During the Pats-Chargers game, while I was trying to get some chores done but still keep up, my wife grabbed the remote--which was unguarded since I hadn't planned on doing any surfing while watching a game--and started flipping through channels at the usual Subliminal Image Speed, and she rolled like an SUV onto someone's interview with Madonna. I'm not going to ask why someone would be interviewing Madonna, nor filming it for presentation to a national audience, preferring that those remain two of life's little Mysteries, but could someone tell me how many geologic eras must pass before the sort of people who god knows why are interested in such things stop referring to her as The Material Girl? Fer chrissakes, that little adenoidal classic and the attendant slack-jawed adoration of its video (She's dressed like Marilyn Monroe! Quite a thrill, I suppose, unless you'd ever lived somewhere where they had drag queens) happened, what, in the 1940s? The 1780s? I was just beginning to wonder whether the next guest would be That Vagabond Lover himself, the exhumed remains of Rudy Vallee, when the channel changed again.