February 2004 Archives

The return flight from Dulles was uneventful except for the fact that it was the first flight I've had in a long time where I had an empty seat next to me, all the better to slop onto in fitful slumber. I caught myself at one point actually drooling onto the pillow I'd propped between the raised armrest and the crack between the seats. Musta been really sleeping. That, or I need to work on my hygiene.

In any case, I tried to write a full column on one topic and realized that I'm incapable of complete thoughts this evening, so, herewith, random items from the talk radio convention:

1) The response to the announcement that Bill Bennett is getting a radio show ran along two lines, one being "how can someone with no broadcasting experience get a syndicated show?" (raised, in one case, by someone who became a talk show host without prior experience and got a syndication deal fairly quickly), and the other being the gambling thing, to which his supporters responded "you can't make fun of him, because HE makes fun of HIMSELF." True dat, although it'll be interesting to hear him handle the heat- self-deprecation can only work to a limited extent (Kaelin, K., KLSX, 1995). He can sometimes come off as a scold and a flawed "paragon of virtue," but the guy can talk with ease and humor, and he has some good people around him. Good shows have started with less.

2) Whenever they have these things in Washington, the Stuffy Older Guys in Suits factor increases at least tenfold (which is why, while I pack jackets and ties, I always end up in jeans and sweaters- it's my role in the world to stick out like a sore thumb at talk radio conventions). There's already a bias towards political talk, and the forums and panels end up heavily slanted towards the people who know who the White House Communications Director is without looking it up on Google, rather than the people who focus on lifestyle topics or, heaven forbid, sex. The discussion of indecency tended to sound like your father talking about Those Kids. There were a few brave souls voicing concern for Howard Stern, but more who appeared to be saying "good riddance" and nobody in attendance capable of saying "Bubba the Love Sponge" without a sneer, or at all. There's nothing wrong with any of that, but I think it shows a disconnect with the world of the under-35 listener.

3) For the last time, you are not more entertaining if you shout your comments.

3a) Corollary to 3): You are not an expert because your opinions drown out someone else's.

4) My negativity towards Washington eased a lot by Saturday. Perhaps it was the beer, and maybe it was getting, finally, a chance to run outside, down to the Mall, up by the Lincoln Memorial, down by the river... maybe my favorite city in which to run, and it felt good. Then I finally had the chance to get out to Virginia to see Donna and Dennis and the kids, a lovely afternoon reconnecting with friends, dinner by the river in Alexandria, a stroll in Old Town talking and window shopping and slurping a vanilla real-custard cone in seconds flat. Good times. And in that light, on an unseasonably comfortable day, I forgot all about the crime and the grime and the holes in the roads and the traffic, put them aside until it was 11:00 and I pointed the Monte Carlo across the 14th Street Bridge and hit the potholes and the traffic cones and the rundown buildings and, yeah, the place still needs work, but it was still good to be back for a few days.

5) There were so many people I didn't get to see in the short time allotted for the convention. Some of them were even nominated for awards. You know who you are. Sorry we missed each other this time. Next time, come find me. You know I'm incapable of proper social interaction. Ask the people I DID see.

More on the convention if I can remember any of it. Good to be back.

Yeah, yeah, I know. I was traveling and had a lot to do. Leave me alone.

Later today: on the power of self-deprecation, plus other randomness and jet-lagged thoughts.

I haven't been to too many national capitals. London, Paris, Caracas, Washington- that's about it. But I imagine that most nations want to put their best foot forward when visitors come to the capital.

Not us.

I actually like Washington- I've probably been to DC more often than any other region in which I haven't lived, it's where Fran and I spent our first vacation away together, we have dear friends on the Virginia side, I know the area about as well as anyplace. But there's something sad about it, something depressing. I'm here because of a talk radio convention- the thing alternates between L.A. and DC, and when in DC it's always at one of the convention hotels downtown, in the blocks south of the Convention Center and west of Chinatown. The area is, to put it charitably, troubled. There's a lot of recent construction, including MCI Center and the new Convention Center (the old one, only a few years old, sitting dark and abandoned a block away), but at night, the place is just plain scary. You go for a two block walk to dinner and you wonder if you're asking for it- just tonight, walking back after a nice dinner at a trendy place around the corner, a homeless guy latched on and walked along asking for money for about 3/4 of a block. Even the newer buildings are grimy, and the constant construction and roadwork make things just look messier.

It's The City That Doesn't Work, and I think that's because the people here don't WANT it to work. It is, after all, where Marion Barry got re-elected AFTER his little drug situation, and, more importantly, after he proved that he could not effectively manage the city. He was roundly vilified for that, but the vilification came from outside DC. Inside, they took offense- yes, he's incompetent and possibly Satan incarnate, but he's OUR Satan. And that's how everything goes here, resulting in a city where crime is an accepted fact of life, educational standards are low, and nobody with a vote seems to care.

You can't force someone to do the right thing for themselves, but Washington may have to be an exception. In this part of town, at least, I think the city's crime 'n' grime has to be cleaned up, if only for the sake of tourism. Should visitors to the capital of the U.S. of A. have to navigate pothole-ridden streets, dodging panhandlers and drug dealers, walk along block after block of unlit sidewalks in front of dark, ugly office buildings? Is there another capital like this? Can't something be done?

I'd like to think the free market would fix this, but so far, the free market has brought the area a strip of chain restaurants on the block just north of MCI Center, and that's pretty much it. There has to be something better than this. I don't think pouring tax dollars into the problem will help- never does- but there needs to be a concerted effort to make the streets safe and clean (I'll settle for cleaner), the area attractive. Until there is, the primary impression the Capital of Our Nation makes on visitors is of a city where you don't want to leave your hotel after nightfall.

There are songs about London and songs about Paris, but I don't know any about Washington. It would be unfair to suggest that it adopt "We Gotta Get Out of This Place," but I hope it gets its act together someday.

