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And again.

Sen, Ted Stevens (R-AK) gave a speech today saying he wants to extend indecency regulation to cable and even satellite radio, and that's not what bothered me the most. Sure, it's wrongheaded and ridiculous, and sure, it might cause damage if it makes its way out of his committee, but that's not the part that bothered me. The bad part was the reaction.

The audience cheered.

The audience was composed of broadcasters.

And that should be a lesson, yet again, to the creative community: broadcast station owners have no respect for you. You're interchangeable, replaceable, irrelevant. What matters to them is that, threatened by the free media of satellite and cable, they can knock those competitors down to their level. Stand up for broadcasters' First Amendment rights? Never. That would mean acknowledging the need for creativity, the freedom to try new things. Screw that. No, it's easier, faced with an unfair and possibly unconstitutional law, to cheer when others are forced to live by it as well. "I'm being beaten to death," they reason, "but at least the other guy's bloody, too." Fighting back never occurs to them as an option.

Reuters quotes Stevens:

"There has to be some standard of decency," he said. But he also cautioned that "No one wants censorship."

It IS censorship- government regulation preventing free speech by its citizens. And the broadcasters are taking it. They're CHEERING it. The NAB isn't bothering to fight. Mustn't give Wall Street anything to worry about.

The one consolation is this: there's practically nothing they can do to regulate streaming on the Net. And all the NAB is doing by trying to stifle competition from cable and satellite is to delay the inevitable. Whether it's cable or satellite or the Net or podcasting, the audience will seek out the programming it wants. Let the NAB and Sen. Stevens pat each other on the back. Maybe Eddie Fritts can take Stevens into the back room for some "special attention." They can have their fun now, but they can't ban the future.

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In the midst of a raging, I've-had-it-up-to-here blue funk that just won't quit, I got some very good news.

The Regular Guys are coming back to the radio. There is a God.

March 21, 8 am-Noon ET, WGST Atlanta. Yes, the same company- Clear Channel- that fired their sorry asses is hiring their sorry asses right back.

And they stream, too. Right here.

There's hope. At least, until the next indignity gets me grumbling again.

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Yeah, I think that article in the L.A. Times this morning interviewing some North Korean lackey was beyond astonishing, pretty much a whitewash of a brutal, terrible dictatorship. Hewitt's all over it, and he's right. The Times will print anything these days.

And there's other stuff, too. Jarvis has a rundown on the FEC vs. Bloggers thing- McCain-Feingold being taken to its extreme, everyone unsure if this is real or a false alarm. (Assume it's real- Ed Morrissey is- and hope it's a passing thing) The Elder at Fraters briefly and accurately notes how annoying that Burger King commercial is- you know the one. (Mitch Berg disagrees, a little) And meanwhile, preparing for the Elvis-'68-like comeback show, Larry Wachs has a FAQ answering Regular Guys fans' questions in advance. Go read all of it.

Why? Because I got nothin', and they all have somethin'. I'll let them do it.

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Bought a suit today. A suit, and a sports jacket, and a trendy shirt and some belts. This was a major task, an accomplishment, because I am a guy and guys just don't do clothes shopping that well, not if they aren't what's become known as metrosexual. It's a stereotype, sure, but it fits.

So did the suit. I need to explain the suit. I don't wear suits to work, because I don't really have to wear anything to work. I can wear whatever I want, or even nothing at all, because I work in a home office. (I do work while clothed, because otherwise I would stick to the office chair, and that wouldn't be desirable) ANd when I leave the house for whatever reason, even for work reasons, I dress in what some might charitably call "casual" and others might call the full Oscar Madison- jeans, very worn high-top Chucks, whatever shirt happens to be closest to my hand when I reach into the closet. It's not a lot different from my college wardrobe, and it's been a long time since college.

And that's where the suit came in. I have several conventions coming up, and I usually stick out at conventions, because I steadfastly refuse to dress in the suit-and-tie uniform everyone else assumes. I'm a creative guy, not a CEO or a saleman. Creative guys wear whatever they want. But I'm not Young Creative Whiz anymore. And I can't dress too young. While shopping this evening, I realized that most of the casual clothes in the store were hip-hop style, like Sean John and Ecko Unlimited and that sort of thing, and guys my age look ridiculous in that. I'd like to think I could dress young, but I could when "young" meant "surf dude." When Massimo and Stussy and Quiksilver and Billabong were hot, I could get away with that- I carried the "former surf dude gone to seed" aura well. But then, suddenly, it was clownishly huge pants and garish sweatsuits with logos and lettering all over them and tracksuits, and, no, I can't carry that off. I know my limitations.

