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Los Angeles County Superior Court Judge Marsha N. Revel struck a remarkable blow for justice on Tuesday, sentencing Lindsay Lohan to 90 days in jail after repeatedly violating her probation, and another 90 days in rehab. Which means that at long last, even with the high likelihood that she won’t serve even a third of this sentence, Lohan has been shown in no uncertain terms that actions have consequences.

I feel overwhelmingly like my grandfather in saying that (though if I were really channeling him I’d be using some choicer, more colorful words). And admittedly, there’s a part of me that loves nothing more than stickin’ it to the man — but that usually just involves getting away with parking illegally.

But in this case, there’s no question that this is the right call, and it’s more than refreshing to see that star power doesn’t necessarily buy someone’s way out of a scrape. And Lohan’s reaction, surely fueled by the fact that she’s a young woman who’s scared of what she’s about to face, also betrayed someone who’s genuinely out of touch with what it means to take responsibility for themselves.

“As far as I knew I was in compliance with my programs,” Lohan said, fighting back tears.

“I wasn’t trying to get special treatment,” she added. “I have to provide for myself. I have to work. Having said that, I did everything to balance my jobs and showing up. I’m not taking this as a joke. It’s my life. It’s my career. … I take responsibility for my actions. I’ve tried to do the best I can. It’s been such a long haul. … I don’t want you to think that I don’t respect you.”

Now, in what universe does “jetting off to the Cannes film festival to party and allegedly suck face with your former co-star’s boyfriend, only to say you were unable to be back in L.A. for your court-mandated alcohol education classes because your passport was supposedly stolen” equal being in compliance with a program or taking their probation seriously, I’m not sure.

It wouldn’t hurt Lohan — or her mother or father, for that matter — to stop for a second and realize that what we’re talking about here is breaking the terms of a probation. For driving while under the influence. These aren’t just simple rites of passage; somebody could’ve gotten killed. And while everyone’s done something — generally a lot of somethings — that they shouldn’t have or wish they hadn’t done, most people don’t have all of the advantages or opportunities to straighten up, much less buy themselves a spot in a nice rehab.

It’s not that I don’t feel sorry for Lohan — on some level I do. I think it’s got to be an awful thing to be the mealticket for two monumentally irresponsible parents who never hesitate to violate your privacy to get a little limelight for themselves. It has to be terrible to grow up in an unforgiving spotlight at doesn’t allow you to make your mistakes in private. And it surely has to suck to go from being a genuinely promising kid to being a punchline by 24.

But if Lindsay Lohan is smart, or at least manages to use the 90 days of rehab, if not the 90-day jail sentence, to get a little perspective, she can make an amazing comeback. Look at what jailtime did for Robert Downey Jr. — not that it’s fair to compare her to one of the more divinely gifted actors of his generation, but at least it straightened him out. And look at him now — he’s freakin’ Iron Man, for heaven’s sake. Look at what Drew Barrymore has accomplished after her harrowing childhood. Look at what Carrie Fisher, for all of her demons, has accomplished. Any one of them could’ve gone down the tubes. But for each of them, there was at least one wake-up call. Here’s hoping this is Lohan’s.

And if not, here’s hoping that at least she doesn’t drive through my neighborhood.

Image by Getty Images via @daylife

It’s not like it’s any big surprise — either that Washington, DC, my former adopted home town, is crawling with self-promoters, or that that self-promotion is rewarded. But when I read today that Bravo did in fact cast Michaele Salahi in “The Real Housewives of D.C.,” I died a little bit inside. Not because I or anyone else bought for even a fraction of a second that the notorious White House state dinner crashers weren’t going to end up on a reality show. The network didn’t even really lie wholeheartedly about it at the time. I try to stay away from all of the housewives except for those kooks in Orange County, and it’s a little sad to see D.C. lose another shred of dignity, between this and the “Real World” a couple of seasons ago.

