This was an incredibly low-key weekend, the highlight of which was watching Billy Elliott with my roommate and entertaining a disturbing mini-crush on Jamie Bell. I only admit this now because I know he's well into his teens by this time, and knowing that makes it less creepy. Slightly. But wow, he's adorable. That smile. LOVE it.

Please don't have me arrested. It's a harmless crush.

Madonna, synonymous as ever with "spectacle," put on a pretty decent and definitely telegenic performance on the Detriot stop of the "Drowned World" tour.

HBO just screened the event, either a perfectly timed extravaganza or one that the cable network neatly edited and squeezed into one hour and forty-five minutes. I haven't listened all the way through her two recent albums, and I can't seem to finish any screening of Evita, but I sat on my bed and watched the entire concert.

Okay, so I skipped some of the early songs I didn't recognize, instead switching to the end of Rushmore on Comedy Central. Brilliant movie. Genius.

But I caught most of Madonna's extravapalooza, and I must say, the woman is fascinating.

The concert lacked the metallic, conical brassieres of her Blonde Ambition tour, and "Like a Virgin" was nowhere near her set list. Instead, she stuck mostly to recent music with only slight departures for songs like "La Isla Bonita," which slipped nicely into her layout -- four acts, with four different costumes and themes. The fist, quasi-Scottish, manifested itself in clothing only; in the Asian, Western and Hispanic segments, Madonna infused her songs with each culture's influence, including a Spanish-language rendition of "What it Feels Like For A Girl" and a bizarre two-song set in which she spoke with a Southern twang. "Dad, you're a cool dude," she drawled inexplicably. Not exactly a Hallmark moment, but when you're ten minutes away from stripping down to a "Mother Fucker" tank top, it's always appropriate to give props to your pops.

Madonna can't sing especially well live, sounding a trifle out of breath and flat at times. And instead of grooving and gettin' down during the entire show, the Queen of Pop settled for some laid-back dancing and then a few chances to strum her guitar, which she just learned to play and which is clearly her favorite new toy. That element of musical participation is a first for her, and it's fascinating that she's chosen to dabble in it on a global stage despite being an admitted rookie.

Regardless, it's hard to take one's eyes off Madonna. She's got an incredible stage presence, whether she's grinding on one of the dancers or flipping off the crowd or engaging the audience with a classy, "When I say 'Pimp,' you say 'Ho!'", or even standing still and strumming a six-string. Her image, bucking inertia and morphing practically with each day that passes, never shifts so far that people don't recognize the gritty, smutty, sex-charged kitten that alternately awed and shocked the world in the past 15 years. Rather, Madonna reinvents herself in a gradual way that adds an intriguing dimension to her persona without rendering herself unrecognizable.

How apt, though, that Madonna -- a former Catholic who's famously eschewed every bit of the religion's dogma and rules of sexual conduct -- broadcast her concert on a Sunday.

singing "don't cry for me argentina," from evita watching the aforementioned wincing at the fact that, not only did american pie 2 rule the weekend's box office, but that it is the only movie this summer to hold the no. 1 spot three weeks in a row what it all means that some seriously crappy movies have come out this summer