So, what's left for a guy like me? I was leaning more towards the sports-jacket-and-jeans look, which works for me, and I did find a new jacket to replace my old, ratty one, but as we were rattling around the men's department, we saw a nice suit, well-known designer, and I said what the hell, I'll try it on, and I did, I looked in the mirror and... and I saw a man, a professional, adult, serious man. Not a kid, not a goofball delaying adulthood. A man.

Me.

Amazing.

Sold.

The right suit turns you into someone, something different- there's an intimidation factor, a seriousness. I'm not used to it- I wore suits every day 20 years ago, but not since then, and I think it's about time to bring them back. EVen in casual Hollywood, a good suit says you're to be taken seriously. A bad suit says you sell radio time or used cars. My usual attire says I either work from home or operate a forklift. I can get away with that most days, but I want more. I need to Dress for Success.

So I bought the suit, and the shirt, and some belts, and now I'm hooked. I want more. I want another suit, and another. I want a closet full of designer suits and shirts and sports jackets, all spotless and pressed. I want shiny shoes and eye-catching ties and belts that don't have sags where the back pants loops go. I want to walk into any meeting in a perfectly fitted suit and a crisp shirt and a dazzling white smile and a firm handshake and look and act like a trillion bucks.

What is wrong with me? Who kidnapped me and replaced me with Gordon Gekko?

Okay, so I'll still mostly wear jeans and sneakers and look more like a forklift operator than a Wall Street titan. But every once in a while, I want to see my reflection in the mirror and instead of revulsion or "aah, that's good enough," I want to think, man, I'm looking good. Is that so wrong?

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The main talk station here had a guy on talking about... well, I don't know WHAT he was talking about except that he was absolutely sure "we" were right. By "we," he meant conservative Republicans. Er, next.

On another talk station, as soon as I hit the button to go there, a syndicated host said "and that's why I hate Bill Clinton so much. You wanna know why I hate Bill Clinton?"

No. Next.

On the "progressive talk" station, a host was talking to an unidentified guest about protest music, and the guest began talking about a "disconnect" between...

Click.

There's incredible opportunity in talk radio, but not if this is what we're gonna hear. Any talk station that goes out and hires some of the smarter, more well-spoken bloggers on either side of the political spectrum will do better than they're doing now. Put on people who talk not about dry political crap but stuff about which people actually CARE, and... and...

Never happen. It's too easy to put the usual suspects on to do the usual thing. If I were back programming a talk station... but I'm not, I won't, and I guess I'll have to listen to music or sports.

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And not two days after I wrote about my attempted sartorial upgrade, we went to lunch at an Inexplicably Popular Chain Restaurant With Random Garbage Plastered On the Walls and I saw this guy, the one in the spotlight on the right:

The guy's shirt reads "ECKO UNLIMITED," with other related stuff plastered all over the back. I have no doubt he paid for the shirt, probably full price. I'm sure he thought it looked good, and his girlfriend agreed. That he's a walking billboard and paid for the privilege probably never crossed either of their minds.

And then I remembered that I have paid for several shirts with the name and/or logo of the Philadelphia Eagles Football Club, Inc. plastered all over them, and a rather large collection of caps with the logos of several professional baseball franchises prominently displayed, and I felt really stupid, too.

But there's a difference between sporting the logo and name of a team you favor- you're proclaiming your allegiance, however misguided, to a squad of pituitary cases which happens to play in a stadium located near a place you used to live. It makes no sense to pledge your allegiance to something called Ecko Unlimited. Do you go to the clothing store and root for Ecko Unlimited? Do you turn on ESPN7 and watch people sewing and folding shirts, and root for the manufacturer to meet its production and sales goals?

Maybe you do. I still think paying top dollar for clothes that have the name of the company that made them emblazoned in big black letters across the back seems weird. But maybe that's just my newfound stylishness.

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Not tonight, dear. I have a life.

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Here's a letter I received the other day:

Perry Simon, Personal Representative
Estate of Harold Mimon
(address omitted)

Dear Mr. Simon,

Please accept my condolences regarding your recent loss of Harold Mimon.

Prices in southeastern Florida have appreciated dramatically during the past couple of years. And as a Personal Representative, you will receive calls and letters from bargain hunters. That is why current price information and marketing advice are very important, before you accept an offer that might not be appropriate.

My job is getting top dollar for real property, including estate property. So, if you have any intention to sell the property located at (address omitted), would you please give me a call at (number omitted).

Sincerely,

(Name omitted)
Broker-Associate
(company omitted)

P.S.: By the way, those bargain hunter offers sometimes do make sense, and I plan to explain when that is true before you tell me whether the Estate of Harold Mimon meets those criteria, which I hope it does not. Call me at (number omitted), that's my job. There is no cost to discuss it, and the sooner I can begin to assist you, the better resource I can be!

Here's my response:

Dear Mr. (Name omitted),

You know what I hate? I hate people who pounce on the grieving, the bereaved, the vulnerable. I hate people who skim the court records and send form letters trolling for business from people who are reeling from the loss of a loved one. I hate people who look at the mourning and see nothing but dollar signs.

