I turned on the news this morning just in time to watch it erupt with reports that Michael Jackson was not showing up in court and that the judge had issued a warrant for his arrest and a time limit. One could hear the newsfolks practically salivating at visions of helicopters tracking him as per the infamous O.J. Simpson freeway chase. Unfortunately for that dream, Jackson did show up…but as a consolation prize to the media, he arrived in pajamas, thereby providing them with plenty to talk about, at least for a while. For some ungodly reason, I'm watching Court TV, where people who've never met Michael Jackson are constructing a psychiatric profile of him based on this morning's actions.
This whole thing is like a traffic accident: You hate it but it's hard not to look.
Hold it. This just in: The jury deliberating in the Robert Blake case is having lunch. They're in a private lunchroom at the Van Nuys courthouse and they're having pizza and lasagna.
I'm not going to wait around for someone to try and connect this information to the fact that the murder occurred outside an Italian restaurant. Someone will. But I'm turning off the TV before they do.