act," or even "terrorist" are even uttered by any character.
• None of the characters are "clean." Everyone is morally compromised in some way. On the flip side, even the "bad guys" are (for the most part) not wearing purely black hats. They are people who mean well, but get carried away and cross a line.
• The use of practical locations is astounding, and (mostly) done with substantial accuracy. You can tell that they actually shot the final act in NYC, including an amazing car and foot chase sequence through the Port Authority.
• Even though Damon and Greengrass have both strongly indicated that this is it for the series, and the film gives a lot of closure to the Bourne storyline, there's one huge loose end (I'll discuss in the comments) which gives massive opening for a sequel.

If you were thinking about seeing this one, do--I think, beyond question, it's the best of the summer "three-quels."

SERIOUSLY, THIS ALMOST BECAME THE NETROOTS EQUIVALENT OF THROWING SNOWBALLS AT SANTA CLAUS: I am relieved this evening that the NYT has clarified that I did not, in fact, encourage a crowd last night to boo Mother Teresa and, in fact, "meant to be funny".

You can see the Pub Quiz questions themselves via this link, and both Matt and TPE were invaluable resources in putting it together.

THAT THE SCORE BRAVE SOULS INSIDE, FOR MANY A LONELY DAY, SAILED ACROSS THE MILKY SEAS, NE'ER LOOKED BACK NEVER FEARED NEVER CRIED: Queen's Brian May turned in his dissertation yesterday for his Ph.D. in astronomy. In this case on radial motion of zodiac dust clouds, but since there's no link to the Ph.D., you can't enjoy his work, but I imagine is about understanding this kind of stuff.

WHATEVER YOU DO, TAKE CARE OF YOUR SHOES: Spurred by our lack of content, let's give you, our loyal readers, the chance to create some, by playing what (if I recall correctly) is a popular parlor game in the Cosmopolitan household--please provide the Director from Phish's "Cavern" with some stuff to go with his (inter alia) serpent deflector, viral dissector, mudrat detector, and picture of nectar.

HOLD MAMA'S WAFFLES: So I took Cosmo Girl to see the "singalong cut" of my new BFF* Adam Shankman's movie today. Our verdict: under no circumstances can the beat be stopped. I wasn't remotely surprised by how much I enjoyed it, but I was surprised by how much I enjoyed John Travolta's performance once I got past the fact that he had the only Baltimorish accent -- it's pretty brutal -- in the entire movie. It's a totally different Edna than Harvey Fierstein's, but (a) it was awfully sweet and (b) it was clear that Travolta had spent a lot of time thinking about how he wanted to portray Edna. And if you're gonna have Travolta play this part, then you might as well crank up the dancing, and Shankman did a fabulous job choreographing so as to use his dancer to his best advantage while maintaining her inner Ednificence.

(For those wondering how four-year-old Cosmo Girl enjoyed herself, I can report that she loved all the music and the dancing, and sat still more than she ever has for any movie in her entire life. The racial storyline was entirely lost on her; the sole plot element that gave her any pause and provoked any questioning was when Prudy Pingleton tied Penny to the bed. Cosmo Girl was aghast that anyone's Mommy had done such a thing.)

As for the singalong aspect of the film: I specifically called ahead to see which screen was showing the singalong version. I strongly suspect that no one else in the theatre (a midday matinee in the middle of Times Square -- things might have been different in, say, Chelsea) had the foggiest idea that they were attending a singalong screening and as such were probably very confused as to why all the songs had subtitles. No singing.

* After watching Adam Shankman on four different episodes of SYTYCD,** Mr. Cosmo and I now feel that we have a special friendship with him. I thus deemed it my duty as his friend to go see his film today.

** I was too tired this week to post my SYTYCD thoughts. Suffice to say that the eliminations were the right ones, although I will miss Dominic's self-deprecating sense of humor. (I have to admit that I was touched by the raw carried-away sincerity of the kiss.) My own responses to some of the dances were unusually out of sync with the judges': I liked Nick and Lacey's Latin Jazz routine, and wasn't particularly blown away by their Mia & Daddy dance. I did agree, however, that the normally exceptionally talented members of the wardrobe staff had apparently been abducted by Martians when it came time to costume Danny and Sara for the Salt-n-Pepa routine, and I would add in a big raspberry to Shane Sparks for the choreography. But there are no raspberries to be directed at the glorious Sabra -- I had no bid for her early in the season, but she has grown on me to the degree that I think she could potentially win the whole thing.***

***I think I've run out of things to talk about. Have a great weekend!

A FEAT OF RIPKENESQUE OR LARGENTIAN IRRELEVANCE: I post only because I don't want to break our streak of consecutive non-holiday weekdays with original content. And by "original," I mean "something to put under the 'Friday, August 3' banner, even if it is only a link to something else."

Ergo, a query: Ichiro! keeps saying really weird, really funny things (and this doesn't include the one about the tree and the roots, or about a half-dozen other doozies, though thankfully it does include the one about ugly bowlers). Is he making fun of us, or should we be making fun of him?

DIDJA KNOW THAT SANDY COHEN WENT TO UC BARCLAY? I had a little free time in London yesterday, and decided to indulge in a little afternoon tea at my hotel. I hadn't realized how veddy chichi this particular tea was, but as you know if you ever read the side of a Manhattan bus, it's not in vogue until it's in Vogue. The hotel's own website actually doesn't include pictures of the loveliest of the delicious pastries, but you get the idea.

(Incidentally, can someone explain to me how it came to pass that the Berkeley Hotel is pronounced "the Barclay"? For years I have heard of the fabulous Barclay, but didn't realize that I was actually, you know, staying there, until one of the vast cadre of impeccably dressed doormen welcomed me to the Berkeley. Oopsie.)