Your condolences? Shove your condolences up your inflamed rectum. You don't know me, you don't know my family, you didn't know my father, and you couldn't care less about him. Someday, when you're hurting from the loss of someone you love, may you get a million letters like the one you sent, all from real estate agents trying to get their hands on the house. I have, from the moment the court certified me to handle the estate.

Oh, and next time you pull this crap on some other poor sad person, at least make an effort to get his name right. "Harold Mimon"? Three times? Oh, that's right, mail merge- you just had the information fed into a form letter, and you screwed up his name in the database. Well, F you and F your word processor.

Go to hell.

Sincerely,

Perry Simon, Personal Representative

P.S.: You might not want to wait by the phone for me to call.

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And then there are the evenings where I'm just a bundle of nerves and scattered synapses, when I really can't even think straight. That's when I look for a distraction. That's when I reach for the old TV guides.

Here we go again.

First up, from 1960, Channel 3 in Philadelphia brings you the soulful stare of Edmond O'Brien:

You know, they don't make stuff like this anymore. "Johnny Midnight"- what a name, full of meaning. You hear "Johnny Midnight," you get an immediate image in your mind. And the image involves a tough guy in a fedora and trenchcoat, pounding the mean streets. That's what you got here: Johnny was an actor who turned hard-boiled private eye. You didn't get more hard-boiled than Edmond O'Brien. Edmond O'Brien played a lot of those guys- detectives, cops, soldiers. He was also the star of the original "D.O.A." and the comic gangster in "The Girl Can't Help It." He even recited Shakespeare with Keith Moon at a birthday party for Sam Peckinpah. Now, nobody remembers him.

Same page, same night, over on Channel 10:

Yes, once upon a time, kids, the moon was impossibly far away. We'd never make it there. Not in our lifetimes, anyway.

Check the pose on this guy:

Pat Conway as Sheriff Clay Hollister, the man who tamed the Town Too Tough to Die. Does he not look like he's about to burst into song? It's Sheriff Felix Unger- hello, Tombstone! Speaking of which:

I have no comment.

Finally, from '65, there was this ad:

Back then, kids had to wince at this kind of thing. Chet Atkins? Obviously a cynical attempt by the squares at RCA Nashville to cash in on the wave that was sweeping all other forms of music right out into the ocean. This must have seemed like the biggest can of corn to hipsters of the era.

Today, of course, they'd pay a lot for an original copy, and they'd talk of the genius of Chet Atkins. In fact, it's available on CD and the reviews on Amazon are rapturous. But back then, it was what your parents bought, and it embarrassed you no end.

And that's enough for now. I have to rest up for the Big Convention. Reports from the front start tomorrow.

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Conventions, as I've previously written, are not among my favorite things. This is because the same things tend to happen every time: I walk in, everyone is a White Guy in a Suit who does not know me and is not inclined to change that situation, it gets unbearably hot, and I end up looking for an escape route.

(I do recognize, actually, that I'm much better at the convention schmooze than I think. I don't like to think that, but I am)

The move here, of course, is the eyes-at-badge-level glance- in this business, it's more common to know names and voices than faces, and I'm terrible at placing faces. I'm in a weird position here- I'm fairly well known in the business, but my face, partly by design (I hate having my picture taken), isn't. Plus, I'm the enemy here- I work for the competition, so in a way I'm crashing someone's party.

It always takes a few uncomfortable minutes for things to warm up for me. I get there, scan the room, see nobody I know, feel the harsh scrutiny of unfamiliar eyes, and retreat to a couch someplace to hide for a while. Eventually, I go back, see someone I know, and things get more comfortable. And that's how it went today- it turned out to be quite pleasant, I got to talk to friends I rarely get to see, and I met several nice folks. I did some business, renewed old acquaintances, and enjoyed a nice evening out.

But part of me still would rather not leave the house. I may be the world's worst hermit- I DO go out and I DO meet people and I DON'T run screaming from the premises. I may WANT to, but I don't, not even when the Celebrity Impersonators or the belly dancers showed up at the cocktail hour. But the thought does cross my mind that I would be better off staying home with Fran and Ella and the warm embrace of the TV.

************

Today's Semi-Celebrity Brush-Offs: I was ignored by Tom Leykis, Phil Hendrie, Mancow Muller, Bill Handel, and Ed Schultz. I feel so special.

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Ah, geez, I've been up since 4:30 am and spent all day at a mind-numbing convention and you want me to write something? Hell, I'm going to sleep. I'll do a fuller accounting sometime this weekend. Please, let me recover a little. Thanks.

