In any case, we managed to stumble upon a curious casting call on Craigslist which tipped us off to the Russert biopic. The headline reads: "Casting Older Caucasian Woman for Major TV Network Movie." The ad goes on to explain that a "small independent New York based film company is searching for the role of Maureen Orth, the wife of the late Tim Russert. The film will explore the last 24 hours of Russert's life and Golden Globe winner Randy Quaid is set to play the role of Tim Russert."

Well, we certainly can't argue with the choice of Randy Quaid. The two men look as though they were raised in the same womb. But what aspiring actress will tackle the role of Russert's wife? Here's what the producers want: "We're looking to cast an emotionally versatile actress for the role. Should be thin, 40-55, and able to cry on cue." That narrows it down, but don't forward them your resume just yet, Debra Winger. "The network is only interested in working with an unknown, so we will consider any and all women who look the part." Finally an un-famous middle-aged actress is gonna get a break in this town. And all it took was the death of a great newsman.

• Casting Older Caucasian Woman for Major TV Network Movie [Craigslist]

Jossip offers names like Biggie, Tupac, and Anna Nicole Smith as comparison, but we've selected three other figures (Lennon included) who died famously and tragically to compare to Russert's death. We'll measure the impact (socially, on the media, etc) of each passing on a scale from 1-10.

The Respected Institution: Tim Russert, Heart Failure, June 13, 2008
Russert was a fixture of Washington press and politics. He was both jovial and stern, pleasant and probing. He was the kind of reporter who gave a good face to politics. To that end, every news media figure had some fond remembrance of Russert, some anecdote. Every news show in the land had (or is having) a special Russert retrospective. A "private" memorial service will be broadcast by MSNBC tomorrow.
Impact: 4. I suppose all of this is just something of a twenty-one gun salute from his colleagues. Some people, like Shafer, may criticize the coverage for being indulgent. Of course it's indulgent, these people are his friends and have newscameras in front of them. Whether some sinister network exec is standing in the shadows, rubbing his hands together, with dollar signs in his eyes seems mostly inconsequential. The lamentation and celebration seems genuine, heartfelt.

The Rising Star: Heath Ledger, Drug Overdose, January 22, 2008
The young actor, who had received critical raves for his portrayal of a repressed gay cowboy in 2005's Brokeback Mountain, was getting large buzz for a number of upcoming films, including this summer's The Dark Knight, in which he stars as The Joker, Batman's arch nemesis. Ledger's death, from a bad mixture of sleeping pills and other medication, was originally thought to be a suicide, but tests quickly disproved that. It seems as though it was just a dumb bit of bad luck. As the paparazzi was largely responsible for Princess Diana's death (see below), the paparazzi made themselves well known here too, this time as rabid spectators and (ahem) gawkers. When the news broke, legions of photographers rushed to the SoHo apartment where the 28-year-old's body was found, hoping to see the body brought out. And they did.
Impact: 5. The instant explosion of news about Ledger's death showed the blogosphere at its full, bellowing power. It mushroom clouded very quickly, with people speculating, trading gossip (was Mary-Kate Olsen involved?), and eventually criticizing the media's lasciviousness toward the whole matter. But news moved on fairly quickly, and it was all over within a week or so.

The Poet: John Lennon Shot and Killed, December 8, 1980
The strange, swirling brain of definitive rock band the Beatles, Lennon was as iconic a figure of the Western world's social, sexual, and political awakening as any other in the 20th century. Naturally, news of his death reverberated enormously with his fans and followers. A crowd of a 100,000 or so gathered in memorial in Central Park, not far from the scene of the shooting. News outlets covered the story non-stop, dogging the surviving Beatles for reactions. Central Park's Strawberry Fields was dedicated in his honor.
Impact: 8. As shocking a death as possible, given the nature of the incident and Lennon's iconic status. Though it had been ten years since the Beatles broke up, Lennon and wife Yoko Ono remained fixtures of the progressive music scene. Grief over his death was genuine and profound, and substantial and enduring media coverage reflected that. In the past two years two films about the assassination have been released.

The Heroine: Diana Spencer, Princess of Wales Killed in Car Accident While Trying to Avoid Paparazzi, August 31st, 1997
The death of Diana, ex-wife of the United Kingdom's Prince Charles, rocked the entire world. A grand tragedy in all possible ways — a lovely young mother of two little boys, a beloved activist for peace to boot, killed in the stupidest and most avoidable of accidents — 2.5 billion people watched her funeral. My mother, who had woken up very early in the morning years before to watch Diana's wedding to Charles, woke us up in the middle of the night to tell us what had happened. The world felt immediate then, everything felt close by — even though we were in a small summer house in Rhode Island and the tragedy was farway on a busy Paris street. I imagine that's how many others felt, as well.
Impact: 10. As big and devastating as these deaths get, one hopes. Loved for her kind nature and down-to-earth sensibilities, for many people Diana represented something universally good and hopeful in the world. When that was taken away, quite suddenly and under such frustrating circumstances, the sense of loss lingered for some time. That sadness, compounded with the scandal of the Queen's relative silence on the matter, made the frenzy over the story reach unimaginable heights. It seemed to go on for months and months (aided, I'm sure, by Elton John's "Candle In the Wind" redo). And who can forget that dreadful, defining footage (shown over and over and over again) of her two boys, William and Harry, walking in the funeral procession?

