June 2006 Archives

My local papers are on the block. It's a daily in an affluent suburban area plus a twice-weekly in an incredibly affluent area and a weekly in the beach towns, and there's little local competition- no daily, a weak weekly heavy on entertainment news, no local radio, cable divided among a few different systems. It should be a gold mine, but Copley's managed to get far less from these properties than you'd expect.

Who'll be the new owner? There aren't a lot of candidates. Tribune can't- it owns the Times, and besides the antitrust considerations, the Times is in enough trouble. Gannett? Too far from any other Gannett papers, although it IS possible. McClatchy? Too small, and they'll be digesting Knight Ridder for a while. Lee? Not enough growth potential. Cox? Owns the cable system in Palos Verdes and they don't appear to be in the market for more papers anymore. Media General? Buying TV, not papers.

Nope, it's down to Dean Singleton and Freedom, and Freedom seems more interested in Orange County proper than anything nearby, so it's all up to Singleton. Judging by the papers he owns in the area- the Daily News, Long Beach Press-Telegram, the Pasadena-Whittier-San Gabriel Valley papers- he'd strip the Breeze until it's a vessel for "repurposed" Daily News stories, canned features, and classified ads. Journalism would not be Job One. The Palos Verdes 2x-weekly would probably go the way of the old San Pedro News-Pilot: one page a few times a week in a zoned Breeze. We'd be down to precious little local news in the paper, and, combined with little coverage from local cable and practically none from the Times or local radio and TV (unless someone gets killed or into a high-speed chase), that would mean a substantial population with, for all intents and purposes, no local news.

It doesn't have to be this way, and if someone with a vision buys the papers, perhaps it won't. Herewith, humbly, may I submit some things any sharp buyer of the Daily Breeze, Palos Verdes Peninsula News, and Beach Reporter should know before walking through the door on Torrance Boulevard:

1. The reason the Breeze's circulation is so anemic is because it's barely a local paper. Count the number of purely local stories. It has gotten better in the last year or so, but the paper is still filled with national and international news, stuff from the sister/parent paper in San Diego (including editorials- it's disconcerting to go down to San Diego, pick up a U-T, read it, come home, and, a few days later, read the same editorial, published as if it came from the local editorial board)... in other words, stuff you can get anywhere else. Both the Breeze and the PV News seem to think that just running a lot of prep sports articles in the sports section's plenty enough local news- just paste a picture of sunset off Redondo on the front page or a kid licking an ice cream cone on the Strand and you're all good. You're not. Give people something local that they can't get elsewhere- that means ANYTHING local- and they'll subscribe. Don't, and you get what you have now- most people don't get it, because you can brush through the whole thing in 3 minutes or less.

2. In the same vein, get local columnists. The current star columnist in the Breeze- the ONLY local columnist- doesn't even live here. And he fills at least one column a week with reader e-mails (they write FOR him), and the rest with the kind of wishy-washy old-fart 50s liberal stuff that went out of style 40 years ago. Lots of befuddled "these kids today" stuff that appeals to the same folks who still read "Blondie." Get younger, get relevant, get local.

3. You are not buying a newspaper. Get out of that mindset. You are buying a news gathering and reporting infrastructure. The press and distribution model is doomed, but you can't look at what you're buying as locked into that sheaf of newsprint that someone is forever trying to stick into my face when I walk into Ralphs, offering a low-price trial as if there's anyone in town who isn't aware what's in that paper. You know the future is online, sure, but don't stop there. There's no local TV? Give reporters video cameras and make your own newscast. But that's not what a paper does? Ask WDEL in Wilmington, Delaware what it is, and "AM radio station" is now only part of it- because Delaware has no local commercial TV newscast, they started their own- you can get it as a podcast, too- and it's pretty damn impressive, and they're making money with it. No local radio? Create an audio newscast, podcast it, loop it and stream it. Newspaper, website, online streaming audio, video- there should not be a limit on what you do with the material you generate. THAT'S the real future.