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The theme of this kind of convention is "what can you do for me?" That's what a lot of conventions are like- it's about the schmooze- but this one's had some especially egregious examples. This morning, the PD of a very big talk station walked by me- nobody else around- and I said hello and congratulations (he just got a big promotion). His reaction- he looked at my badge (he knows me- we've met several times), and he wordlessly walked away. No nod, no grunt, no nothing. But he doesn't need to be friendly, because he invented radio. And he doesn't need me.

There's a lot of that attitude- Al Franken has apparently invented liberal talk radio, judging by his speech and the reaction to it this morning- and a lot of badge-staring. I get some "oh, YOU'RE Perry Michael Simon," which I'm not sure is a good thing, and some blank stares, which I'm pretty sure is not a good thing. At the Arbitron panel, a corpulent gent in a blue suit preparing to sit in the seat in front of me stopped, looked directly at my badge, and, with obvious disinterest and a sniff-n-sneer, turned away and sat down. Then again, I'm not the Inventor of Radio.

At one point, I ran into Joe Kelley of ABC's Midnight Truckers Radio Network show and he said "you know what word I haven't heard once here? Blog. Nobody's mentioned blogs here." He was right- eventually, Sean Hannity mentioned bloggers near the end of a long list of people involved in bringing down Dan Rather, but it was hardly an endorsement of the form, and he didn't exactly give them the credit they deserved. (Al Franken gave talk radio the blame for the Swifties' "lies"- nothing about bloggers, although I get the impression that Al uses a manual typewriter) Later, WTOP Washington's Jim Farley mentioned podcasting and we marveled that nobody had brought that up, either. And then Randy Michaels, accepting a Lifetime Achievement Award, went ahead and spoiled everything by laying out the future of wireless broadband and podcasting and streaming and the inescapable fact that the future lies not in the delivery system but in the content- anyone can send music out, anyone can download and playlist their own music, but not everyone can create a compelling, interesting, entertaining talk show.

And that's what's really happening to talk. All the panels and presentations and schmoozing were beside the point- not exactly whistling past the graveyard, but really more relevant to the immediate future than the long-term or even mid-range future. Technology is rendering the gatekeepers irrelevant. Just as I don't need a newspaper or publisher to reach a worldwide audience with this thing or the All Access column, there won't be a need for a transmitter and antenna to reach people's radios. You won't even need to reach a radio- the iPod, cell phone, some form of computer, PDA, TV, all of those will merge. Some already have- wanna see my Treo?- and much of the technology exists today, needing only to be miniaturized and made efficient and practical to use. It's coming.

But there's a future for the radio companies and syndicators, too. They have the production and sales and marketing expertise. It's one thing to say you can download a Howard Stern podcast or a Rush Limbaugh stream, and another to sell you on downloading Joe Blow's show or anything else of which you've never heard. And if Joe Blow wants to make a living with his podcast, someone will have to sell ads or sponsorships.

All of that is in the future, of course, but it's closer than you might think. In the meantime, how did they get through a three day conference without mentioning blogs? You'd think that... ah, no, you wouldn't. But there were several points at which panelists and attendees lamented the inability to find new talent, and bloggers were never mentioned. At least someone out there is listening, but nobody at the convention is. They're too busy inventing radio and ignoring my existence. Somehow, I think it's better for me this way.

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You become a sports fan, and you pick a team. You watch the team win and lose- mostly lose, with some periods of winning- over the years, and there are seasons when it's pretty painful. But then there are moments when the team just plain gives up, and you want to reach through the TV screen and strangle someone.

That was the case in the Super Bowl, when the Eagles decided to run the six minute offense with three minutes left, and it was the case today, as the Sixers decided that, by God, they'd stick to the game plan of conceding the outside shot and Donyell Marshall of Toronto could not miss. He went 12 for 19 from three point range and the Raptors were 21 for 34, and the Sixers just watched them do it. The entire building knew the Sixers were giving up, and the Raptors took advantage. And no amount of screaming at the TV could stop it.

I've often wondered about the people who are into fantasy leagues, how odd it must be not to have a favorite team but instead to root for individuals. I have a friend who is a fantasy sports expert, and I'd love to be able to join him in the whole fantasy thing, except that I'm not built that way. I like teams, winning and losing... OK, winning, and rooting for the guys who play for your city, or at least the city where you used to live (I will never become an L.A. sports fan, not after decades of "Beat L.A." Will. Not. Happen.), and celebrating because they won and wallowing in the civic depression because they lost. It's all about talking sports with my friendly local Boston fan to dissect what's wrong or right with the Celtics or with my fellow Philadelphia fan to share the optimism of the pre-season and the disappointment at the end of the season. That's part of the essence of being a sports fan. You identify with the team, with the city.