I'm on Tom Bauerle's show on WBEN Buffalo RIGHT NOW (just before 11 am ET).

If you missed it, I guess you're out of luck. Or you have luck to spare, depending on your outlook.

After a long day of travel, being out of the loop for most of the day, I arrive in Washington (motto: "The City That Doesn't Work") and discover all Hell has broken loose in the radio business, namely that Howard Stern's show has been dumped by Clear Channel stations in Miami, Orlando, San Diego, Rochester, Pittsburgh, and Louisville, because, it appears, management just now learned what he says on the air.

This, of course, isn't quite the case- what changed was official Washington's sudden election-year zeal to enforce rules that nobody can quite figure out in the first place. And I understand why Clear Channel reacted as it did, given that a) it has licenses to protect, and b) adult-oriented entertainment, as I wrote earlier, has no friends in high places at the moment, not after Janet's Amazing Colossal Breast. But it's also a reminder that radio, ultimately, doesn't protect its own.

Other industries mount lobbying efforts and get things done in Washington. "Yes, sir, we DO dump toxic waste on playgrounds, and we'd like to CONTINUE dumping toxic waste on playgrounds, and here's why, and, oh yeah, who do we make the check out to?" Virtually anything can find a friend or five hundred on the Hill. Not so radio and especially not so those accused of "indecency"- nobody in government can quite bring himself or herself to admit that, for example, Howard Stern is not really a plague on society, that a kid hearing Stern's show will probably either turn the dial or ignore it or, G-d forbid, laugh.

But radio doesn't do anything to fight this perception. This current Puritan wave started with, of all people, a liberal Democrat, FCC Commissioner Michael Copps, who has been denouncing the "filth" on radio and TV since he arrived at the Commission. When the Republican majority's staff ruled that an incidental, accidental F-bomb wasn't serious enough to bother fining, Copps went on a campaign that fairly bludgeoned Chairman Michael Powell and the others into a competition to see who could be holier. And the radio industry's response?

"Sorry. Not our fault. Accident. Won't happen again."

But that wasn't enough- never is- and now we have "zero tolerance" and firings and panic. Nobody is willing to go to the House and Senate and ask them what damage they think a momentary breast baring or a Howard Stern lesbianfest does to children. Nobody is willing to say that the ratings and general public response indicate that for every offended individual, there are hundreds of thousands of listeners who enjoy the program content, and isn't that public service?

They won't say it. It's too hard. And they have to protect the stock price. Any hint of an investigation, let alone license revocation, and the stock takes a hit. So Stern and Bubba and whoever else get fired, the radio dial becomes blander than Rick Dees on sedatives, and commercial radio loses even more listeners, which means a revenue hit, which means a lower stock price.

They can't win.

And you wonder why I'm glad I'm not a program director anymore.

Just got back from the dentist's again- maybe this is the last time for a while, but my face is nice 'n' puffy. I gotta go pack and get other stuff done before heading to D.C.; if I have time later, I'll regale you with more genius. If not, you'll live.

Heads up- it's travel time again. If you're going to the R&R Talk Radio Seminar later this week in Washington, feel free to come on up and say hello. I might actually be in a reasonably decent mood by then. Miracles DO happen.

AllAccess.com is reporting that Bubba the Love Sponge was fired today by Clear Channel. Bubba, who was doing mornings in a few markets for Clear Channel rock stations, is the same guy who got hauled into court for a boar-killing on his show, and he's the same guy involved in that $755,000. proposed FCC fine not too long ago.

I never heard much of Bubba's show, and when I did, it struck me as kinda like Stern with a pickup truck, nothing I'd go out of my way to hear. Yet he was- is- undeniably popular in Tampa, and you can find plenty of people who'll tell you how much they enjoyed his show. But not anymore- he's gone, days before another Congressional witchhunt... er, hearing on "indecency." The world is safe from a scourge like Bubba the Love Sponge.

But aside from the hilarity of hearing Congresspersons say the words "Bubba the Love Sponge," this incident is troubling for reasons far beyond whether a wacky DJ with a wacky contrived name can be fired by his employer for whatever reason. He can. That's not the problem. The problem is this: we are rapidly becoming a country where you're not allowed to entertain adults with adult material. The politicians and pressure groups are ensuring that radio and television are 100% "safe" for 8 year old children. Looking for something more adult, more titillating, more interesting? Too bad. Radio Disney for you.

I think this comes from the kind of people we elect. You can go search this site for an entry where I imagined testifying before the same Congressional subcommittee, asking what exact harm would befall the child who espied a bare breast. I'll never have that opportunity, but I don't think it would matter. The people who get elected may- probably do- partake in adult activities, and from the kind of rumors you hear, some of them would make Bubba blush big time. Yet when one guy- ONE prudish guy- complains about some morning DJ talking about masturbation, Washington panics, fines and firings result, and we're one step closer to all-"Blue's Clues," all the time.

Is this what we want from our legislators? WHY WON'T THEY LEAVE US ALONE?

Why do I even need to ask that? As long as they think there's a vote to be squeezed from even one more undecided, they'll do stuff like this, because they know that the handful of people who get worked up over Bubba, over Stern or Mancow or Opie and Anthony make noise and the huge audiences who LIKE those shows won't go out of their way to show it, and they won't vote based on it.

And that's where we go wrong. We SHOULD vote based on issues like this. It's not a partisan thing- the loudest voices against "indecency" in Washington are presently liberal Democrats as well as the religious right. But if people don't want to see radio and broadcast TV return to 1956- if Howard Stern has ever made you laugh, if you've ever been in your car chuckling at some bizarre contest involving lesbians and glanced at the cars next to you in the traffic jam and seen other drivers obviously laughing at the same thing, if you don't want the entire dial to sound as desexed as Ryan Seacrest at a day spa, make your voice heard- write, call, e-mail, vote. We who like our entertainment on the edge are losing, and it's time to do something about it.