4. While you still feel the need to print a hard copy version of the thing, make it more attractive, more fun, more readable. Think tabloid, not in reporting but in appearance. Or that Berliner size they use in the UK. It's 2006, and the papers look like it's 1973, even after last year's redesign. They're ugly and unwieldy. Go wild and use lots of color and modern design elements. Check out the tabloid versions of the "quality" UK papers, check out the Philadelphia Daily News, look at alt-weeklies. Don't just throw a stack of paper on my driveway at 4 am- give me something I'll be eager to look at, something FUN to look at.

5. More comics, please.

I know, of course, that what we'll probably get is the Dean Singleton strip job- incredibly thin paper, mostly canned stuff, a standardized, ugly tabloid entertainment insert ("U"), and, ultimately, something you get only when you're looking for a car or a job. But a guy can dream, can't he?

The time I would have spent writing was instead occupied with a sewer blockage.

Whose idea was it to buy a house? I miss complaining to the landlord.

This is what it's like to be a Philly sports fan:

The Phillies: I don't have to explain how bad it's gotten.

The Eagles: Not on the way up.

The Sixers: The A.I. era's sputtering to a conclusion with one Finals appearance to show for it. Semi-rebuilding with no clear plan. Rodney Carney? Inconsistent, great athlete, will sit behind Iguodala. Lottery bound again.

The Flyers: There's still hockey? Sorry, hadn't noticed.

After the Myers incident, I had a fleeting- just fleeting- thought that maybe the Phillies didn't deserve my loyalty. That was the first time the thought had crossed my mind. Ever. I'm not saying I WOULD bail on a Philadelphia team, but, well, I thought about it, and after the way the management "handled" the situation, you can't blame me. And if I bail on the Phils, it would be easy to bail on the Igs and Sixers, too. I can't- not yet- but I feel like those Detroit Lions fans who eBayed their loyalty to the highest bidder.

Who would I root for if not for the Philly teams? Haven't gotten to that point yet. Not saying I will. No longer saying it's impossible. Thanks, Dave Montgomery, Charlie Manuel, Pat Gillick, Brett Myers et al. You may drive me into the arms of- perish the thought- the Dodgers after all.

This longish weekend coming up cannot come soon enough for me. I have nothing left in the tank. Writing today was like pulling teeth- I never did get The Letter done (it'll have to wait until tomorrow), and I spent too much time staring at the screen. Plus there was the entertainment of searching several locations in the hospital for my sunglasses, which turned up (after a long search) under my car seat- after disgustedly driving off in full squint, I heard a familiar rattle, and there they were.

On the bright side, I'm physically exhausted.

OK, that's not the bright side. The bright side is that the Phillies didn't lose today. (Rained out, but we have to take whatever we can get)

I know, I'm completely dry. Maybe I'll get it together in time for tomorrow.

Patterico cancelled his L.A. Times subscription over the report on the government's bank tracking to keep tabs on terrorists. It made me consider whether I ought to dump my subscription, too, as much because I don't really like the paper in general as for the report.

I decided that, no, I'll keep the subscription. Why? Here's a list of the reasons why I keep taking the Times even though it drives me crazy:

1. I can read the sports and comics over lunch. Much easier than setting up the laptop on the kitchen table.

2. "Get Fuzzy" and "Pearls Before Swine." And "Lio." Sure, I can read them online, but it's easier on paper. (The first two are also in the other paper we get, the Daily Breeze)

3. You can't crumble up a T.J. Simers column online.

4. Coupons, coupons, coupons.

5. Er... that's it.

And that's more than for the Daily Breeze, to which we subscribe because, well, it's the local paper. Not that there's much local news in it. The only "local" columnist doesn't even live in the South Bay and writes pap about light topics and national news when he's not filling at least one column a week with reader e-mail. And the editorials on national topics are actually editorials from its sister paper in San Diego. The thing's worthless and useless, but we have a sort of blind loyalty to it because it's ours. Too bad it sucks.

