"This group should not to be confused with the real-life band The Misfits, led by Glenn Danzig."

Words of wisdom.

Ezra's completely right about Entourage. It's weird. Not Ezra being right about something — he does that all the time. Rather, he's right in noting the weirdness of the show being so entertaining despite its almost complete lack of actual conflict. I was talking with some folks about this last night, and we all basically agreed: people like happy endings, and there's only one place to get them on HBO.

But I'm still conflicted about liking the show. If I ever met anyone like the main characters (aside from E), I have no doubt that I'd hate their guts. I'd probably spend the evening trying to make them look dumb, then cowardly backing down from any resulting threats. You know, like that jerk from that scene in Good Will Hunting who ended up not liking those apples very much.

Seriously, Turtle is a perfect instantiation of some of the most despicable Dude Archetypes of all time. The show's apparent endorsement of the douchebag lifestyle makes me wonder what company I'm putting myself in by liking it. Whatever demographic it is, I have a feeling it includes a lot of dudes who spent most of their college years proclaiming how "money" various things were. I'm not particularly comfortable with that.

But there's no helping it. The show's got sharp writers, nonstop wish-fulfillment and an unpretentious way of presenting its thoroughly pretentious subject matter. Plus, Jeremy Piven is a comedic force of nature (his thoroughly wussy yogic journeys notwithstanding). Who am I to stand in his way?

I donno, man. I have misgivings. I know that it's my duty as an aspiring liberal elite to pledge my undying love for all things Garrison Keillor. Just look at my friends: Matt and Emily are both currently leaping to the guy's defense, and Charles was practically brought up with Garrisonianism as a secondary religion (complete with weekly Sunday observances). Keillor writes in magazines I wish I wanted to read, and A Prarie Home Companion is, obviously, one of dear NPR's biggest properties. It seems like Keillor's creative output should be right up my alley.

But it just isn't. I will grudgingly admit that his Mr. Blue persona is merely Salon's fourth-worst regular columnist, but that's more of a testament to Carey Tennis and Anne Lamott's staggering solipsism and King Kaufman's pugnacious irrelevance than anything else. And I'll also admit that I'm intrigued by the PHC movie. But that's just because Maya Rudolph is hilarious, the rest of the cast looks great, and Lindsay Lohan appears to play a wayward and impressionable young girl.

I should say that I'm not biased against PHC's central conceit: I actually like the idea of old-timey radio-ousity. Ask Catherine! I'm a big fan of The Big Broadcast on WAMU, where Ed Walker plays crackly serials from the golden age of radio (this is because I am a million years old). But PHC just isn't particularly remarkable, authentic or generally good. Okay, you've got some wry Wodehouse-ian banter, and some authentic-sounding musical performances, and various nods to the idea of an older, better time. That's all fine.

The problem is that this package comes wrapped in a masturbatory reverence for an imagined Midwestern cult of mediocrity. I get that the asceticism is part of the joke — except it isn't, not really. The overarching straight man routine is never tweaked or explored or used to anyone's advantage. God forbid that Keillor or anyone else be forced to sacrifice a drop of dignity. They can put on a good old-fashioned program of entertainment, by gum — it just can't be too entertaining, is all. That'd spoil the fun, you see.

And to top it off, this allegedly charming slice of Americana is perpetrated by exactly the sorts of liberal-minded folks that perpetually find themselves stymied by the country's appetite for rosy-hued nostalgic bullshit. I'm sure there's a gay married couple somewhere in Lake Wobegone who the neighbors have made some charmingly off-the-mark comments about. But let's get real — we come to bury Mayberry, not to praise it.

Perhaps I'm misjudging the appeal of Keillor and his Prarie Home Companion. I have to admit that I don't think I've ever made it through an entire episode — the only show on NPR that makes me change the channel faster is Michael Feldman's ponderous (and incorrectly phoneticized) Whad'Ya Know. I feel as though I've heard fragments of plenty of shows, however. And in my admittedly brief experience, the joke seems to be that the show isn't all that funny — or happy, or sad, or dramatic, or moving. Its only concern seems to be in promoting a sort of bovine stoicism. I really don't understand the appeal.

On the other hand, I don't have any relatives from the midwest, and I drink kind of a lot of coffee. I wouldn't be surprised if one of those is the source of my incomprehension.