Not mentioned in Suggests: Hodgman will be joined onstage by his coonskin-cap-wearing sidekick Jonathan Coulton. There will be further music and funny stuff by John Roderick and Sean Nelson (best known as the frontman for the Long Winters and the frontman for Harvey Danger, respectively), who haven't played music together for years. Pressed for specifics about what they're going to play, Nelson said, mysteriously, ""It's pretty up in the air. I wouldn't be surprised if we did 'Only Living Boy in New York,' especially if people request it." You know what that means.

Meanwhile, look at it out there. Look at it pour. Need it be mentioned that Town Hall is but a few short (if steep) blocks from the Sorrento, and inside the Sorrento are the chairs and tasseled ottomans of the Fireside Room, where drinks aren't cheap but the fireplace roars and roars? (Lo those many years ago, roughly at this time of year, Bar Exam paid a visit) If you can't get in to see Hodgman tonight at Town Hall, you should riot, and if that doesn't work you should just stay in one of those Fireside Room chairs forever, reading and rereading the audience review Hodgman wrote for The Stranger the last time he was in town.

Sarah Silverman on Jimmy Kimmel Live.

(As my friend Meagan said, "BTW Hasselbeck is supposed to be Reagan--NOT Christian Bale from Newsies.")

I am starting to resent how much of my attention The View demands these days.

Okay, that's pretty dumb, but I still grant top dummy honors to the mid-'80s Wheel contestant trying to solve the phrase "_T TAK_S ON_ TO KNOW ON_", who in desperation spat out a sentence that's been burned in my brain ever since: "E.T. takes one to know one"???

From Wikipedia:

Early models lacked a true glove box to save on costs, but the glove box was added in 1973.... Some of the exterior paint options had unusual names, such as Anti-Establish Mint, Hulla Blue, Original Cinnamon, Freudian Gilt, Thanks Vermillion, [...] Dresden Blue, Raven Black, Wimbledon White, and Candyapple Red.

By Craig Worrell:

I was getting tired of "maverick" being bandied about like EVERYONE and their dog is a maverick. And yes, it's Jim Garner.

Living in the age of Curb Your Enthusiasm and The Office has inured me to a lot of what would typically make me squirm. This made me squirm.

Spoiler alert!: This post comes without a spoiler alert. Last night on Project Runway, adorable Portland hipster-dork Leanne Marshall fulfilled the wishes of the masses and won.

Unfortunately, this meant the also-awesome Korto had to lose, a fate to which she kinda seemed resigned. (That "I'm not just a designer, I'm a mommy!" crap is for losers.)

Also, it should be remembered that three days after the self-inflated bag of gas known as Jennifer Lopez ditched out of being the PR finale guest judge due to a foot injury, she completed the Malibu Triathlon.

Tonight brings the finale of Project Runway. I've already made my prediction known. Now it's your turn.

Who deserves to win?

Who WILL win?

And just for kicks:

What would you most like to see?

After seeing the collections on this week's episode, can anyone deny it? Leanne's architectural math waves are the perfect distillation of her aesthetic while doing something that feels evolved and new. Kenley also delivered. The other two, not so much.

Counting the minutes till Leannimal's impending triumph....

Ever since last night's episode, when Kenley attempted to blame her hair-trigger bitchiness on having been "raised on a tugboat," I can't stop thinking about this song. Kenley is Pirate Jenny. (Even if you don't who Kenley or Kurt Weill is, you should listen anyway, for Nina Simone is amazing, and kind of terrifying.)

Among last night's revelations:

*The roots of Kenley's hair-trigger bitchiness! (Apparently, she was raised on a tugboat—like, for real—where I can only imagine she worked as a scullery maid and was taught to respond to any human interference with a switchblade.)

*The identification of Leanne's Achilles' heel! ("It's all so sad," said Nina Garcia of Queen Leeann's somber librarian aesthetic.)

*Tears, tears, and more tears! From everyone! (Even me—because the judges failed to kick off the person who most deserved it, but that's how it goes...)

It's not all great, but parts are, and I kind of love her.

(Thanks for the link, Towleroad.)

There were definitely bright spots, most notably the triumph of Tina Fey and 30 Rock. (Confidential to Alec Baldwin: Praising Tina Fey as "the Elaine May of her generation" is neither complimentary nor factually accurate. Tina Fey became the Elaine May of her generation 10 years ago, and now she's something else all her own. The nearest precedent: Mary Tyler Moore, if Mary Tyler Moore had created and written The Mary Tyler Moore Show, which is a huge "if." Also, this (great) New Yorker profile makes you look insane.)

But all this pales in comparison to the deeply unfortunate, extraordinarily long TV-theme medley performed by nouveau crooner Josh Groban.

Groban is a monster, but it must be said that he's trapped in a no-win situation. Performing a quick-cut TV-show medley is like giving a speech in Klingon: There's no way to do it and not look stupid, and the "better" you are at it, the stupider you look.

Suicide is painless, indeed.