The real fact of the matter, though, is that many people have died since Friday, since this morning, since I started writing this post. Like I said earlier, nearly every one of those deaths deserves recognition and memorials and all manner of other things. As our world doesn't quite work that way, we're left here with the famous deaths and, strangely, I've been tasked to quantify the reactions. I'm certainly not assessing the import of the actual life, of the actual grief, but rather what the media and its followers did when they stumbled, carelessly or not, upon it.

So. We all know the basics of the story. Big fun guy from Buffalo, worked in the New York Democratic party machine for Mario Cuomo and Daniel Patrick Moynihan. Made the switch to journalism, got hired by NBC in Washington, and ended up the bureau chief four short years later, in 1988.

In 1991, he took over Meet the Press and quickly became one of the most important names in DC journalism. His journalistic style was a civil, well-read version of the GOTCHA that would take control of cable.

“Lawrence Spivak, who founded ‘Meet the Press,’ told me before he died that the job of the host is to learn as much as you can about your guest’s positions and take the other side,” he said in a 2007 interview with Time magazine. “And to do that in a persistent and civil way. And that’s what I try to do every Sunday.”

This could be an irritating style. Russert's specialty was pointing out a contradiction in a politician's vast record of spoken positions. Oftentimes this meant a descent into entirely useless minutiae. Though almost as often it was enlightening, or at least entertaining. It's certainly preferable to the Chris Matthews method of shouting whatever comes to mind, no matter how crazy. And Russert always knew his shit, even when you were fairly certain he was missing the point.

From Meet the Press he dictated the conventional wisdom of Washington's political establishment—a harder trick to pull off in the days before Drudge, The Note, the internet, Politico, and the rise of what is essentially meta-journalism disguised as political analysis. Russert just selected some insiders—usually white, usually male, every week well into the 2000s (such is DC!)—and allowed them to spin their little hearts out. It's still engaging television, even when it makes you want to level Washington and maybe give Philly a second chance as Capital.

But it was as the country's wonky guide to electoral politics that he perhaps undid some of the damage of the institution of the Sunday chatfest. Because Russert and his whiteboard did an admirable, commendable job, every four years, of explaining our insane and anti-democratic political process to a nation that has always been unclear on the subject. The electoral college, slightly demystified, for one night. Civics lessons are rare on television, and effective ones should be applauded.

And yes, it's actually shocking, and sad, to think that this November all we'll have is John King and his Blade Russert touch screen wall, or Keith Olbermann and his pseudo-gravitas, or poor bored Katie Couric to guide us through that stressful Tuesday night nationwide farce.

Russert died at work, as we said, at NBC's Washington studios. He is survived by his wife, Maureen Orth, his son Luke, and, tragically, his father, the hero of Tim's happily non-self-aggrandizing 2004 memoir, Big Russ and Me.

(Attached: a video montage of some of Tim's notable television moments.)

NBC'S Tim Russert Dead at 58 [MSNBC]

In the Sheraton's ballroom, the Napoleonic head of CNN, Jonathan Klein, was wearing a tux and chatting with some other old white dude. Bob Schieffer of CBS chatted with Ted Koppel, who was to receive a lifetime achievement award. An unusually and quite frankly scarily tan Mike Wallace spryly circulated from small circle to small circle. We looked for Wolf Blitzer and Brian Williams—they were both "working."

We were sitting at the press table. Because the press talk so much, we heard that it was probably someone from the Business desk that started yesterday's Times fire: "The fire was on the second floor. That's where business is. And Science and Escapes and Sports!"

Matea Gold from the LA Times was there in a smart pearl necklace. She sported a slim ivory shiny digital recorder and didn't eat dessert (chocolate mousse in a chocolate cup). Across the table, looking like a fairy godmother (because she is), was TV Week's Michelle Greppi. Onstage, Tim Russert was giving this "Lock arms, brothers and sisters" speech. He then introduced Dan Rather as "soon to be the star of his own reality TV show on Court TV with Les Moonves." So true!

Dan Rather's most notable quotable: "News matters."

We were right next to a huge television screen that flashed clips of Frontline documentaries (the series was honored) and other news reports—lots of footage of dead and dying people. How is one supposed to enjoy an already rubbery steak while having to watch Marines dying or starving Darfurians?

That said, PBS programs , which swept the awards, are totes replacing "The OC" seasons 1-4 on my Netflix queue.

Then Mike Wallace won an Emmy for his interview with Iran's President Ahmadinejad and took to the stage. He put the Emmy on the ground and rambled on for about 15 minutes, speaking almost exclusively in haiku. "Me. You. This Room/Ahmadinejad./We didn't know."

Huh? What now? Soon enough he was replaced by Soledad O'Brien. She looks and speaks like a Sarah Silverman caricature of herself, drawing out the ends of words like a rabbi.

It was surely time for more white wine. But when I asked for another, the old waiter asked whether I'd like to open a tab.