'Shameless Exploitation' is actually two books in one - you get the tale of how the 'Newman's Own' started as a germ of an idea in Paul Newman's garage. Newman was legendary back then for commandeering the kitchen of restaurants he would frequent and whipping together his own salad dressings. He and co-founder Hotchner make light of their lack of business knowledge, but it's worth noting that much of their success is based on their innate sense of what is right, for example their unwillingness to compromise on the freshness of their product.

The latter third of the book details the duo's efforts in starting up the 'Hole in the Wall Gang' camps for sick children. The authors are passionate about this endeavour, as well they should be. It's outstanding work they're doing. Newman personally drives these projects, sometimes through the force and magnetism of his personality.

In fact, that's the thing that stands out in the book - this is no 'slap the celebrity name on the bottle' exercise. These two gentlemen are intimately involved in all aspects of the business. There's a comparison in the book to other celebrity food bits good bad - Frank Sinatra's tomato sauce venture is one example. It ran aground in less then two years, an unmitigated disaster. The difference? Sinatra simply loaned out his name and looked to scoop up the profits. By contrast, Newman and Hotchner are in this thing heart and soul. Plus, the product is superlative. That's the only way to get repeat buyers.

As of the book's printing, Newman's Own has donated over $137 million to charity. When they write Paul Newman's epitaph, that first paragraph is going to be a real stemwinder to capture the essence of the man.

While I like to think of myself as an internationalist when it comes to watching films, I had never heard of Stephen Chow before deciding to take a chance on 'Shaolin Soccer.'

Shame on me. Chow turns out to be a hilarious and creative star. Who could have dreamed of something as goofy, infectious and, at the same time, as technically brilliant (the special effects are eye-popping) as Shaolin Soccer? Now, I'm reading through the comments left here by Mr. Chow's longtime fans and I realize I'm going to have to check out some of his "better works" (as judged by these aficionados) like 'God of Cookery' and 'From Beijing with Love'.

Not knowing what to expect from Shaolin Soccer, I found myself delightfully convulsed with laughter at two early points in the film:

- An impromptu synchronized 'street' rendition of the Kool and the Gang hit 'Celebration.' This is almost impossible to explain. When it took shape in the movie, I literally mouthed the words "What the...?" Truly inspired.

- A second muscial number, in which two of the Shaolin 'brothers' take to the stage in an ill-fated cabaret act. While I'm sure this was even funnier in Cantonese, even the wonderfully descriptive subtitles demonstrated the amateur campiness of their performance (which was exactly Chow's point).

Plus, for any soccer/football fan the depictions of the in-game events are a joy. All in all, Shaolin Soccer was a unexpected treat.

The best thing one could wish for about this book - and I'm sure Al Franken will agree with this - is that it inspire debate. And, with 2,847 reviews here and counting, I think it's clear that "Lies..." has done the job.

I've been a fan of Al Franken's brand of humor since his first appearances on SNL with partner Tom Davis (by the way, whatever happened to Tom Davis?), the 'Al Franken Decade' and then - after a hiatus - his return to the show which included, among other things, some dead-on impersonations of politicians like Paul Simon ("It's the bow tie, right?") and Pat Robertson. It's clear Franken has a political jones that won't go away.

Regardless of your political stripe, you've got to give Franken credit for the work that went into this book: marshalling a team of 14 over a two-year period, this is no hack, slap-and-paste effort. Definiitely worth checking out.

While I like to think of myself as an internationalist when it comes to watching films, I had never heard of Stephen Chow before deciding to take a chance on 'Shaolin Soccer.'

Shame on me. Chow turns out to be a hilarious and creative star. Who could have dreamed of something as goofy, infectious and, at the same time, as technically brilliant (the special effects are eye-popping) as Shaolin Soccer? Now, I'm reading through the comments left here by Mr. Chow's longtime fans and I realize I'm going to have to check out some of his "better works" (as judged by these aficionados) like 'God of Cookery' and 'From Beijing with Love'.

Not knowing what to expect from Shaolin Soccer, I found myself delightfully convulsed with laughter at two early points in the film:

- An impromptu synchronized 'street' rendition of the Kool and the Gang hit 'Celebration.' This is almost impossible to explain. When it took shape in the movie, I literally mouthed the words "What the...?" Truly inspired.

- A second muscial number, in which two of the Shaolin 'brothers' take to the stage in an ill-fated cabaret act. While I'm sure this was even funnier in Cantonese, even the wonderfully descriptive subtitles demonstrated the amateur campiness of their performance (which was exactly Chow's point).

Plus, for any soccer/football fan the depictions of the in-game events are a joy. All in all, Shaolin Soccer was a unexpected treat.

I agree with what many previous writers have alluded to: put on Bebel Gilberto's "Tanto Tempo" as the background at any gathering and - before the CD is through - everyone will have asked you what you're playing. The music is infectious and Bebel's voice is lilting, silky and sensuous, a feeling that comes across in either Portuguese or English (the sounds are a mixture of each - sometimes dividing choruses between the two like in the wonderful "August Day Song"). In fact, you'll probably get hooked by the most approachable songs, like the English language "So Nice (Summer Samba)" but then learn to love the Portuguese-penned tunes as well.

Tim Clissold became smiiten with the potential of China and - unlike many of us - acted upon those feelings by plunging into a two-year dedicated study of Mandarin. Through luck and hard effort, he then got himself paired up with a larger-than-life Wall Street investment banker looking to make his mark as 'Mr. China.'