But I have no doubt that at some point we'll just cut back to the Sunday paper (for the coupons) and maybe all the way. And that's because the papers are giving me no strong reason for me to bother buying them. Great writing? Not anymore- the Times has columnists like Steve Lopez, who appears to be rewriting the same faux "man o' the (mostly homeless) people" columns he wrote for the Philadelphia Inquirer, a bunch of predictable op-ed writers, an even more predictable lean to the left in news coverage, and nothing else that I can't get elsewhere. The Daily Breeze can be read in its entirety in 2 minutes, less if you skip the wire stories you've already seen online. In 2006, I expect more for my 50 cents. I expect things I can't get otherwise. Forget about the encroachment of new media and the explosion of "citizen journalists" for a moment- just give me a reason to buy your paper.

Is that too much to ask? And can you blame me if I follow Patterico out the door?

I'm tired and worked all day, so I'm going to make things easy on myself with a brief review of "Glory Road," which we watched last night on DVD. Here goes: if you've seen any sports movie where the plucky underdog eventually triumphs, you've seen this one. Written by Script-O-Matic, includes the obligatory montage of wins (with newspaper headlines galore), the obligatory scene where something terrible happens that brings the team together, the obligatory home crisis, and the obligatory radio-announcer-is-for-some-reason-being-broadcast-over-the-PA-in-the-arena scenes. It's okay, but, really, they couldn't pack more cliches into a couple of hours if they tried. And, really, it wasn't necessary to fudge the timeline to make it seem as though Coach Haskins was coaching a girls' high school team one year and winning the NCAAs the next, because that's not what happened.

And why was there no actual footage of the real games included as extras on the DVD? Was someone too cheap to license the footage? (There IS footage, because I've seen it)

Glad I didn't waste any money seeing it in the theater. Now, if you'lll excuse me, "Entourage" is coming on in a few minutes...

Beautiful day for a stroll today, so we did that in Redondo Beach, where they were having a street fair. And one of the booths was selling books, but a special kind of books for children. These were books that, according to the sign draped in the back, teach "self-esteem" and "diversity" and "tolerance" and other attributes everyone wants for their children, because every parent wants to raise a potential victim.

I checked out the catalog. They have books about...

1. Defining "beautiful" ("Maybe somebody is beautiful because she or he has something which we can't see, hear, or feel right away... maybe somebody who is peaceful is beautiful"). Inner beauty, blah blah blah. True dat, except that there ARE people who are not beautiful. This book urges kids to find the beauty in everyone. Kids need to know right away that some things, and some people are pretty damn ugly. Certainly, the kid punching your teeth to the back of your throat isn't beautiful.

2. Defining "funny." Uh oh. It's all about "sensitivity and awareness in children's humor." Listen, kids are cruel. And so are adults. Life is cruel. Besides, "sensitivity and awareness" means you end up with no humor at all. You have a child protected from "cruel" humor and that kid will grow up to be an unhappy adult who doesn't laugh much and listens to "A Prairie Home Companion." And maybe writes "sensitive and aware" children's books.

3. Defining "right." And here's the money quote: "Maybe what is right for us is not right for our neighbor. Maybe what is right for us is not right for other people or not right in other places." It's never too early to inculcate a sense of moral relativism in kiddies. Maybe they'll all grow up to be very tolerant of the people who plan to kill them. Besides, I believe the sentiments expressed in this book were better stated in a previous form:

Now, the world don't move to the beat of just one drum,
What might be right for you, may not be right for some.
A man is born, he's a man of means.
Then along come two, they got nothing but their jeans.

But they got, Diff'rent Strokes.
It takes, Diff'rent Strokes.
It takes, Diff'rent Strokes to move the world.

Yes, it does.