Nader, schmader. Bubba for President. Or Stern. Whatever. Couldn't hurt.

So the body count from this year's Mardi Gras in New Orleans is two. One bystander died when teen gangstas decided to shoot at each other in a crowd, the other was watching a celebration at the Superdome when she fell off a viewing platform. Laissez le bon temps rouler!

I don't much like large celebrations. I was there on campus when Villanova won the '85 NCAA basketball championship, and when the lit mattresses started flying from upper-floor dorm windows, it seemed like a god time to get the hell out of Dodge, but there was no escape- Lancaster Avenue was blocked by a sea of humanity, frat boys were dangling from the traffic lights and lamp posts, and a three mile trek to my apartment took three and a half hours on a route that, if I recall correctly, went through several states and time zones. But who cared? We won! Same as the one-dead Patriots Super Bowl celebration, the set-the-cop-cars-on-fire riot after the Canadiens won the Cup in '93, the trucks overturned by UCLA revelers in Westwood in 1995. We are happy, ergo we want to destroy property and maybe even kill people.

Not all celebrations are like that, but too many are. This is what you get for assembling with large crowds, or even small bands of revelers. Take tonight, for example- RIGHT NOW, as I write this, groups of people are assembling to watch the final "Sex and the City," because, well, I don't know, they want to cry on each other's shoulders. They'll be guzzling Cosmopolitans and teetering on Manolo Blahnik knockoffs, and there's a better-than-even chance something bad will happen. Maybe they'll be so upset by Samantha's cancer or Charlotte being with a- gasp!- bald hairy-backed, you know, not-one-of-US that they'll emerge from their HBO-equipped living rooms and start attacking any man that comes along. I know I'll be staying indoors tonight.

I don't quite get the whole "Sex and the City" thing, actually. It always struck me as a) sad, depicting unlikeable, self-absorbed people with all the wrong ideas on how to achieve happiness, learning only at the very end- this season, in a mirth-free run of episodes- that they'd made a horrible miscalculation about life, and b) vigorously promoting the very unlikeable, self-absorbed lifestyle that a sharper, more visionary show would have skewered (well, there IS "Absolutely Fabulous," isn't there?). But that's thinking too much about it. It was popular because it was a soap opera, no more, no less, just like "Days of our Lives" or "Betty la Fea," except with four rich single women.

But it's over, and when it's over, look out. The thought of Sundays without Carrie and crew might send some folks over the edge. If I'm the police chief of a major city, I put huge video screens up all over town, tuned to Lifetime. A few "Golden Girls" reruns and order will be restored. Without that, there will be casualties. And no shoe store in town is safe.

The table next to ours at dinner tonight was occupied by four guys talking politics. We were at the Blue Coyote in Palm Springs- rain be damned, it was Fran's birthday (!) and we were going to go to the desert come hell or high water, literally- and quietly enjoying the meal while the boys at the next table were all about "Bush is stupid" and "who would EVER vote for HIM" and "did you know he knew about 9/11 in advance?" and your general left-wing alternative-paper talking points. They were also aghast that he's against gay marriages, a major issue in Palm Springs- "didn't he ever read the Bill of Rights?," one of the diners indignantly asked his friends.

Well, uh, that's interesting, I thought, but you guys are so bent on hating the guy that you're missing the big picture. And I started to argue with them in my mind until it dawned on me how pointless it would be to actually try and engage them in conversation. And that in turn reminded me how pointless it feels to talk about politics at all.

That's a problem insofar as this is what I basically do for a living.

I've been feeling this way lately (see yesterday's entry), and I'm not sure what the outcome will be. It's an election year, which should excite me- I should be all over this, ready to spar over defense and the economy and health care and gay marriages and all that, yet I'm finding that a) I preach to the converted, b) the unconverted aren't interested in converting, and c) deep down, I'm finding it hard to care. Kerry v. Bush? I'm more interested in Kings v. Spurs.

I suspect I'm not alone. If I think a lot about political issues- the increasing lack of cojones to fight the war on terrorism, the insane anti-"indecency" maneuverings by politicians mistakenly convinced that's how to get re-elected, the inordinate and hysterical attention paid (by both sides) to matters that affect a tiny fraction of the population, the brazen attempt by California Democrats and unions to get carte blanche to jack up taxes to pay themselves- I get aggravated, but instead of pouring it out in writing, I'm finding myself thinking "can't solve that, nobody's listening, I'm tired, what's on TV?" And I'll bet that the vast majority of Americans are feeling this, too. We're disconnected from the process not because we don't care, but because nothing changes and it appears not to matter if we get an ulcer over it or not. Rant, rave, jump up and down all you want, and see the boat sail without you.

That's not to say I'm abandoning talking about politics, not by a long shot. But in a time where what seems like hundreds of thousands of pundits are issuing a flood of analysis, discussion, and Great Thoughts From On High, I'm just getting the feeling it's a waste of time, a dumpster full of words from people who like to hear themselves think out loud. Right now, that's not working for me. As I continue to struggle for punch lines in my comedy writing, I've realized that I probably have to take a break once in a while. I'm finding that the political and serious stuff's overwhelming the part of me that laughs. I don't like that.

So the guys at the next table didn't get a haranguing from me. And, after a brief "did you HEAR those guys?" on the way up 111, I left the whole thing in Palm Springs. By the time we hit the 10 West, I was feeling a lot better, even as the rain got worse and the sky turned black. I'm taking a mental vacation from the dark side.

Let's see how long this lasts.

Is THAT what I sound like?

That's all I can think right now. Such is the hazard of reading too many other people's blogs. I happened upon one- no names, please- that was all about, well, writing a blog, and it was self-referential, self-indulgent...

...and the same can probably be said about this one.