After rigorously looking at hundreds and hundreds of potential investments, the two of them raise over $400 million and begin to put the cash to work in a series of JVs. In what should be a cautionary tale to anyone looking to invest or do business in China, Clissold describes - in rather remarkable detail - the unique 'challenges' they encounter in making a return on their investment. Clissold wisely focuses on three episodes - each involving plant managers or owners - where the Western and Chinese views of banking and contract law begin to diverge...then unravel. Can Tim and team keep it together? It'll require superhuman effort. I was exhausted simply reading some of these chapters. I can only imagine the stress and strain of actually living it. Indeed, at one point Clissold's body seems to simply give out. This, however, is not a man easily defeated.

Despite the travails Clissold faces in the book, the book is all about the potential of China. He brings life to the sheer numbers and masses of people - his description of Chongqing for example (how many people know that this is China's largest city?)..."The density of people was staggering: millions and millions swirling in the roadways, all in faded blue overalls and with piles of baggage, blocking the gates at the station, crammed into buses, milling about on the pavements."

Wonderful writing, made all the better by the pithy little proverbs that Clissold has chosen to begin each chapter. I stared at each of these for a minute or more, admiring their brevity, significance and - upon finishing the chapter - realizing how apt Clissold's choices were. Well done, Tim.

"He Loves Me...He Loves Me Not" is a wonderful piece of misdirection by director Laetitia Colombani. It starts all saccharine sweet with flowers, perky songs of Spring and love, and a smitten Audrey Tautou.

It's all a great head fake. As the film turns slowly, inexhorably darker and more malevolent, you're faced with the reality that your sweet little Amelie maybe isn't what she appears to be in this outing. It's a great against-the-tide career choice by Tautou and the masterstroke of the trap Ms. Colombani's sets for her audience.

Where Colombani's film elevates itself vs. others of this genre is in its unique, impressively designed story construction. Others on these pages have alluded to the technique. I'm not going to repeat it here. It came as a surprise to me during my viewing, and it was like a special treat - my mouth dropped open suddenly as Colombani delivered her unexpected wallop. Everyone deserves that pleasure. I suggest you try to avoid extensive reading about this one before you take it in. Your lack of preparation will be well-rewarded.

Walter Yetnikoff's "Howling at the Moon" is a great read. The author is stone-cold honest about his history - morphing from a poor kid in Brooklyn to Columbia Law graduate to "Jimmy Olsen greenhorn" in the music business to master business builder to *the* out-of-control legendary wildman of the music business to abrupt sobriety to betrayal, fall, a period in the wilderness and redemption. What a tale.

Where else are you going to get insights on Michael Jackson, Billy Joel, Marvin Gaye and Mick Jagger mixed with equally eye-opening passages on Tom Wyman, Norio Ohga, Akio Morita and Bill Paley?

The Paley passages are especially enlightening - the controlling, secretive builder of the Tiffany network and the wildman of CBS/Columbia records were as unlikely a pairing as you could imagine, but Paley appreciated Yetnikoff's undeniable ability to make money and, as Paley says upon taking his leave from CBS, "in this office, that did not go unnoticed."

Despite Yetnikoff's well-documented demons, his track record in the business is unassaible: when he left, CBS/Columbia was still pulling in $450 million a year in *net* profits. True, Yetnikoff's successors had to deal with a more vexing set of assaults on the recorded music business model, but you need to give the guy his due.

The amazon marketplace tells you all you need to know about the Connie and Carla soundtrack: a recent release, yet the "58 used and new from $2.46" notice as of this writing demonstrates a clear lack of value. The entire soundtrack clocks in at a jawdroppingly shallow 27 minutes 52 seconds.

I think my experience with resonate with other buyers: I played the soundtrack once, trying to capture a bit of the spark from an enjoyable *little* movie. But what you find is that any verve came from a combination of the songs with the video. Best example: the 'Evita' moment - a spirited rendition of "Don't Cry For Me Argentina" - is rendered flat and affectless on CD. Not seeing the audience jump up on cue, Madonna-like, in classic Evita pose succeeds in draining the fun out of the track. What you're left with is dinner show-quality takes of well-worn Broadway tunes...and, not even the whole tunes, just what amounts to a 28 minute medley with some useless interspersed dialogue.

Let's take 'Mambo Italiano' for what it's worth: a very enjoyable film stocked with a lot of laughs, but also poignant because there's no doubt that the tale has been pulled from the real life experiences of playright Steve Galluccio.

While leads Luke Kirby ('Angelo') and Peter Miller ('Nino') don't stand out in any way, it's Paul Sorvino and Ginette Reno as Angelo's parents who will stick with you. Yes, as others have noted, these are highly stereotypical portrayals. But it's Gaulluccio's life and *he* wrote the characters that way. Obviously, he's played it up a bit, but that gives Reno (and especially) Sorvino big meaty roles that they can really sink their teeth into. Watching Paul Sorvino is a treat. He's the kind of guy who could read the phone book to you with panache.

I also completely loved Mark Camacho's over-the-top, hilariously profane take as TV exec Johnny Christofaro. In a series of episodes that could again only have been drawn from playright Galluccio's real life experiences, the Christofaro character - in what can best to described as a series of 'friendly' profane explosions - rips into the writer, belittling his work, tearing down his confidence, but then finishing his tirade every time with an upbeat, sincere "How's your Mom?" Once Angelo hits the big time, there's Christofaro on an interview show in a classic exchange, remembering how he always encouraged Angelo to 'never give up' (replete with a series of now characteristic F bombs). Nothing could be further from the truth of course, which is what makes it so funny. Great writing.

A hidden gem: look for Galluccio appearing as 'himself' (in a way) - he's the 'TV version' of Angelo in the sitcom-within-the-movie.