The truly sad part is that I just saw a preview of this season’s “Top Chef,” coincidentally also set in Washington, D.C. — you can bet the farm that there’s going to be some creepy crossover somewhere in there — with its new guest judge, Eric Ripert, who counts D.C.’s Westend Bistro among his restaurants. Mostly I just refer to him as the Silver Fox, but his expertise is definitely a welcome addition, and may even mitigate my reflux reaction to Padma Lakshmi. What’s more is that there appears to be an episode somewhere during this season in which Anthony Bourdain and Buzz Aldrin — ostensibly two of the crankiest men alive — share a dining table. Who doesn’t want to see that? I’m hoping they get into a fistfight.

All of which I will miss if I attempt to live by any sort of principles and boycott Bravo in protest of “The Real Housewives of D.C.” and Michaele Salahi. But with the prospect of episode after episode of the Silver Fox, I’m sure I’ll be tuning in anyway.

In fact, I’m not sure I’m even interested in seeing it — outside a cineplex somewhere deep in the Valley on a weekday at an 11 a.m. matinee, because they’re sure as hell not getting a full $13 out of me.

Here’s the thing. Like my True/Slant colleague Jeremy Helligar, I liked the show. I never took it too seriously, but tended to think of it as a case study of what some gay men thought women were like. I know that’s an oversimplification, but I think the show works best as a fantastic example of caricature. And to truly enjoy it, you need a lot of suspended disbelief and just enough wine to keep you from loathing the characters and yourself for watching.

And I say that as a fan. There’s not an episode of “Sex and the City” I haven’t watched — and while I definitely didn’t love them all, I do think it was perceptive on many levels. And it did acknowledge some of the things that no one wants to admit. That no matter how fabulous a face you put on, you can still be terrified of growing old alone. That there are married friends who think less of you because you’re single. That you are the only guarantee of a fugure that you have — and sometimes that future can look a whole lot different than how you pictured. And that you’ll always have at least one friend who says “fuck” in nearly every sentence and makes horrible, punny and unfunny sex jokes — and yet she still gets more action than you do.

As a show, “Sex and the City” worked — you only had to contend with a few stupid Mae-West-meets-Shecky-Greene sex jokes from Samantha in an episode and you usually only had to watch Carrie type “and I couldn’t help but wonder…” only once. I re-watched the two-part finale the other night, and marveled again at how good it was. But even though at times I’ve been able to identify with one character or another, I have never wasted even half a second wondering whether I was a “Carrie” or a “Miranda.” And if I ever do, I implore my nearest and dearest to punch me in the head. Hard.

A witty, thought- and conversation-provoking show is one thing. Stretching that out into *more than two hours* (145 minutes for the first movie, 146 for the second — lord almighty, where are the editors?) is, well, a stretch. To put it mildly. I did see the first movie in the theater — and my husband, even before he became my husband, got himself nominated for sainthood by sitting through it more or less willingly. To be fair, we were living in a pretty small town at the time, and there wasn’t a lot to do that weekend. It’s also constantly on cable, which means I have seen it about a bajillion times since then, mostly because sometimes I can’t find the remote. And I might be a masochist. It doesn’t improve upon repeated viewings, no matter how much you cradle that wine bottle you just emptied in your arms.

Lately I’ve been marveling again at the brilliant — and maybe offensive? — marketing job that’s supported this movie. The HP2 computer — “seen in ‘Sex and the City 2′.” The pain in my heart from having to hear Jon Hamm actually say the words “Sex and the City 2″ when he voices the Mercedes commercial. There was even a Food Network “Sex and the City 2″ cake challenge, for chrissakes. Is *nothing* sacred? Why does cake need to be victimized?

And now, having been exposed to what men think when they watch the “Sex and the City 2″ trailer (brilliant), I’m taking a quick spin through some of the reviews.

And by the way, yes of course I’ll probably end up seeing it. I’ll feel dirty, but I’ll end up seeing it. And no matter how scathing the reviews, Carrie, Miranda, Charlotte and Samantha — and Michael Patrick King — will be laughing all the way to the bank.

Roger Ebert’s lead: “Some of these people make my skin crawl.” And then he goes on to: “And crotches, have we got crotches for you.” Thank you, God, for Roger Ebert. Now please let Anthony Lane review it for the New Yorker.

A.O. Scott, The New York Times: “Your watch will tell you that a shade less than two and a half hours have elapsed, but you may be shocked at just how much older you feel when the whole thing is over.”