Writing for public consumption is a presumption that anyone would care about what you think. Writing about YOURSELF for same public consumption adds a certain amount of raging egotism to the mix. And I DO write about myself a lot.

My trouble may be self-consciousness. I probably should aspire to the self-awareness of William Hung- that is to say, no self-awareness at all. William is, of course, the "American Idol" contestant from Cal-Berkeley who got up and tunelessly sang "She Bangs" in a thick accent while dancing- no, more like twitching in an apparent allergic reaction. It was brilliant in a way William, from all accounts a very smart student, could never understand, because he was not self-conscious enough to prevent himself from getting up in front of Simon Cowell AND millions of people across the country and doing THAT. And now, he's being offered TV and record deals, he has fans, his every appearance in public is a celebration.

But I can't be William Hung. I get easily embarrassed, and no way in hell would I allow myself to be videotaped dancing. (You don't want to see that anyway.) And now, after reading one too many blogs of the alternate-day personal-political type, I've become harshly critical of my own work, which is trouble. One of my most saleable abilities has been to crank out decent copy under deadline at breakneck speed, and that means editing on the fly. Now, I sit there with a column 3/4 finished and think, man, this isn't working, because the echoes of those other blogs resonates in my mind and I'm thinking I must be just like them.

And that would not be good.

One of the tributes recently printed about a columnist who died- don't ask me who, I can't think right now- said that one of the deceased's great virtues was that his columns never used the word "I." He wrote about topics, not himself. I- there it is again- can't do that. Will that consign me to the same pile as those blogs of indulgence? I hope not. But I can't think that way. This is what I do, and I guess I have to trust my own judgement that it's good- at least I know I have plenty of readers, and I get good feedback, so I really need to get back to just writing without thinking. Thoughtless prose. Yeah, I'm all about the thoughtless prose. If there's anything I'm good at, it's not thinking.

8:30 pm on a Friday night? Good time to stop thinking. So I will.

It dawned on me today that after a drowsy perusal of the Sun-Sentinel and the Herald on Sunday morning, I haven't read any newspapers all week.

That's not to say I didn't read any news stories- I did the usual rampage through web sites for AllAccess.com, after all- but I usually read a minimum of two hard-copy dead-tree papers every day, and more when I can get my hands on them. This week, I bought the papers on Monday and didn't read them. I didn't even bother buying the papers on Tuesday or Wednesday, although the L.A. Times and Daily Breeze were waiting for me when I got back to California- and I didn't read them. Oh, and I DID buy the New York Post on Wednesday for the full-color A-Rod fold-over front -and-back page overkill, but it's stillsitting on my desk, unread. Skipped Thursday's, too.

This is one man's experience, but I could never imagine going without a paper not too long ago. In fact, at some points in my adulthood, I was doing seven or eight papers a day- for example, back in my New Jersey 101.5 days, I hacked through the Philadelphia Inquirer and Daily News, Trenton Times, Trentonian, Asbury Park Press, Bucks County Courier-Times, New York Post and Daily News... yeah, that's eight, all right. I dropped down to two in the last few years only because that's all we can easily get here- the New York Post is expensive at a buck a day, the Orange County Register doesn't deliver here anymore, you'd have to drive a while to get the L.A. Daily (Valley) News, and there's nothing ever in the Long Beach Press-Telewasteofpaper. But lately, the Times and Breeze just sit there, stacking up neatly, waiting to be taken directly to the recycle bin. And I do subscribe to an "exactly-as-the-print-version" digital Miami Herald, but I haven't even been reading that lately.

There's nothing new or unique about the idea that newspapers' place in this age is shrinking, so I'll spare you the trite analysis. But I will note that the papers seem oblivious to the problem. They appear to be making it impossible to find what you want by moving things around, placing them where they don't belong, loading on useless graphics and tables. The L.A. Times has political commentary in the arts section, the Orange County Register has a truly hideous, wide short-item thing on the front page with color-coding nobody will ever figure out, the Daily Breeze puts the comics on the back of the second section except when they feel like burying it in the middle of a section... they're all about as user-unfriendly as, well, as their web sites.

Is it too much to ask for L.A. to get a Post-like tabloid, or something like the Philly News? If we had one, I'd read it- hell, I'd write for it, maybe for free. I miss the screaming, hilarious headlines, the for-the-people angles, the attitude (in Philly, that's atty-tood). You can plow through the Post in 10 minutes or less and feel satisfied and amused. The L.A. Times takes longer and "satisfied and amused" have nothing to do with it. (The Daily Breeze takes 30 seconds and leaves you wondering how a paper with a monopoly on a populous suburban swath can't find more than three or four pages' worth of local news, or why it can't find a better local columnist than a guy who lives an hour's drive away and seems to fill every other column with reader e-mails) I just wish we had a paper with guts, enterprise, and a sense of humor. We don't.

Unless the Times' carrying Robert Scheer is meant as a joke. But I think they're serious.

Would I shirk the responsibility of writing more insightful essays on world events just because I've been up since 12:30 am Pacific- 19 hours straight so far- and flying and driving and working all day? You're damn right I would.

It's not the same when you're not at home. You read every paper, you listen to the radio, you even watch the cable news channels, but nothing sinks in. I've been away for three days and been writing the usual columns all the way through, but I'm not retaining anything.

I don't know why it is. I'm not on vacation, so it's not like I've willingly put my brain in another gear. But it is, and I don' know nuthin'.

Which is why I'll shut up now. I should be better when I get back to California. That should be tomorrow.

Still in Florida. This was a good day for reasons I am not at liberty to discuss but which, well, you take the good when you can. So I will.

The roads, the stores, the restaurants are choked full of seniors, and I've had my fill of oblivious drivers turning right from the left lane of a FOUR-LANE ROAD (actually witnessed TWICE on the same 1/4 mile stretch of road while meeting an arriving flight at Palm Beach airport) or driving 25 in a 50 zone. Every single stereotype about the elderly is here on parade: the driving, the Early Bird Specials, everything. And I'm glad there's someplace where seniors can go and have all of their needs met. But it'll be good to be back home in L.A. soon, where there aren't as many bad senior drivers. No, we have bad YOUNG drivers.