And then your team just deflates, gives up. Do you look for another team? How do you get out of an abusive relationship? You can just walk away, but there are the memories, the happy days when things seemed good and you thought it would be fo-fi-fo forever. Maybe it'll get better. Maybe they'll sober up and get themselves back on track. Or maybe they won't, and you'll leave, go flirt with the guys in purple and gold- horrors!- or maybe some other team picked at random, the Heat (Fran and my dad lived down there, and they win) or someone like that. And then you think, well, the moment I bolt, they'll win a championship, and THEN how will I feel?

So you stay. You stay, and you grit your teeth and you promise you won't watch the rest of the season to save yourself the disappointment but you know you'll be checking anyway. And they could still make the playoffs and... and... ah, forget it, it's not worth thinking about. Unless your team is dominant, you know they're destined to break your heart again and again and again, and you'll stay, because of the way it feels when, somehow, some way, they forget to break your heart and they win everything. I just wish it would happen more often. 22 years and counting, and if they let journeymen light them up from beyond the arc all night long, it'll be longer still.

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In lieu of an actual column today, here's a Handy Household Tip: when confronted with an invasion of ants, using bug spray gives the whole house a sickly chemical scent, so try this alternative... Clorox household wipes. Any knockoff brand (Kirkland at Costco, for example) will work, too. Just wipe the ant swarm off the kitchen counter with the wipes, and it'll halt their march. A tiny zap of Raid at the entry point, just enough to form an invisible Barrier of Death, and you're all set, with the pleasant citrus aroma of the wipes instead of the suffocating Raid smell.

And this is the level to which my life has been reduced- waxing lyrical about the joys of insect control using cleaning products. But then again, I'm all about the household hygiene.

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No, I haven't abandoned this thing. Missed a day because I ended up working late- the convention last week pushed everything back and I'm still not caught up yet. In addition, it's scrambled my thought processes so there's no single topic on which I can concentrate, just fragments, like these:

Blake walks, still suspect, don't much care. Peterson will die, good riddance, don't much care. Oil ridiculously expensive; apparently, nobody cares.

R.I.P., Dick Radatz. The Monster. An apt nickname- tall, threw fire. Heroes of childhood are getting older and dying- yes, that says much about us, too.

Thinking about finally springing for a flat panel HDTV. Suggestions welcome. So far, Joe the HD Expert has suggested the 42" Panasonic EDTV plasma. We're going to look at sets soon- feel free to weigh in. (We don't need to go really big- we have just a 27" analog at the moment)

Tonight's dinner: happy hour mini-fish tacos and other munchies at Baja Sharkees in Hermosa, surrounded by basketball on TVs mounted everywhere. In front of me, the Celtics edged Toronto after blowing a lead; to the left, the Nets pulled away from an Eddy Curry-less Chicago squad; off to the left, the Wizards and Hawks battled in front of a sea of empty seats at Philips, while the Cavs and Bucks played on a smaller set I could only see from an awkward angle. Ditto the Pacers on a big screen over Fran's shoulder; I'd rather look at Fran. So I did. But good food and drink in a tiki-hut-themed dive bar a half-block from the beach with hoops all around? Doesn't get much better than that.

See what I mean? Fragments. I'm going to go lay down now.

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Los Angeles now has a "Jack-FM." It's meant to be perceived as a daring and original move, with the slogan "We Play What We Want." It just so happens that "What We Want" is pretty much the same as "Jack-FM" stations in Denver, Vancouver and several other cities, or "Dave-FM" in Atlanta or "Bob-FM" in Ottawa or any number of "Guy's Name-FM" stations in any number of cities. And it also happens that "What We Want" is all from the same general category of music, essentially Classic Hits/Classic Rock of the 80's and 90's. The station calls itself "like your iPod on shuffle," but it's more like someone else's iPod on shuffle, someone with particularly unadventurous tastes. And that begs the question: if it's supposed to be an iPod on shuffle, doesn't it make a lot more sense to go out, buy your own iPod, put music YOU like on it, and set it to shuffle?

I wish them well; I'll listen to something else.

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I watched a streaming video advance version of the second episode of NBC's remake of "The Office," and I don't want to prejudge the entire series before it even airs, but I think I know what's bothering me about it, besides the obvious (they're REMAKING A CLASSIC that DIDN'T NEED TO BE REMADE). There's a significant difference in the central character, and, at least in the one episode, it's close to fatal.

In the BBC original, David Brent is ridiculous, buffoonish, but he's not a bad person. He's oblivious to his own shortcomings, he's a slacker who really would rather hang out with the staff (the closest thing he has to friends), and he's ignorant on several levels, but he's well-meaning. By the end of the series, when something actually goes right for him, you're happy- there's a future for him, and with all of his deficiencies, you're glad that's so.