Andrew O’Hehir, Salon: “It would have been more merciful for writer-director Michael Patrick King to have rented Carrie, Samantha, Charlotte and Miranda out to the “Saw” franchise, or to Rob Zombie, so we could watch them get shot in the head or skinned alive by Arkansas rednecks.”

Lisa Schwarzbaum, Entertainment Weekly: “The experience of listening to the girls complain about their fairy-tale lives from the comfort of an all-expenses-paid luxury vacation in the Arabian desert may leave a viewer feeling by turns nostalgic, disoriented, and impatient.”

Betsy Sharkey, Los Angeles Times: “Making the film bearable is Parker, who is at her most relaxed in this latest Carrie incarnation. She’s got all the same moves, but the emotional ups and downs are modest and the necessary ministrations from her friends barely required. Which begs the question, why have a sequel at all? Probably best to leave it to the accountants to answer that one.”

Amy Diluna, New York Daily News: “It’s been two years since the first “Sex and the City” movie – and this shtick is getting old.”

Ty Burr, The Boston Globe: “What was once a playful, pretend-shallow soap opera with pockets of feeling is now shallow for keeps — a dunderheaded comic melodrama with clothes to die for and dialogue to shrink from. It’s downright depressing.”

Try not to hold the Cubs thing against him. Image by Getty Images North America via @daylife

Congratulations to Lee DeWyze for his “American Idol” win — which the Washington Post’s Lisa DeMoraes predicted two weeks into the season. Lisa, I will never doubt you again, and if you have a minute could you give some thought to my lotto numbers this week…

Congratulations to Crystal Bowersox too, who will undoubtedly go on to a huge career, and deservedly so — that girl can sing. Besides, a half-second glance at the roster of those who didn’t take home the crown yields a list of people whose names you probably recognize even more than most of the winners (aside from Carrie Underwood and my beloved Clarkson). Which, incidentally, is how I make my NCAA pool picks.

And so long to Simon Cowell, who before he took off to spend the night sleeping in his bed made of money, showed an amazing amount of good humor and self-deprecation — the “I love you” to the mirror bit was well played.

But beyond that, what the hell was going on tonight?

• Bret Michaels — you HAD A STROKE. And you have a HOLE in your HEART. You should be home napping and hydrating, not up on that stage with Casey James singing “Every Rose Has Its Thorn,” in all its get-stuck-running-through-your-head madness.
• We had a winner — albeit one that hadn’t been officially crowned yet — jamming out with Chicago? I get the home town reference and those remaining guys looked pretty great after all of these years, but what are the odds that the target demo in the theater had ever heard of these guys?
• Raise your hand if you too had thought Joe Cocker was dead — and may have even said something like, “It’s a shame Joe Cocker can’t join them, because he’s dead.” And damn if he didn’t look pretty good too. Particularly for a dead guy. He’s like the musical Abe Vigoda if you’re playing the Dead/Not Dead game.
• The collected “Idol” winners and contestants singing to Simon was a nice touch. But will “Idol” ever get a halfway decent song for these finale things? You could smell that thing from miles away — and it reeked of the sulfur of the hell from whence it came.
• Paula Abdul — sober! At least it seemed that way. And looking super cute.
• Janet Jackson. I like her better when she’s in “Control” than when she’s “Nasty,” but mostly I was just happy to see her fully clothed. And I’m betting that FOX wrote it into her performance contract that she do her costume change from behind the screen.

What did you think? Did you watch on your DVR so you could fast-forward through the mind-numbing parts? Which would have left you with about 10 minutes of show?

You can't see this, but Rob Lowe's looking over at me....

I’ll pony up with a few thoughts on “American Idol” in a minute, but first I had to take a minute to welcome Rob Lowe to the legion of lecherous men on the coming season of “Californication.” I’ve fallen off since the first season, even though I loved it, but this just might bring me back.

My first reaction to this photo when my husband (who wrote this story) showed it to me: Grrr! Which is (a) not really in character, and (b) unusual when not discussing either Kyle Chandler or one of the young men who make me feel like a lecherous old woman (hello, Justin Timberlake).