4. Defining "love." This one talks about "that big inside rainbow feeling of Live for someone who has a different skin color than you do...." Okay, but instead of calling the book "What is Love?", it would have been more accurate to call it "What is Multiculturalism, And How Can We Slip It Into The Curriculum?" Nothing particularly wrong with it, but truth in advertising is always preferred.

5. Defining "death." Hey, kids, you've been on this Earth for only a few years- time to learn about checking out! And it's okay! Here, try it!

6. Defining "God." Yeah, all the same. You could probably write this one yourself.

The gentlemen selling the books- one appeared to be the author- were gentle souls with a penchant for the hard sell. They were really working the crowd, practically shoving the books into people's hands, and seemingly selling a good number of books. I expect a bumper crop of kids getting their asses kicked but good in Redondo in about 5 years.

And that's life. I was a fairly sensitive, non-violent, understanding, intelligent child. I got beaten up on a regular basis. Childhood, for me, sucked. But I learned valuable lessons that have made me a reasonably well-adjusted and successful adult, namely:

1. There's lots of ugliness in the world. Not everything is "beautiful." That goes for the bullies, and it also goes for appearance. Yes, kids, face it: inner beauty is wonderful, and necessary, but you don't want to have sex with someone who resembles something you saw on an Aminal Planet special. Or maybe you do.

2. Racism and sexism and other intolerance are not proper sources for humor, except when they are. Turns out it's possible to laugh at taboo jokes- and at other people- and not be a racist/sexist/bad person, because we all do.

3. Turns out some things ARE just plain "right." Turns out that just because someone else may not agree doesn't mean that you're not right. Turns out that, say, murdering innocent civilians is "wrong" and the terrorist/insurgent/"freedom fighters" idea that it's "right" is wrong. Turns out that not everything is relative.

4. Kids, no book can tell you what "love" is. You'll know it when you feel it. Although you'll probably be wrong the first four or five times. Someone tell that to the girl in Michigan who thinks she's in love with the Middle Eastern MySpace guy.

5. Everybody dies. Thinking about it when you're a kid just sucks. There'll be plenty of time for that when you're older. In fact, it'll become a dominant theme of much of adulthood.

6. Your own God is the real one. Everyone else's is just plain weird. This goes for whatever religion you're in. Makes it all a lot less complicated.

Maybe I should write some children's books. Seems like a lucrative racket.

You're a fan of a team. Someone on that team allegedly does something unforgivable. He also happens to be an important member of the squad.

Do you root for him? Stop rooting for him? Push for him to be traded?

I'd hope it would be easier because the team, at the moment, sucks and is getting suckier. But no.

This is what being an Oakland Raiders fan must be like.

I guess we can wait until the court rules on this before declaring anything one way or the other about Brett Myers. And you gotta hope it's not true. But, dude, no, bad, really bad.

And the 2006 baseball season can't end fast enough. 2006 can't end fast enough.

Yeah, I did feel guilty when they scored on a penalty kick.

And it did strike me during the second half that there is something profoundly unpatriotic about rooting against your own country in a soccer match.

But then I realized that there is nothing MORE American than what I was doing. See, I was rooting for Ghana because I have Ghana in a World Cup pool, and I'm in the lead but needed to make up for early disappointment from Croatia to maintain the lead. Ghana was my last pick, the "best of what's left" pick, and with this win they move on to the round of 16.

And I may win this round of the pool from it.

Capitalism in action. It was in my best financial interest for Ghana to win.

God bless America.

This week's "The Letter" newsletter for All Access subscribers addressed something that's always bothered me about the radio industry. Here 'tis:

Here's one for the producers out there.

Next Week: I'm not sure, but considering the call I just got from the mechanic telling me what fixing my car is gonna cost, there's a good chance it'll involve me being irritated and complaining about busted engine temperature sensors and misaligned wheels. Excuse me while I go sell some blood to pay for it.