In the NBC remake, Michael Scott- the Brent equivalent- is ridiculous, buffoonish, and there's no real inkling whether he's bad or good. He's just stupid, just like every other character Steve Carell plays. And there's the problem- you know Steve Carell, you know he's going to be the moron like in his "Daily Show" bits and in "Anchorman" and whenever else you've seen him. In "The Office," he's trying to underplay it, but he's too slick and hardened- a cross between "Office Space"'s unctious Bill Lumbergh and David Brent- and it doesn't work as well for me. With Ricky Gervais, you got a complex portrayal, a dumb guy struggling to be smart, a supremely untalented guy deluding himself into thinking he's the consummate entertainer, someone who deep down knows he's friendless yet persists on behaving like the life of the party- the sad clown. The Carell version flattens that out, takes the hard edges of the Gervais characterization without the pathos. It's not as good.

But you can check it out yourself here. And I'll note that if I'd never seen the BBC original, I might not be as harsh- there are funny moments, and its pacing- not dissimilar to the original- is unique on American TV, and an improvement compared to the typical sitcom. Naturally, it has no chance.

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It was drizzling and threatening to pour this morning, and the weather report for the desert was cool and rainy, so, naturally, we decided to drive out there anyway, since this is the weekend for the annual La Quinta Arts Festival and we like to go and browse and soak in the desert atmosphere. And it was pouring all along the 91 freeway, drizzling in Moreno Valley, pouring again in Banning and Cabazon.

But it was sunny in La Quinta. For an hour or so, anyway.

This year, they moved the festival from its home of the last few years, a large open lot on Jefferson, to the park behind the new City Hall. The new digs are nice- not as funky and home(l)y as the park in Old Town where it used to be, but much nicer than the dusty hillside and tent farm of recent times. Here's a bad camera phone shot- you can see the lake in the middle of the grounds off in the distance.

But this year, there seemed to be fewer vendors, fewer attendees (the weather couldn't have helped), lower quality. There used to be tons of cool furniture and unusual art; this year, there were only a couple of furniture booths and the art, with a handful of exceptions, was pedestrian, stuff you wouldn't likely put in your house, especially not at $2,500. a throw. But that's a different world out there; we overheard a 10 year old girl pricing out artwork and seriously considering buying a $500. piece. At 10, if someone gave me $500., I don't know what I would have bought- lots of baseball cards and yearbooks, probably- but I know it wouldn't have been artwork.

The clouds rolled in around 2:30, and we'd finished our rounds, so we went off to visit the Future of Retailing, better known as the Wal-Mart Supercenter on Highway 111. The grocery chains in Southern California are terrified enough of the Wal-Mart Supercenters that they ended up with scab workers for months last year. We go to Wal-Mart all the time, but this was the first one we'd been to with the full grocery.

The verdict? It's... okay. The regular Wal-Mart part's pretty much like every other Wal-Mart, maybe a little newer and cleaner and with wider aisles, but the same stuff at the same prices. The food section? It's decent- okay selection, better on the Mexican goods but just average on the rest, meats are pre-packaged from some central butcher, prices are good, produce is okay. Lines at the checkout were longish.

But would we go out of our way for it? Not really. If there was a Supercenter within a 10 mile drive, yes, we'd shop for food there- the prices are lower. But they're not so much lower that we'd do our regular or even weekly shopping there- we have Ralphs 4 minutes away, Albertsons and Pavilions about 7, Vons and Bristol Farms about 8. Costco for the bulk items is about 15 minutes away. The nearest likely Wal-Mart Supercenter will be up near the 405, a 20 minute drive, if they ever get around to building on that lot and get approval- that's too far. And the check-outs are long, a lot longer than you get at Ralphs (unless you use the self-checkouts, which are a pain in the ass and which seem to screw up on every third item). We'd go there for the usual Wal-Mart stuff- soap, underwear, toothpaste, odds and ends. Regular food shopping? Nah.

And I suspect that's what the pattern will be. They'll hammer the other chains at the stores within a 3 mile radius, but beyond that, frankly, I'd stick with Ralphs and Albertsons. Those stores have better meat, decent produce, and, you know, the difference in prices wouldn't be worth my time, effort, and gas. Do the other chains have something to worry about? Yeah. Is it likely to be as devastating as they say? Doubt it.

But I did get a really good price on shaving cream.

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I was going to take Sunday off but then I turned on the radio. And Carlos del Valle, a fill-in host (used to be a regular) on Xtra Sports 570, after repeatedly saying something about "waking you up," started talking about the NCAAs and touting one game in particular, which he said was to be played in "Warchester, Massachusetts."

Warchester.

Oh, yes, he did.

And this wasn't one of those deliberate jokes, like when Jim Rome pronounces the name of the Duke coach closer to the way it's spelled than it's really pronounced, a little in-joke to confuse the "Bill from Syracuse" dunderheads who don't follow. No, this guy really thinks "Worcester" is pronounced "Warchester."

That's who gets radio shows.