But I do like Florida. There's an undefinable feel to it- the humidity, the scent of the vegetation, the pinks and teals and greens all over everything- that you don't get anywhere else. Now, if only someone could do something about the radio here...

You buy a ticket to fly on Saturday night, a red-eye across the country no less, and you can assume you'll have an empty flight, right? Make that Valentine's Day night, a day deep into a three day weekend- what kind of loser would be on an airplane that night?

Me. And a plane full of fellow losers.

There is nothing worse than a sold-out red-eye, because it is physically impossible to get comfortable enough to sleep if you can't lean across two seats- ideally, three across. Add to that the incessant blather of the people in the seats behind me and an incredibly short flight- not much more than 4 hours, amazingly- and you can understand my incoherence today. I showed up in Florida at 4:30 am, way too early for any business, way too early to check in at the hotel, way too early to be driving while sleep-deprived up I-95 looking for someplace to have breakfast, way too early for even the Original Pancake House. And that's why God made Denny's- "and on the seventeenth day, the Lord said there shall be a place where drowsy travelers can kill time dawdling over French toast and hash browns while paging through the Sun-Sentinel and Herald, and the Lord sayeth 'Let there be Denny's, and Waffle House, and the Melrose Diner,' and they were good."

And now, sleepless for most of the last 38 hours, I've reached my maximum level of incoherence. Maybe I'll make more sense tomorrow.

On the road shortly, so no time for much. In the meantine, this is what it looked like in Hermosa Beach at lunch today:

Fran and I had Valentine's lunch at the same place where we decided that, yes, we'll move to California, and it was the same today as then- sun shining, people playing volleyball and rollerblading and walking and running, kids and dogs and waves and warmth. Wonderful day, just wonderful.

And happy Valentine's Day to y'all. Especially Fran. And Ella.

Gotta travel this weekend, and I'm trying to travel light. I just started packing and the goal is to have one carry-on and my computer bag, and that's it. It shouldn't be difficult- I'm traveling from warm climate to warm(er) climate, it's a very short trip, and... none of that matters, because it's virtually impossible to travel light.

One pair of jeans and one pair of shorts will do. My white hi-top Chucks will do, too. On the other side: running shoes, shorts, and shirts, plus cap and glasses, all volume-occupiers. I know the trick of stuffing the shoes with socks- I do that, but that leaves all your socks with used-running-shoe aroma, not the best thing. Toiletries, underwear- no, I will not hang free- and other stuff, and that's one overstuffed carry-on.

But I will get it to fit if I have to drive my car over it to smush it all flat. I will not check a bag on this flight. I will wake up, stand up, pop the overhead, grab my carry-on, grab the computer, and waddle right off the plane, down the terminal, and right into the rental car van. I will be on the road in minutes. I will do it. There is no doubt.

All of this is irrational, of course. I'm on a small-ish airline, it's a one-way, non-stop flight, they won't lose any bags, and I would get the bag in a few minutes. I'm in no rush- I'll arrive very early in the morning. I could easily take a second bag and not worry about the packing. But I will not take the easy way out. It's a challenge. One bag. I will take one bag. Pride is at stake.

So, which essential item will be the first one I forget to bring?

Short on time, so short on content today. Just a couple of random things:

1. Saw this article calling "Friends" the most overrated sitcom ever. Well, it depends on who's rating it- NBC calls it "the best sitcom ever," and that's obviously puffery- it isn't even the best sitcom on the air right now, and it wasn't the best at any point in its history (coinciding as it did with "Seinfeld" and several others). It's... okay. But I don't think anyone other than the network flacks really think it's the "best ever." A better choice also had its finale this season, but "The Office" didn't even make it to the top 10 of the BBC's list of greatest sitcoms- there's a miscarriage of justice.

2. Speaking of critics and comedies, mea culpa, mea MAXIMA culpa to Larry David. I finally, completely get it. I've been watching "Curb Your Enthusiasm," a show everyone was calling brilliant, and, as I wrote here before, it just didn't do anything for me. Then, suddenly, it did. One "yeah, that was pretty funny" episode, then another, then the lightbulb went on. And I've gone ahead, grabbed the first season DVD to catch up, and, yeah, it's funny. I'll even forgive Larry and Jeff Garlin for being such Hollywood liberals. Damn show is funny.

3. I was in a couple of sporting goods stores today, and here in L.A. they're full of NBA All-Star gear (the game's at Staples this year). And they had kid-sized Kobe jerseys, and I wonder who would put their kid in a Kobe jersey right now. Can't they at least wait for the trial to play out? Hey, kids, get your official Scott Peterson t-shirts and Robert Blake studded cockatiels right here.

Enough. Gotta go.

Thank you for allowing me to testify before this august panel on the topic of broadcast indecency. I would like to start by posing a question to all of you:

Are you out of your goddamn minds?

I think it goes without saying that the Distinguished Lady from New Mexico is. She was weeping- almost blubbering- as she recounted how her 4th grade son saw Janet Jackson's breast. She was angry and accusatory as she told us how he and his little friends talked about it and agreed she'd get into trouble for it. Ma'am, excuse me, but what IS your problem? Your kid wasn't harmed. In fact, he and his friends seem to have a good handle on it. So what's the deal with the tears? I'm pretty sure impeachment proceedings ought to be instituted. I'm also pretty sure you shouldn't be allowed to operate a car.

And you, sir, in the back, yes, the one who tried to make Janet's nipple a racial issue by claiming Justin Timberlake is getting off too lightly for this. First, what the HELL does that have to do with broadcast indecency punishments? Janet and Justin are NOT licensees. And second, Janet admitted she engineered the whole thing, and it was her nipple, so of course she's going to take more of the blame, whatever her race. And third, shut up.