I would write something today except that I just wasted two hours making it all the way to downtown LA before remembering I'd left something important at home, meaning that I had to turn around and fight rush hour traffic all the way back.

I'm not in a good mood right now.

The scene: this afternoon, at the Trader Joe's on PCH in Torrance, queued up at the checkout stand. A woman, probably in her mid-60s, is ahead of me, her purchases all rung up, her credit card in hand. She stares at the little LCD screen.

CASHIER: You swipe the card.

WOMAN (holding card, uncertain): Swipe. I swiped. Did I swipe?

CASHIER: Try it again, ma'am.

WOMAN (violently swiping the card): Oh. (she takes the stylus and stares at the screen for a short time, then uncertainly stabs at the screen in random spots)

CASHIER: You sign. Sign it right there.

WOMAN: What? Oh.

CASHIER: Right on the screen.

WOMAN (slowly signing with her left hand): I'm signing.

CASHIER: Now click on the "OK" button.

WOMAN: What?

CASHIER: The...

WOMAN: Oh! (stabs at button) You know, at Walgreen's, they don't make you sign.

CASHIER (quizzically): Sorry?

WOMAN: At Walgreen's. They don't make you sign if the purchase is $25. or less.

CASHIER: Oh.

WOMAN: They don't make you sign. At Walgreen's.

CASHIER: Well, we do. (glances at me, smiles apologetically) I guess some places do it differently.

WOMAN: But they don't make you sign at Walgreen's.

CASHIER (clearly at end of rope): This isn't Walgreen's.

WOMAN: They don't make you sign there. (She takes cart and walks away)

The moral: They don't make you sign for credit purchases under $25. at Walgreen's, and this is very, very important to some people. And whatever checkout line I pick at Trader Joe's, I always end up waiting forever to get out of there.

From the hit video "Buncha Old Guys Playin' Tennis in Boca," it's a couple of screen shots of my dad, the late, great Harold Simon:

Action!:

And in a consultative mood- he's the guy on the right:

I miss you, Dad. Happy Father's Day.

This week's movie review: "The Da Vinci Code."

I absolutely LOVED the air conditioning at the Regal Avenue 13. The temperature was just right for a hot June day in Southern California. The seating was, in a word, superb- comfortable, plenty of leg room, and many empty seats between us and other patrons, leading to a quiet, irritation-free experience (except for the occasional feedback from one gentleman's hearing aid).

A comic highlight of the afternoon was when the theater played a promotional announcement for a theatrical showing of a Korn concert film, seeing as how the only people in the auditorium under the age of 60 were Fran and myself, and we appeared to be the only two people there who know who Korn is. Another interesting development was the playing of a trailer for "The Omen," despite the film having been in theaters since, yes, 6-6-06- 11 days late, several dollars short. We did not sample the popcorn or other treats offered by Regal Cinemas (at great expense, of course), but the overall moviegoing experience was remarkably incident-free.

The movie? Eh.

As the weekend looms and the weather remains hot in that drains-all-energy-out-of-you way, I kinda feel I left it all on the field this week. I'm tired as hell. But I will mention one thing that I heard on the radio that annoyed me. It's this: if you're going to talk about a topic that's a few days old and that every other show's already beaten into the ground, willya just TRY to have something unique and fresh and different to say about it? I heard one show this afternoon bring up yesterday's Bush-makes-fun-of-a-blind-guy story, and all they did was to say "hey, didja hear that...", then they played the clip, then they chortled and kinda did the ha-ha-what-an-idiot thing, and then, er, that was it.

It is not too much to ask that you at least put in a little effort to find stuff that's current and about which you HAVE SOMETHING TO SAY. If a host is too damn lazy to come up with something different, and his producer doesn't care, and the PD doesn't care, that's just a waste. And if the listeners don't care, they'll get what they deserve. But I think that listeners DO care, and they'll bail on a show that doesn't bother to work for their loyalty.