I imagine Carlos is a nice guy, but saying "Warchester" ought to disqualify him from radio. All stations ought to have a big hook mounted in the studio, and when a host says something exceedingly, unforgivably moronic, the hook should spring out and drag him away from the mike. Either that, or put a trap door under the host's chair- one "Warchester" and the trap door opens. Carlos would have gotten the hook from me the moment he started talking about "waking you up," and I wouldn't have waited for his scintillating ill-educated analysis of the tournament ("that's going to be a close game!") or controversial, unique "opinions" (he suspects Mark McGwire- how daring) or the dreaded "Warchester."

He'll probably be syndicated before the year's out. And they wonder why radio's losing respect.

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Lord, am I tired of arguing.

In my other venue, I briefly wrote about my position on the Terri Schiavo case. My position differs from many of the folks who usually agree with me (shorthand: government's getting involved where it shouldn't). Some have tried- politely, gently, reasonably- to get me to see their point of view. While their points are valid, I don't think they override mine.

But I can't get worked up enough to argue.

The same thing happened with a distant co-worker on indecency- I'm on record as being against the regulation, he gave me the parental child-protection argument, we just disagree. But after one exchange, I just plain ran out of time and energy to continue the discussion. I think I'm right- hell, I AM right- but I have other things to do.

Some people can argue all day about anything- it's sport to them. I run the risk of being tabbed a coward who won't stand up for his own opinions when I just want to quit the fussin', but I can argue my points plenty well. But can't we all just get along?

No.

And that's a good thing- we need to argue these things out. But not me, not now. I'd like to be one of those people with all the time and energy in the world to argue the big issues, but I'd probably just use the time and energy to watch TV and read Viz or something. Kinda like what I'm about to do now. Argue amongst yourselves- I'll jump in a little later.

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Postings work best when there's passion. I still don't have it, not even on the Schiavo case- I kinda wrote all I was gonna write on it over at All Access, and there's not much more to say from here. Both sides have strong points, I still don't like the idea that Congress can inject itself into this, but, I dunno, maybe it's the rain, but all I want to do is go watch some non-Schiavo-related TV and let my brain rest. Is this a serial cop-out? Kinda, but if there's one topic dominating and I can't really dredge up a foaming-jaws reaction to it, that'll do no good for anybody.

So let's just fill space with the weekly All Access News-Talk-Sports "The Letter" newsletter, and remind you that you, too, can receive it first every Tuesday (if I don't forget) by registering at All Access, choosing to accept ad e-mails, and making sure "Talk," "News," "Sports," or any combination thereof is checked off. Here was today's, and keep in mind that it's meant as an ad, sort of, for the content at the site:

Hey, (Your Name Here)!:

Perry Michael Simon
Editor
All Access News-Talk-Sports

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Proof that the Net moves faster than the speed of light: this is already up.

No links there to the infamous voice mails. For that, you'd have to go here.

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All I want is one of these. Basic 600 watt single pole toggle dimmer switch.

Should it be so hard?

One of the toggle dimmer switches in the living room shorted the other day. Now, when you turn it on, it doesn't brighten or dim, it just flashes on and stays on high, and the switch gets hotter and hotter until... well, yes, "fire hazard" comes to mind. No problem, I figured, I'll just head over to the store, buy a new one, bring it home, rip the old one out, pop the new one in, done. (Switches and lights and fans and stuff like that is about as Bob Vila as I get)

First stop: Home Depot, Torrance. Huge selection of switches, no toggle dimmers. They do, however, carry a line of $15. and up jobs where you have a plain toggle switch and a little slide dimmer next to it, crammed into the same space as a normal toggle switch. That's double the price of the kind I need, and I don't like that separation of toggle church and dimmer state. Strike one.

Second stop: Orchard Supply Hardware, Torrance. This is a regional chain- smaller stores than Home Depot, more like the older hardware chains like Rickel or Channel Lumber or Scotty's than the Depot, owned by Sears (hence the Craftsman and Kenmore items in stock). And look- they have the Leviton toggle dimmer... in white. I need ivory. Sorry, no can do. Strike two.

Third stop: Lowe's, Torrance. Not a great selection. Same fancy expensive options as Home Depot. No Leviton. Strike three.

This is a basic, cheap part. I shouldn't need to find a specialist electrical supply store for it. In olden days, when there were local hardware stores and your Rickel kind of midsized store, I could pop into any of them, find the switch in minutes, and be home and done with the swapout in fifteen minutes, tops. Now, we have all these superstores, and I end up driving all over town, coming home empty handed. And, yes, I can order it on the Net, but this is not the kind of item I should need to order, let alone wait two or three business days for it. It's a switch. A dimmer switch, yes, but a standard part. HOW COME I CAN'T FIND IT HERE?