Listen, all of you, before you start to talk about lifting licenses and regulating even cable and everything else, you owe it to the constitution to tell us what harm will befall even a child when indecent shows are on. And while you're at it, since the fact that 200,000 people complained about Janet's Nipple is so important to you, how about telling me what percentage that is of the overall Super Bowl audience? Go ahead, I'll wait.

That's it?

And that's the percentage of your constituents to whom you're pandering. Feels good, huh? Of COURSE people who were NOT offended didn't write or call you. Why WOULD they? And since when is "I'm offended" enough to demand that the offender get fined or worse? You're offended by a nipple or a DJ's sex talk? Poor baby! Turn the channel, schmuck.

(Speaking of which, that's always the case, isn't it? The FCC is pushed to act by one loser who always says "I was driving in my car with my 15 year old son when I heard (Howard Stern, Bubba the Love Sponge, Paul Harvey) talk about (sex, sex, the history of lettuce) and I was just appalled so much that I had to listen to the whole show and tape it and take a detailed transcription just to make sure." Should policy be determined by some guy too prudish to stand sex talk who's also TOO STUPID TO TURN THE STATION EVEN THOUGH HIS PRECIOUS PROGENY IS SITTING NEXT TO HIM?)

Meanwhile, some of you geniuses are thinking of extending indecency regulations to cable. Let me help you out here- the only reason indecency regulation of radio and TV was held constitutional by the Supreme Court is that broadcasting is not only pervasive but scarce- there aren't enough outlets for anyone to gain access. Cable has way more channels and a federally mandated access requirement, so it might be tough- and unconstitutional- to try to regulate its content. Besides, who said people HAVE to take cable? You don't want your kids to watch USA or FX or HGTV? Block 'em out, or, better yet, stop subscribing. Isn't that supposed to be better for kids anyway, make 'em read?

So, that's where we are- simultaneous hearings in the Senate and Congress demanding action because some washed-up pop diva popped her throwing-star-adorned boobie out of her costume on TV. The First Amendment? What, you've never heard of it? You might want to check it out sometime.

And allow me to leave you with words I believe are ascribed to Socrates, or Plato, or some old Greek guy like that:

Go (slang term for sexual intercourse) yourselves.

Thank you.

I'll show myself out.

An entire column, lost when... I don't know how it happened, actually, but I got an error message, had to go back a page, and it was gone.

Insert very bad words here.

I finally got rid of those infernal slippery Michelins that I've been threatening to ditch since I got this car. I just wasn't expecting to do it TODAY.

It was a good day overall- the sewer line was fixed early, the warranty covered it, painless dental appointment, sun shining- and then, as I headed home from the dentist's office, the car started to make one of those noises you don't want to hear. I inched along PV Drive South until I got to the old Marineland entrance and pulled over, maybe a half-mile short of our house.

The left rear tire? Shredded. Sidewall blowout. My THIRD in three years, same car, same tire model.

No more Michelins.

As it turned out, it was a screw planted firmly in the tread- I'd stopped at the Ralphs, and I wondered if a union guy hadn't planted a surprise for the shoppers there (doubt it- they aren't picketing there, so there's no reason for them to complain). But I wasn't going to take any more chances on this tire. Damn things are cursed. New tire? Gimme four.

And I did that, and on the way back, I noticed that the car's ride had changed. No more slipping, no squealing while turning the corner at low speed. Bumps were smoothed out, rough roads felt calm. Shoulda done this a long time ago.

I guess it's STILL a good day.

Speaking of the previous item, how significant is it that today, for the first time since that horrible, horrible Sunday afternoon in January, I am wearing one of my Philadelphia Eagles jerseys? Naturally, the day I can't shower is the day I put on the green-silver-black-and-white.

You'd think it was a delayed, premeditated commentary on the quality of the Iggles' play against Carolina. You'd be right.

The main sewer line that runs from our main bathroom- the only one with a bath or shower- got blocked up this morning. I have no idea how, but it's blocked, meaning that when you flush the toilet, it comes up in the shower and bath.

So I called the home warranty people, and they sent a plumber, and the plumber took one look and decided he couldn't clean it out and that someone would have to come and go up on the roof and clean it out through the vent. (He barely looked into the crawlspace under the house- I have no idea if there's a cleanout under there, but he wasn't going in there, and neither am I). That will allegedly happen tomorrow. In the meantime, yuck. (I may break down and go to the Y tonight, but there's something strange about taking a whole hour- 20 minutes to drive there, 20 minutes of hygiene, 20 minutes to drive back- to take a shower) Washrag cleaning isn't adequate. And I am NOT jumping into the pool (water temperature probably 33 degrees).

(The only member of the family who's unaffected is, naturally, Ella the World's Most Famous Cat, but her hygiene process involves her tongue, and even if that DID work for humans... eeewwwww)

So you might want to give us some room right now. Lucky for you I don't plan to leave the house until the shower works. I'll be here for a while.

Las Vegas is becoming a mecca for several types of tourism. You know about the gamblers and the families, the golfers and the tennis players, the people committing suicide...

That's right. People are going to Vegas to off themselves. That's not just the people who go there, gamble, lose everything, and get to the end of their rope. It's about people who pack a bag, hop a Southwest cheapie, grab a cab from McCarran to the Strip, book a suite, go up to the room, and end it all.

If you gotta go, go in style, I guess, and if I ran one of the second-rank Strip resorts- you know who you are- I'd take advantage of this. Suicide packages. Three days, two nights, a suite with room service and a stripper's pole, give the guy the best time of his life for a couple of days and offer free body disposal at the end. (Payment in advance, please) Do a tie in with "CSI": your family could get a police report autographed by William L. Petersen or Marg Helgenberger, or a crime scene photo with Jorja Fox taking samples from YOUR body.