Imagine if you're a diligent, talented, hard-working, unemployed host, or toiling away in a small market looking for a break, and you hear some national satellite show just mindlessly blowing through topics with absolutely nothing to say. That's gotta hurt.

Here's some unsolicited advice for satellite radio, in this case XM: if you're going to have local traffic reports, will you PLEASE hire traffic reporters who can correctly pronounce local roads the way locals pronounce them?

I had to drive up to Fairfax this evening and dutifully turned on XM's Los Angeles traffic channel. And both on the way there and on the way back, I heard traffic reporters butcher some road names: guys, "Las Virgenes" is pronounced "Lahs VERGE-uh-niss." not "lohs ver-HAY-niss" or "lohs verge-EE-niss." And, yes, we say "the" before freeway numbers, but a) we don't emphasize it, as in "THE... 405," and b) there is no such road as "THE... 1." Route 1 is called PCH. Or Sepulveda or Lincoln, depending on where you are. But it's not a freeway, so it's not "The 1."

Back in my day, when we had to crank the transmitter by hand and we used tin cans and string- none of that pussy microphone crap for us- traffic services made sure their staff knew all the local quirky pronunciations and customs. It was just smart business as well as courtesy- you wanted traffic to sound like it was being reported by people who knew the roads. Nowadays, who the hell knows where these reporters are? And it does matter- I found myself distracted, and it took a little time to figure out what they meant when they mispronounced a name or mislabeled a road. (And those taped, repeated reports are also an insult- while XM was telling me that the 110 was slowed down to 35 mph between the 405 and "the 1," I found it relatively empty and going at full speed. The report was very dated. Considering the road has speed sensors and you can get up-to-the-minute numbers on several web sites, the taped reports in the 7 pm hour- if they were taped, which is the only excuse I can think of for the inaccuracy- were useless)

You offer local traffic? Great. Now, make it accurate and make it coherent and understandable or I'll go back to waiting for KFWB "traffic on the ones." Thank you.

We finally got around to buying a VHS-DVD recorder to get some of the zillions of videocassettes we've accumulated over the decades onto disc, so I've been going through the unlabeled VHS tapes to see what's on them. Most of it has been old "X Files" or "CSI" or "South Park" episodes we'd time-shifted, nothing to put on DVD.

And then I found Mom and Dad.

I knew we had our wedding tape- a grainy tape one of the attendees had made with a VHS camcorder 16 years ago. And that's the only video of my Mom. She passed away four years later, but on the tape she's smiling and youthful and damn, I miss her. I put it on disc for us, made one for my sister, made a couple just in case. Gotta preserve that.

But I didn't know we had another tape. This one was from a few years ago, made with a shaky hand and a lack of mastery of the zoom function, but it shows a quartet of Boca seniors playing doubles tennis. And one of the four looks familiar- the cap perched oddly atop his head, the gait starting slow and then picking up in a fist-pumping hustle, the little wave on the way to getting a ball that went long.

I last saw Dad play tennis about three years ago, in that interim period after the diagnosis but before the mesothelioma seized control and took his tennis away, took what he most loved to do away. But on the video, there he is, happy doing his favorite activity. I've been saddened since his death that I didn't get more of him on tape- we always assumed there'd be time, but the illness accelerated to a condition in which we wouldn't want to remember him. Playing tennis? Yeah, I prefer that. And now we have it, and we can put it on DVD and make lots of copies so we and my sister can keep his memory- the good memory, the memory nearly obliterated by his late pain and the legal wrangling after his passing- alive. Nobody could take the good memories away, and now they're just a little more vivid.

This week's All Access "The Letter" newsletter is about one thing that struck me at the Talkers convention:

This weekend in New York, I had one of the great experiences of my life, one of those moments that puts your whole career and life in perspective. At that moment, I gained the kind of enlightenment about the industry and about life that is all too rare these days.

Next week: How New York pizza rules the Earth. Or New York bagels. Or those New York "Chinese cookies" with the dollop of chocolate in the middle. Or something else.

