Ms. Tierney lost her long brown tresses to chemotherapy; her hair is now a short salt-and-pepper. (She declined to be photographed for this article but said that the treatment went well and that she was healthy.)

Healthy! That's all I read from that paragraph. Happy to hear it. The Times has the first interview with Tierney since breast cancer forced her from Parenthood, and she's now acting again. I bet the hair looks good too. I mean, this is Maura Tierney. How can it not look great?

Entertainment Weekly has a post on the story, summarizing the hook: "Her New York run in the Wooster Group's revival of North Atlantic, a play that the paper describes as 'an absurdist portrayal of life on an aircraft carrier during the cold war' — pause while you wonder if you should feel guilty for just thinking of NewsRadio's genius Titanic episode — ends this Sunday." The episode, with Phil Hartman starting it off:

Tierney is also doing TV again, taping Rescue Me eps airing a while off. Cool. This blog welcomes her return. A last segment from the Times:

"Our actors were telling her, 'You have to be able to do everything and anything if you work with us,' and she just perked up right away," Ms. LeCompte said. "I remember thinking that she wants that experience, whatever it is. I remember that, and I remember her very beautiful hair, because the next time I saw her she didn't have any hair."

Ms. LeCompte and Ms. Valk, two of the founders of the Wooster Group in 1975, said they were a bit worried at first about whether Ms. Tierney was up to the physical rigors of "North Atlantic," which takes place largely on a stage tilted at a 45-degree angle. But Ms. Tierney was determined to power through, even as she dealt with the death of her father in mid-December during the final weeks of chemotherapy.

It's no secret this blog wishes it was 15 years older so it could marry Maura Tierney. This blog would exchange knowing glances with her once and then forever (and by virtue of being 15 years older, invent blogging). So, I'm bothered to hear Tierney has pretty serious health concerns going on. Hope she's going to be fine and acting again soon.

As explained yesterday, I returned to Apple's movie trailer site this weekend after several years. I thought I'd run down the most notable, for better or worse, of the bunch….

Street Kings. Same with Accidental Husband. Keanu, Forest Whitaker, House, Cedric the Entertainer, and explosions? Has to be watchable.

The Happening. Okay, so, after The Departed, we're all the same page about Mark Wahlberg now, right? And after War of the Worlds (which I saw), I Am Legend (which I didn't see) and Cloverfield (which I did), we're all in the mood for something a little better now, right? I trust M. Night more than most to provide it.

Priceless. A man whom I can only assume is the French Steve Carrell meets seductress Audrey Tautou, whose big brown eyes are bigger and browner than ever. Hilarity and an all-too-conventional, sexy-Amelie-mood-killing trailer announcer ensue.

The Forbidden Kingdom. Imagine Rush Hour, except Jackie Chan is Chris Tucker, the heir apparent to Sean Astin is Jackie Chan, and it's dramedy. Hmmmm.

Superhero Movie. Let's get one thing straight. This movie looks awful. This movie looks worse than The Forbidden Kingdom. I'm not going to see it. But I already like the kid more than Tobey Maquire and the girl more than Kirsten Dunst.

Smart People. I'm wondering if this is one of those cases where a trailer makes a movie look worse than it actually is. Dennis Quaid, SJP, Juno, and Thomas Hayden Church, whose name I can now strangely remember before his mechanic character's name from Wings.

Flawless. Ocean's Eleven meets Office Space meets the sinking feeling that this movie has already happened when clearly it has not happened yet.

Stop-Loss. Saw it before Cloverfield. Most theater-silencing trailer I've witnessed in a couple years.

Backseat. Who is Aubrey Dollar?

Baby Mama. Tina Fey and Maura Tierney are in the same movie. Say it with me: Tina Fey and Maura Tierney are in the same movie. Again! Tina Fey and Maura Tierney are in the same movie. With Tina as Liz Lemon, Amy Poehler as Amy Poehler when she's not on SNL and funny, and PC (vs. Mac) as himself.

What Happens in Vegas. No words.

My favorite story of the week, from the Post.

LOS ANGELES. She enters the room in a knit that fits, the kind of dress with a place for everything. Lipstick the color of a valentine. The doors to the balcony are thrown open and she exhales, "Great, I can smoke," and pulls one from the pack and you think, carbon monoxide might not be so bad. She was raised Mormon, but she's drinking coffee by the gallon, and for the next hour Katherine Heigl is happy to ride the buzz and talk about raunchy jokes, humorless shrews, breast size and God's infinite mysteries.

I'm really lucky, you know. I could never date a smoker, so it's fortunate Katherine Heigl's married and, you know, a Hollywood starlet. So, I can spend my time enjoying the story instead of getting her to quit. I'm fortunate indeed! Oh, Katherine Heigl.

Of all my shows on strike, if only one could return, Grey's Anatomy is probably the one that would pacify me the most. Grey's is the only drama I watch — and with Maura Tierney working at a different network's hospital, that's saying something. But Grey's is also the only hour-long show I watch. In a strike world, size may matter.

My favorite show on TV is probably 30 Rock. And Tina Fey is only the beginning of my love for it. 30 Rock may be the best show within basic cable. The Office has fallen from the top spot. For all the Schrute Bucks the last two years have earned, who remembers the plot this year? Anyone? Scranton? But back to my point here. 30 Rock is half an hour, and that's not enough. In a strike world, if you give a mouse a recording, he'll want a Now Playing List. Half an hour of new television just makes me miss the other part of the hour.