But I'm not trying to make light of the situation (not TRYING), because while I'm no suicide advocate- there's often a selfish tone to the act, and an impatience, and, ultimately, a lack of necessity to many suicides- in cases where someone really SHOULD have the right to end it, where someone is suffering extreme pain with no relief possible and looking at a future of hopelessness, it's sad that they can get no help (it's illegal except in Oregon, where it may or may not be legal), it's sad that they have to suffer, it's sad that if they DO decide to go anyway, they have to do it in silence and shame and solitude. And for those people, I hope that, someday, society understands, and grants them the ability to have one last happy moment, one last blast of the frivolous and the fun, one last party before it's over.

One last weekend in Vegas. What a way to go.

The Grammys were never all that interesting to me. I never liked the kind of bland mainstream pop that the awards were designed to celebrate, so there was never anything there for me. They're on right now; I'm not watching. (OK, I DID watch a few seconds of it- Outkast won best rap album or something, and I turned it off)

This year's awards are interesting to the public mostly for the will-anyone-do-anything-outrageous possibilities, although the Grammys never, ever have anything like that- the MTV awards shows are the ones for which the stars save their calculated outrageousness. No, the Grammys are all about blandness. Nothing dangerous at all. Never is.

The Grammys also reinforce something I'm not sure I need to remember- I just don't know too many of the top 40 songs these days. I don't think it's my fault, either. Back in the 60's and 70's, kids, there was something called Top 40 radio, and when they said Top 40 they MEANT Top 40, all of it. They played the Beatles and Dean Martin and Cream and James Brown and Sinatra and the Stones and Glen Campbell and whoever else was on the charts, back-to-back-to-back. They did this because FM was all beautiful music and classical and it was only in the late 60's that someone- Tom Donahue, by most accounts- decided to play rock 'n' roll and even album cuts on FM, but otherwise you had only top 40 to play pretty much every kind of music. And you'd listen to WABC or WFIL or KHJ- you would, because EVERYBODY, including your parents, your friends, everybody did- and you'd hear all of it. When FM took over and you suddenly could hear your favorite type of music without those songs you didn't like, you went there and never looked back.

So move it forward to today, where the top 40, judging by the charts, is made up of mostly hip-hop and teen pop. Nothing there for a suburban adult who doesn't want to hear about the thug life in Compton because he lives too damn close to the real thing and knows it isn't the stuff of entertainment. Nothing there for an adult male when a huge portion of the music's aimed at a tween female. Nothing there for someone who heard today's rock the first time around, 25 or 30 years ago, the same, for example, Led Zeppelin records Jack and Meg White undoubtedly heard and thought, hey, we can do that, too.

Which explains why I'm not bothering with the Grammys tonight.

Besides, nobody I'd WANT to see naked is likely to take her top off, so what's the point?

For reasons too boring to discuss, I'm not supposed to eat anything that could stain my teeth until tomorrow evening, leaving me with the small problem of determining what exactly I CAN eat. Mayonnaise, I suppose, is perfect, except for the small detail that I hate mayo, except in tuna fish, which is also perfect, except for the small detail that I can't eat that every meal. Soup? Not chicken soup (electric yellow) or minestrone (brown) or anything with flavor. Burgers? No ketchup, no sauce, nothing but mayo, which isn't going to happen. Chicken? Dry. So, what then?

Cheerios, white cheese, and tuna.

I am counting the hours until Sunday dinner.

The satellite radio classic rock channel- Fran's listening in the living room- is playing "Comfortably Numb" right now. Oh, how I wish I was in that state at this moment.

Yep, another dental whine. Sorry.

I had some more work done today- just five or so more appointments left!- and the procedure left me with the kind of aching that feels as if each nerve in the root of every tooth in my mouth has been hit with a hammer, hit over and over and over and over and over and over and....

But you don't want to hear it.

And I'm tired of telling you about it.

Not that I'm going to stop now. But I'll give it a rest for the evening, primarily to give MYSELF a rest. You can thank me later.

By the way, finally saw "Lost in Translation." Really good. It's a good week for DVDs- "Lost in Translation" and "American Splendor," two of the year's best. Go rent them. Go BUY them.

Maybe I'm missing something here, but if it's so damn important for John Kerry to pick up Dick Gephardt's endorsement because of all the union support that Gephardt can deliver, why didn't Gephardt do better when he was still in the race? After all, if Gephardt had solid union backing, wouldn't he actually have gotten some votes instead of ending up the way he did?

And why isn't that addressed in the news stories about the endorsement?

Just asking...

NBC has edited out a shot of an elderly woman's breasts from tonight's episode of "ER," to the consternation of the show's producer. This is being held up as an example of America's puritanism post-Super Bowl. What's wrong with seeing a woman's breast, some people are asking. It's natural, it's just a body part, what's the big deal?

They're right. As I said about J---t J-----n's breast (she's gotten enough free publicity- let her pay for it now), I'm not offended by breasts. I'm not even all that horrified that children would see it- what harm could possibly come to a child who sees a bare female breast? But I'm unsympathetic to the "ER" folks, and here's why:

Did they have to show an elderly woman's breast in that show? No. Is it essential to the plot? No. Does it enhance verisimilitude? Not really- the show doesn't need more. So why did they put it in there to begin with?

Simple- for controversy's sake. Controversy sells, right? So they throw a breast shot- an elderly woman's breast, at that- and they hope people will buzz about it. In short, the only reason they put it in there is because it's taboo. If everyone thought the way the producers (and me, at that) think about naked breasts, they wouldn't even THINK of bothering to show them. But they KNOW it's offensive to some people, and they want to throw it in those prudes' faces.

THAT'S offensive.