And while everyone’s pointing out the obvious Brad Pitt resemblance, my mind turns toward my dear friend Liz Kelly, Celebritologist at washingtonpost.com, who has long held great affection for dirtbags. Which I never understood before.

Liz, I stand corrected. And after watching the last couple of episodes of “Parks and Recreation,” (see below — he’s brilliant), I’d be willing to give anything he stars in a chance, because he makes me laugh.  And Showtime, I embrace your cheap stunt for my attention — and I’m setting my DVR.

Leslie Nope! And he’s trying to run to the moon…

But this, along with the “Grey’s Anatomy” season finale that I recapped the other night, got me thinking about farewells — both those that end the season and those that end a series and close a chapter entirely. And I came to the realization that beyond the truly legendary series finales, most of my favorites have been on cable. And now I have to ask myself if it’s just that what we’re getting on cable lately is just that great, or if my memory is that bad that I can’t go back too far.

The “M*A*S*H” series finale, “Goodbye, Farewell and Amen,” is one of the first I remember really paying attention to, and now when you look back at the statistics — 106 million Americans tuning in — its impact is staggering. I don’t remember all that much about it, besides Hawkeye starting the episode in a psych ward and B.J. spelling “Goodbye” in rocks on the hillside as Hawkeye flew away in a chopper. But it was a great early lesson in the emotionality of TV.

“Newhart” — An absolutely fantastic take imaginable on the “it was all a dream” conceit.

“Seinfeld” — Since this show is on in syndication seemingly every hour of every day, it’s not hard to run into this one once in a while. I actually hate this one, but it does bring into rather stark relief how awful the characters of “Seinfeld” really are — and it gave me fresh justification for not liking Larry David.

“Friends” – I admit my viewing record wasn’t perfect in the last season or two, but regardless of how unrealistic the apartment or how unlikely it is that they’d all still be friends with a dope like Joey for so many years, it was a heart tugger, even if it didn’t set up the “Joey” spinoff at all.

“Sex and the City” — I’m sitting here re-watching the finale on demand, and am struck anew at how beautifully this series came to a close. Of course it left plenty of string to attach a movie to, but the two-part farewell seriously renders the “SATC” movie — or both of them — unnecessary. It also never lets you forget how immature, self-obsessed, and completely disinterested Carrie Bradshaw is about anything other than what’s directly in front of her (big, big hat tip) — she and Big deserve each other. I’m with my fellow True/Slanter Jeremy Helligar on this one. I realize the importance of going for the duckets while the going — and the duckets — are good, but come on.

After that, do you really need to watch these women flit around Abu Dhabi? Nope.

“The Sopranos” — I’ve had more than one argument about this one, but I cling steadfastly to my belief that this is pure genius. It’s singularly fantastic; a perfect television representation of a sentiment: “I’m David Chase, and you’re not.”

“Six Feet Under” — To those who argue that this is the best television finale to date, I heartily agree. After running off the rails a bit in seasons 3 and 4, it came back so utterly brilliantly in the final season that it could restore the faith of even the most cynical viewer. When the song accompanying the final scene randomly pops up on my iPod, I can’t help but tear up and remember that wistful hopefulness, and the genuinely comforting notion that not only that we’re reunited with our loved ones when we die, but even more importantly that they’re there to help us cross over. I met Alan Ball once, and completely embarrassed myself by going fan-girl over this show — and I’d do it again.

What’s missing from this list? What shows would you vote into your all-time top five (or ten) series finales?

Image by cliff1066™ via Flickr

A few weeks back, a bomb went off in the marriage of Larry and Shawn Southwick King, as they filed and counter-filed for divorce amid allegations of infidelity and downright tawdry behavior. But before things went to DEFCON 1, the Kings managed to let sanity prevail (as it came out that they have no prenup), and they came back from the brink. You had to know something was up when they managed to behave remarkably civilly toward one another at their sons’ baseball game just a day or two after their lawyers filed. And five days into their very public marital crash-and-burn, they decided to put their divorce on hold.

Now, not quite a month later, the Kings have declared their love for one another, and more importantly, declared a truce — calling off their divorce. Earlier this week, TMZ reported that they’re back under the same roof in Beverly Hills.