I'm giving it one more shot tomorrow, the Home Depot in San Pedro. I'm not optimistic. Somehow, when the stores got bigger and the selection got wider, it got harder to just find the simple items you need.

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Update on the Search for a Dimmer:

The San Pedro Home Depot didn't have it, either.

Hadda order it on the Net. At least I could.

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Got time for more whining? Okay...

Simple project: take a show recorded on a DVR and save it to DVD. These are the normal steps:

1. Connect DVR to digital video camera.
2. Record show onto MiniDV tape.
3. Disconnect camera.
4. Connect camera to computer via firewire.
5. Select capture program, follow steps, record onto hard drive.
6. Burn onto DVD.

Here's what happened:

1. Connected DVR to digital video camera.
2. Recorded show onto MiniDV tape.
3. Disconnected camera.
4. Connected camera to computer via firewire.
5. Selected capture program, follow steps, record onto hard drive.
6. Burned onto DVD.
7. DVD hopelessly out of audio sync. Useless. Coaster.
8. Tried another program.
9. Process hung after 45 minutes.
10. Tried third program.
11. Worked.

The program that produced the out-of-sync version helpfully suggested, in its support documentation, that it was not its fault, that the source must have a lot of dropped frames or the recording medium must be lousy. Yes, the troubleshooting knoledge base passes the buck. Thanks for all your help, Sonic.

It seems to me that video editing and DVD authoring software for PCs is so hit or miss as to drive users like me to Macs. I have never been able to get one program to work all of the time. In fairness, I haven't tried them all- I hear good things about Adobe Premiere Elements- but Roxio's software tends to get corrupted or freeze or otherwise malfunction (although the capture program's fine if you use the manual capture option), Sonic's can't sync, ever, Pinnacle's crashes and doesn't always sync, and Windows' own version is rudimentary- but this time, it was the one that produced a useable DVD.

You'd think the people who make these things would want them to work all the time with the greatest of ease to keep customers happy, but they don't, and that's because they don't need to. We get burned and we come back for more. It's like a bad team with a sold-out arena- there's no need to improve if the cash is rolling in. And we deserve the losing, because there ARE other options.

Maybe I'll swing by the Apple store down in Costa Mesa this weekend....

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Am I going to have to be the one guy to come to the defense of Don't-Call-Me-Hootie? I mean, I could never STAND Hootie and the Blowfish, hated every single one of their records, didn't care for the whole golf-playin' thing. And I don't like those Burger King commercials, either. But I've heard so many people call this Don't-Call-Me-Hootie's "Billy Squier Moment" that I feel compelled to point a few things out.

In order to have a Billy Squier Moment, a few things have to be in place. The BSM, of course, comes from the music video Mr. Squier made where he kinda writhed around in a sexually ambiguous manner and in one shot wrecked his career. (The fact that his music sucked didn't help, either) Here's what you need for a BSM:

1. You have to have an active career.
2. You have to be riding fairly high at the time.
3. You have to produce a cringe-inducing piece of work.
4. Said work must be unintentionally lame.

Here's Don't-Call-Me-Hootie's checklist:

1. Not really an active career. When was the last time there was a Hootie album on the charts? (Don't ask me- I haven't looked)
2. Not riding high. No hits for quite some time. Fallen off the map.
3. Check. Burger King commercials are cringeworthy.
4. Nope- these are intended to be stupid, goofy, campy. At no point is it likely that the people involved, from Don't-Call-Me-Hootie on down, operated under the delusion that these commercials were anything more than intentionally strange and surreal. By contrast, you just KNOW that everyone at the label and in the studio assured Billy Squier that the makeup and flowing blouse were perfect, that the whole production was really sexy and would sell millions of records. That the entire world, upon seeing the finished product, was repulsed should have been foreseen but wasn't. Don't-Call-Me-Hootie's spot, on the other hand, at worst just got people feeling sorry for Don't-Call-Me-Hootie, like "poor guy must REALLY be hard up for money."

And maybe he is. Or maybe he thought it would just be some harmless goofball thing to do for a few bucks, which, truth be told, it is. It isn't like he's selling an image down the river- Billy Squier had tried to cultivate a raw real-man rocker image and flushed it all away, while Don't-Call-Me-Hootie was always kinda goofy and bland from the start. There's no artistic integrity to lose.

So I feel sorry for Don't-Call-Me-Hootie as he gets hammered by people who should really just lighten up. It's just a stupid commercial, not a career killer. He already did that with his music.

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Paul Henning died.

This man is speechless:

OK, maybe he isn't.

Henning was responsible for the sometimes sublime "Beverly Hillbillies," the less sublime "Petticoat Junction," and, critically, as Jay Sommers' executive producer and shepherd, the ultrasublime "Green Acres," a show that is funnier and more surreal and cooler than you think it is.

Thanks, Paul. Say hi to Mr. Haney for us.