Nudity in art is fine. Nudity where it's intrinsic to the plot or scenario makes sense. But you don't expect to see nudity on "ER." You don't, even though they've evidently slipped some in before. You don't NEED it. The producers are using breasts as a cheap ploy for attention, nothing more. That they act as if they're above that is laughable. They can trot out the "appropriate and in context" thing and "if you don't like it, turn the channel" and "this is why people turn to HBO," and these are all fine and they still don't wash, because this ISN'T HBO and they AREN'T making "The Sopranos" and they KNOW that. It's a different game, and it's still a breast-free zone.

Not that I think it SHOULD be. It IS stupid that we have these taboos, and that network TV has to be programmed, to an extent, as "safe for children." But if I'm John Wells and my show has to cut a gratuitous breast shot (oh, yes, it is- losing it won't change tonight's episode one iota, will it?), I don't whine about it. I'd go to Congress and the FCC and ask them to delineate the standards by which a naked breast is harmful to children, and I'd be entertained by their inability to do so. But I wouldn't want the return question to be "why DID you need to put the breast in there?," because there's no good answer for that, either.

No heroes in this one, folks. Except for the breast.

Wrote something. Didn't like it. Didn't feel like rewriting it. Didn't feel like writing much of anything.

Here, you do it. Take these phrases and form paragraphs around them: "John Kerry." "Breast." "Ricin." "Prewar intelligence." "Signing day." "I'm tired and I'm going to stop writing now."

How'd that last one get in there?

In the mail today:

"Green Acres" on DVD. Season One.

Digital Arnold Ziffel. Crystal clear Eb. Dolby Digital Haney, Hank Kimball, Newt Kiley, Alf and Ralph Monroe.

It just doesn't get any better than this.

Not until "The Flintstones: Season One" comes out in the Spring, that is.

I made a mistake.

I thought that you were supposed to be honest, hard-working, decent. You were supposed to follow the law, do the right thing, hurt no one. I was wrong.

Bobby Knight verbally attacks his own boss at a grocery. His punishment- back on the sidelines to coach Texas Tech the next night.

Janet Jackson exposes herself, apparently deliberately, in front of the largest TV audience of the year. Justin Timberlake enables it, then lies about a "wardrobe malfunction." Punishment- they remain on the Grammy entertainment roster.

Al Sharpton perpetrates a slanderous accusation of rape that turns out to be a lie, and not only doesn't apologize, but continues to make the accusation. Punishment- he's treated with kid gloves by the media and other candidates, and people continue to donate cash to him.

Evidently, it doesn't matter if you do the right thing, tell the truth, be faithful. You don't even have to say you're sorry.

And I always think this, and resolve to get my share before it's too late. And then I go right back to the way I always do things, and I join the millions who get stepped on by the people who do whatever the hell they want. I think it's genetic- you're either the stepper or the steppee. Most of us are steppees.

Although, for the right amount of money, I AM willing to bare my breast on national TV. Cash or certified checks only. And, unlike someone else we've seen, I won't even cover up with a nipple ornament.

Good evening. Tonight's lead story: President Bush will appoint an independent panel to investigate Janet Jackson's breast. The President is trying to head off criticism from House Democrats that he is trying to sweep Janet Jackson's breast under the carpet. Prime Minister Blair is expected to launch his own investigation of Janet Jackson's breast in the coming days.

That's Janet Jackson's breast for Monday, February 2nd. I'm Paul Moyer, but you can call me Miss Jackson if you're nasty.

So I watched anyway. Observations:

1) Contrary to Jim Nantz' overheated praise- best Super Bowl ever?- the game sucked for long, long stretches. The fast and furious exchanges, and the final few minutes, made up for those, but it was hardly a classic from beginning to end.

2) I liked the Chevy commercial with the kids sitting there, soap bars in their mouths, except that I don't remember the model and it didn't make me want to buy it- automatic retracting roof? What about the engine, the ride, the handling, the comfort? Most of the commercials sucked badly enough so that I can't even recall them.

3) CBS' coverage of football couild not be more bland. And that theme- da, da da DA, da DAAAA, duhduhduhduhDUHduh da, da da DA...- could not be more annoying, repeated every few seconds. It made me long for the Fox swoosh sound effect. Almost.

4) I can't believe for a second that Janet Jackson's breast exposure on the MTV-produced half time stinkfest was an accident. If CBS feigns annoyance and blames MTV, remember that Viacom OWNS CBS and MTV, and Mel Karmazin, if he was truly out of the loop, can and should fire everyone responsible. If he doesn't, then you can assume- no proof, but it smells like this- everyone knew and approved. I don't think it was an accident. And if it wasn't, let's see if the FCC agrees that it's the kind of egregious flouting of its rules that warrants license revocation. I'm not saying I AGREE with that- I'm not all that crazy about the overheated anti-indecency crap spewing from Capitol Hill and Michael Copps lately- but if Bubba the Love Sponge talking about masturbation is worth a record fine, a bare breast when EVERYONE is watching, including our precious chillun, ought to be worth one hell of a court case. It would be worth it to hear the testimony about the damage done by an exposed breast.

5) Adam Vinateri is a hero now, but remember that had he made those chip shots in the first half, he wouldn't have needed to play the hero. At least he cleaned up his own mess (with a little help from his offense).

Anyway, I STILL don't care who won, but at least there was some entertainment involved. And I'm ready for spring training now.

Pre-game temperature- normal. No Super Bowl fever here. That went away two weeks ago in Philadelphia.

Weird this year- there's so much going on in my life right now that I can't really work up a lather over the game. I've been asked a thousand times who I want to win the game, and I almost always have an answer for that, but this time, I don't. Pats, Cats, whatever. My thoughts are elsewhere; I'm dealing with far more difficult issues than whether Jake's for real or Brady can win another one. If I could tell you, you'd understand, but for now, you'll just have to take my word for it.

One thing, though- who thought it would be a good idea to put Duran Duran on the pregame show? THERE's a pressing issue.