I know this isn’t exactly breaking news today, but I just wanted to tear myself away from the “America’s Next Top Model” finale to marvel to marvel at what a rare and lovely thing this is. How many times do any of us do something or strike out, only to regret it later? Like them or not, care about them or not, you have to hand it to the Kings for putting their kids and their marriage first. Mazel tov, Kings — here’s hoping everything works out for you.

Mr. and Mrs. Coach, how I love you. Image by Getty Images via Daylife

Dear NBC,

You and I have had our differences lately. First, there’s the Conan O’Brien thing. Then there’s the abominable “Marriage Ref” — which is a whole other post, because it’s (a) utterly inexplicable, and (b) seriously not funny, regardless of what anyone says. “Heroes” has gone into a deep slide, and I’m not even getting into “Minute to Win It.” And while I’m still a fan of Thursday nights and I love that you’ve brought Lorelai Gilmore back into my life with “Parenthood,” I’ll still continue to watch you because of one thing: “Friday Night Lights.”

It’s one of the best shows on television and the one that can both break your heart and restore your faith week after week. Truly, it’s little short of a television miracle, and the fact that you continue to (at least partly) bankroll its production — despite the fact that you don’t throw nearly enough marketing dollars behind it — leads me to believe that somewhere, deep down, you’re operating on the side of the angels. I’d almost argue that a network that produces “Friday Night Lights” doesn’t deserve to be in fourth place. Almost. In a perfect world, where troubles melt like lemon drops and I’m the $266 million lottery winner.

This isn’t just blind devotion, either. I have my reasons.

1. It’s believable. Eric and Tami Taylor live in a cute ranch house in Dillon — which looks like a house that a couple of middle-class professionals might actually own in central Texas. Not like Monica and Rachel’s apartment. It celebrates people just trying to make it from day to day, the way most of us live. Yet it never feels plodding and boring, nor does it often have the rhetorical flourishes of a Bruce Springsteen song.

2. Kyle Chandler and Connie Britton. First of all, look at them. I mean, come on — these people are not hard on the eyes. But even better than that, they both have fantastic acting chops, and their chemistry is palpable. This feels like a real, working marriage — certainly the best portrayal of marriage on television. I aspire to having this marriage. By no means are the Taylors perfect, and over the past three seasons they’ve had their crosses to bear. But they manage to stick together, and to treat each other with kindness even when they’re annoyed or when things are going wrong. They have each other’s backs, and getting to watch that week after week is magical. And any kid would be lucky to have teachers and coaches who care as much about them.

3. Taylor Kitsch. Lordy me, Tim Riggins. When the show premiered in 2006, the Washington Post’s Tom Shales wrote about the “unusual number of strikingly beautiful young women in the cast,” but it wasn’t just the young women who are beautiful. It helps too that Kitsch can act, and it’s exciting to see that he survived “Snakes on a Plane” and got discovered by the comic book world to play Gambit in “X-Men Origins: Wolverine.” Not much ever seems to go right for Tim Riggins — he’s his own worst enemy for sure, but life hasn’t exactly done him too many favors either. Kitsch makes you care about him even when you’re frustrated with his antics. And, as my pal Korbi Ghosh notes, the three seconds he’s shirtless in tonight’s episode are glorious.

4. The football. There’s not enough of it, really, in terms of action and games, and in a show about a small Texas town’s obsession with high-school football, that’s odd to say the least. But its genius lies in capturing the high-school football culture, and the way it permeates everything in Dillon.

5. It’s funny too. “Friday Night Lights” never loses its sense of humor in the midst of its grounded-in-the-good-Texas-earth sensibility — which makes it a treat. But it’s funny in context, which makes it really hard to cite an example except to say that when Landry’s band, Crucifictorious, embarks on their debut Christian speed metal tour, I’d want to be in the front row. The humor comes from who the characters are, and it has a sweetness that doesn’t have to rely on mockery.

“Friday Night Lights” isn’t perfect. It took an uncharacteristic turn off the rails during season 2, though thankfully it recovered after being interrupted by the writer’s strike. The antics of both Buddy Garrity and Tim Riggins can wear a little bit thin sometimes. The bad-guy set-up with Joe McCoy and his increasingly bratty son J.D. is a little bit obvious. And the odds just seem way too stacked against Coach Taylor as he tries to mold his ragtag band of East Dillon Lions into a decent team. But I can’t wait to see how this season pans out.