I need a haircut. Too damn long and scruffy. Not long the Gonzaga boys of today, exiles from The bands all of them, as fuzzy on their heads as the sound's top end, but for a non-musical Gonzaga boy of the past I've got some chopping in store. A lot off the top, a lot off the sides, sideburns a little less Brady, something summer but not as summer as the substitute barber made me mid-winter this winter. I understand Jose's gotta go to France every year (daughter over there and love of the country), but I picked a bad week to live the lawn.

The real lawns, of course, they're going crazy now. Sun for days and these late night rainstorms I only see on the pavement in the morning. Morning being a relative term. I'm having trouble sleeping past six and seven these weekends, but I am rediscovering the joy of napping. Open with the window, in with the breeze, a fan if there's none, and float away with the Saturday afternoon or late Sunday morning gods. Catching some and restoring also. Caught up with my New Yorkers this weekend, at least the ones in my apartment, and catching up with the little naps just paid itself forward. Not that I've seen the movie. I saw the episode of Fresh Prince where Will gets the convict to work at the Banks' house and the baseball goes missing, and I don't need any more of the plot, even delivered by Helen Hunt. I just like the concept.

(Where has Helen been lately? Maura needs to get her a job on ER. Then I could catch her onthe Earl/Office ads and the one episode of per year that I might watch. Can we get these people back on sitcoms? The Will and Grace finale reminds me of Mad About You's weird, late, bad break-up turn. Whatever the reuniting, no one needs it. Mo Ryan said in her Tribune, I think, that she liked the retrospective better than the finale. Gotta agree there. Inadvertently missing the '70s Show finale, but the relatively less talented Meyers brother doesn't need the encouragement. Neither does trash-talking Fez. Bring back Topher. Make him Chrstopher Robin in an animated special and team him with a certain government appointee — cast your politics aside here — of a certain look and a certain voice. Works on so many acres of levels!)

But. If you weren't hear last week, and you weren't, you missed the broken-down school bus. For the kids, it must have been the best on the school bus ever. Italicize for emphasis as you like there, but you know you like it. The school bus was broken down by the time I saw it in the afternoon, pulled off 14th onto Rolfe Street with a maintenance van behind it and two other yellow school buses sitting on 14th, presumably loaded with the kids who'd have a great story to tell tomorrow. They started the ailing bus and it spat white smoke all over for half a minute until they shut it down. It was dark before the heavy-duty tow truck hauled it away.

You can't always tame the tiger, no.

The country music-loving cabbie put it well as we pulled into the Hilton driveaway: "What is this?" This, my WMZQ-listening, over-pollinated, Red Top-driving friend, was the annual White House Correspdonents Dinner. I got wear a tux, and he got to pilot us around the protesters out front, including one dressed as David Gregory, and through the dressy crowds approaching from everywhere, cabs, town cars, and on foot. We had done a little country on the way over, tapping along with friends in low places and enjoying girls trying and failing to cross the street. Now for the city.

Basically, USAT very generously asked me to go, and I had a great time. The scene was overwhelming the first hour, but then started to make more sense. Tourists and hotel guests watched people arrive on the upper and lower floors, and the parties stretched all over those lower floors and out to fill the courtyard. Bars pouring everywhere and to everyone, including one man in a cowboy hat, another in a kilt, some tourists, and me.

The food at dinner was better than expected, and was pretty well-paced given the television schedule. On the entertainment side, President Bush's double skit probably went over better with the crowd than Colbert's material did. There was a lot more laughter in the room than the C-SPAN recording picked up — for everybody's remarks, not just Bush's and Colbert's — but it seemed like Colbert didn't hit his mark, the full-room laugh, as much as Bush did.

At the end of the night, things ended much more quickly than I expected. Colbert finished; the emcee said goodnight; the president left; and everyone immediately go up to go. Apparently got on C-SPAN and CNN around this point but forgot to TiVO. Anyway, it was like a Nats crowd on a losing day at RFK but with tuxedos and a ballroom. No one sitting around and shutting the place down. Leaving the ballroom explained — the parties had restarted quickly. The corporate rooms outside the ballroom were going, and the after-parties were departing across town. Reuters had girls everywhere with signs — "follow the signs to the buses," one girl said. And by signs she meant girls with signs. I stuck around for a while before catching a cab out.

Celebrities seen up close: Matt Cooper, Michael Wilbon (I think), Rep. Edward Markey, Doris Roberts, Tony Snow, Tony Perkins, Ace Young, Joey Cheek (from behind), Clarence Page, various network correspondents, Tommy Lasorda.

Celebrities not seen up close: President Bush, Stephen Colbert, many others. Celebrities not seen at all: George Clooney, John Legend, Ludacris, Anna Kournikova, many others. Celebrities not seen at all, breaking my poor Maura Tierney-loving heart: Maura Tierney.

Maura Tierney.

Alicia Silverstone. Not a member of the trifecta — Tierney, Hunt and Fey — but close.

I love it: "One Hundred Albums You Should Remove From Your Collection Immediately." Read the list.

By the way, unrelated, the winner for best use of an old song in a new movie: Scotland, Pa. The movie is basically Macbeth if you replace Scotland with a 1970s fast food restaurant. I watched it today and loved it, partly because it starred Maura Tierney and partly because it was good all around.

And at the movie's close, as the camera pulled away, in kicked Marshall Tucker Band's Can't You See.

Can't ya see, aw can't ya see, what that woman, Lawd, she been doin' to me.

Other good notches on the soundtrack include a host of Bad Company, Beach Baby by one-hit wonder First Class — just try and resist the harmony — and the unknown Rowco Co's PA Turnpike. I'm efforting an mp3 or lyrics on the Turnpike song. Imagine AHJ's Lake Shore Drive hooked up with big Steeler-rooting guitars.