Thanks again — for this season and for picking up a fifth.

Your pal,

Lisa

Credit: Marvel.com

I just got back from a screening of “Iron Man 2″ (in IMAX, which I highly recommend). I have embraced my inner nerd, and I don’t care who knows it.

Let me start by saying that in no way am I the target demographic for this movie — nor was I for the first one. But take a look at this trailer and tell me there’s any way to avoid getting turned on.

Good lord, take a look at the tux on Robert Downey Jr. That alone is almost cooler than anyone has a right to think they could reasonably pull off.

And that’s the thing about the “Iron Man” movies. They make you feel cool just for watching them. They’re funny, sly, and fresh, and the “update/reboot” thing never for a minute feels like it’s stretching things or going too far. You walk out of the theater feeling sated, like your entertainment needs have been fully met. And I don’t spend one iota of energy thinking about things like “story clarity and momentum” — even though this smartly written Chicago Tribune review does — because the ride is so much fun.

Why?

1. Robert Downey, Jr. I ran out of superlatives for this guy a long time ago, and saying he’s one of the most copiously talented actors of his generation just gets boring after a while. He’s nearly equally brilliant in this role when he’s focused and when he’s a complete loose cannon, and that element of danger in never knowing what he’s going to do next is downright intoxicating. He’s also blissfully articulate and more than a little dirty. And while I know Robert Downey Jr.’s packed a whole lotta living into his 45 years, he remains just ridiculously handsome. They’re playing up the whole dead-sexy thing here (it totally works), but he’s got it in spades. Whatever he’s doing, if it’s sensory deprivation chambers or an all-soy diet or drinking the blood of werewolves by the light of the full moon, it’s working.

2. Mickey Rourke. Rourke is another exceptionally talented actor, which he demonstrated with a vengeance in his 2008 comeback, “The Wrestler.” It doesn’t matter all that much that he’s largely unintelligible, or that I desperately want him to take a nail brush into the shower with him. His sullen intensity (it’s awesome that his character is a brilliant scientist too) is a great match for Downey’s rogue. And watching them together, you can’t help but be reminded of how both of these guys have made extraordinary comebacks to their craft.

3. I don’t want to punch Gwenyth Paltrow. I often do. Well, that’s not entirely fair — she’s a fine actress, I’m delighted that traveling with Mario Batali re-introduced her to the joys of pork fat, and I keep my blood pressure lower by staying away from Goop. As Pepper Potts, she manages to avoid a lot of the smart-woman-sidekick traps by not being too disapproving or too fawning.

4. The technology. The only word I can come up with that does it justice is “spellbinding.” From the transparent screens and the 3-D scans to Paul Bettany-as-the-computer walking Robert Downey Jr. through a scientific breakthrough, it feels like a tool that’s being used to drive the story, rather than the story serving it.

5. Don Cheadle. He replaces Terence Howard as Lt. Col. James ‘Rhodey’ Rhodes. And in general I just pretty much love Don Cheadle.

6. Sam Rockwell. He brings it with a vengeance — and the self-tanner stains on his hands are a fantastic touch.

7. Scarlett Johansson. I couldn’t care less about the supposed feud between her and Paltrow. She kicks major ass, takes no crap and looks awesome doing it. ‘Nuff said.

8. Samuel L. Jackson. He damn near steals every scene he’s in, injecting a heightened bit of intrigue whenever he’s around. Plus, there’s the eye patch.

9. John Slattery. He’s not in it for long, but I also love that Slattery seems to be getting re-branded as a kind of go-to mid-20th-century guy (here it’s 1974, but close enough). And I always love getting to see Roger Sterling in any capacity. What the hell, here’s a gratuitous shot, just for fun.

10. AC/DC. They’re a big part of the soundtrack, and they set a fantastically raucous tone for the whole thing. In my book, any movie that plays AC/DC under its last scene immediately goes up 20 points. In fact, I’d urge Tim Burton to use them when he brings the Jane Austen/Seth Grahame-Smith tome “Pride and Prejudice and Zombies” to the big screen. Elizabeth Bennet and “Back in Black”? Hells yeah.

11. The scenes at the end. Very few people left during the credits tonight, glued to their seats by the knowledge that the post-credits scene with a hint about the next Marvel/Avengers movie was coming. It’s so much better than a secret decoder ring.

12. Jon Favreau. No, not President Obama’s speechwriter. This guy. The director. Who I first saw in “Swingers” and who’s both done great work and survived stuff like “The Break-Up” and “Couples Retreat.” Turns out he’s a pretty good director too. You’re money, baby!

Welcome to the first big summer movie — its international box office already tops $100 million. After this, I’m looking forward to what’s ahead. Or at least dreading it a little bit less.

We did get to see a little behind-the-scenes action on the “Legally Prohibited from Being Funny on Television Tour,” and that was interesting, but with “60 Minutes,” even when there’s a walking-around-the-manse shot (nice spread, by the way, Conan), it’s all about the interview.

Which was 90% over by the time Steve Croft even mentioned the TBS deal. “I do not look down my nose at cable,” O’Brien said. “And I think anyone who does isn’t paying attention to television these days.” Which I completely agree with, and which my friend Matthew Greenberg made well a couple of weeks back when the new show was announced.

Though still looking a little shellshocked, O’Brien came off as a straight shooter throughout, and made a point of saying more than once that no one should feel sorry for him. You’re going to read all over the place that he was slamming Leno and NBC, but I didn’t feel like it got that extreme — a wise move politically, given that the entertainment business is only so big. And their paths are likely to cross again — at the least, surely his kids go the same school as the kids of some of the NBC executives, and hello, awkward Christmas pageant night.

I was pleasantly surprised to note that O’Brien and I share the same ability to find a worst-case scenario — the weirder the better — in just about any scenario. Which makes it no more fun when that worst-case turns out to be on the tame side of what really happens. The thought of Leno taking the show back, he said, seemed like a stretch even for his active imagination. When the tone of the NBC negotiations turned from take your time with this difficult decision to let’s get a move on here, it started to go south. Faced with the very possible notion that they just didn’t want him around anymore, he said, he couldn’t stay.

Kroft’s run at explaining how Leno was thinking — i.e., that he was still on top when the deal that was done five years before was coming due and he felt pushed out — took it to an interesting place. There’s clearly no love lost between O’Brien and Leno, who he said hasn’t been in touch, and whose actions he said he wouldn’t have taken if the roles were reversed. It also caused O’Brien to laugh at the notion that Leno got screwed. “Jay’s got the ‘Tonight Show’. I have a beard and an inflatable bat. And I’m touring city to city,” he said.

But O’Brien offers that even he didn’t get screwed either. “I’m happy with my decision,” he said. “I sleep well at night. And I hope [Leno's] happy with his decision.”

He does seem to accept the notion that the scenario that led to him quitting was about business — it was simply cheaper to pay Conan O’Brien to go away than it was to pay Jay Leno to go away. With respect to the NBC brass, he took issue with the notion that “The Tonight Show” was losing money (“I don’t see how it’s possible that the “Tonight Show” was losing money.”), and said he should’ve been given more of a chance. But the show wasn’t a failure. Both O’Brien and his wife, Liza, made the point that it would’ve been interesting to see what the show could’ve become with the full backing of the network.

Here’s where it got tricky. Because no matter how much the guy says, quite rightly, that he’s just fine, there’s really no way that any conversation about NBC doesn’t come off even just a tiny bit as sour grapes. I kep thinking about winski, who left a comment on my post last week about this interview:

Sorry Lisa…Ain’t buying it.. O’Brien is a 45-million dollar richer WHINE MACHINE that can’t just shut up and go his merry way. Time to find something else to amuse your minions with, like picking your nose or something…

Go away….

I understand this feeling entirely, and I think it’s really hard to try to separate how fortunate someone is from feeling bad that something rotten happened to them. And interviews like this don’t make it easier. I’m inclined to keep an open mind — and I will watch the TBS show, if only because I can still stay up that late.

What did you think of the interview? Did O’Brien seem genuine? Is it possible for someone with such deep Catholic roots to be that emotionally healthy? Are you over it already?