This year's Talkers convention turned out to be a lot less painful than past conventions, because I didn't pay a lot of attention to the panels. The panels were mostly the usual overcrowded discussions with the usual aimless arguments and stuff we can hear from the same people on their shows. The trick to these things, I discovered, is to not take what they say on the panels very seriously (well, except for one aspect, but I'm saving that for "The Letter"). You have to think of it as a talk radio social gathering. It didn't hurt that because of the rapid growth of "The Letter" and this blog plus the picture at All Access, a lot more people know who I am and recognized me. I can't hide anymore.

Not that I want to hide much; you get more beer if you actually show up for the parties. There was plenty of beer. Lots of good conversation, too, and it's nice to have the opportunity to meet in person people with whom you only have an e-mail relationship. I missed several people because there wasn't time to get to everything, and I had to turn down an awesome dinner invitation because I'd already arranged another awesome dinner engagement. And I even got a spectacular endorsement from ace talk radio consultant Holland Cooke in his speech. I could get a big head from... okay, a BIGGER head from all this attention.

The actual topics were the usual: general confusion over "FM Talk," debating over "women's talk" (including some great sniping between Daria Dolan and Grace Blazer, plus the added bonus of snarky heckling by Sally Jessy Raphael, who's shopping a show; if she does on the show what she did on the panel, I'd listen), typical headscratching over podcasting and satellite and "the future." There was the requisite panel of a bunch of hosts talking mostly abouyt stuff you can hear them say on their shows every day, a chill-inducing "God Bless America" from Ronan Tynan (everyone in this country should experience hearing him sing that close up and in person at least once), a rather odd and emotional speech by George Takei accepting the "Freedom of Speech Award" for Howard Stern, and cameo appearances by Jerry Springer AND Al Sharpton. And there was popcorn, since the lion's share of the festivities took place in a movie theater. I thought for a fleeting moment about drifting into "The Omen" or "The Da Vinci Code" in the adjacent theaters, just to say I did, but I refrained.

So, what did I learn? Not much. Just that it's best to treat the conventions as a party and a way to get reacquainted with folks you don't see more than once or twice a year. And it's best to try and ignore the content of the panels, lest your blood pressure rise even more than it does from the popcorn. But I'll make one exception, which I'll get to in "The Letter." Look for it in an e-mail inbox near you later this week. (And, yes, right here, too)

It was a breezy evening, the wind almost stiff coming off the Hudson, and the baseball field a block or so northwest of Ground Zero was buzzing as a team of pint-sized Phillies battled a kiddie A's squad. I watched for a few minutes, then walked to dinner along West Broadway up to Soho, browsing the shop windows and checking out the hipsters dining and drinking at any number of busy restaurants and bars. The sun was still out but casting long shadows across the street; the sidewalks were teeming with young people. A palpable buzz filled the air. All evening- a busy, trendy restaurant, a very cool little dessert place on a side street in the West Village, ducking into a great magazine store for a few minutes of browsing, even the E train back downtown- it felt comfortable, familiar, right to be in New York.

Once in a while, I imagine myself coming back east. Manhattan can do that to you on a night like this, when you feel more alive as part of the greatest city in the world.

And then I remember where I live now, and the New York state of mind passes. But for a few minutes tonight, it felt good to be back. Glad I got that out of my system. I'm ready to go home now.

I had a late night tonight at the talk radio convention. There was beer involved. I saw a lot of friends and nice people, many of whom noted that they read this thing, and I hate to disappoint them by dashing off a note saying I don't have the time or remaining active brain cells to write much more than this tonight, but, well, I don't have the time or remaining active brain cells to write much more than this tonight.

I think sleep would be the appropriate next step. It's pretty much all I'm capable of accomplishing at the moment.

Almost forgot to post this week's All Access "The Letter" weekly newsletter, and since the text version got screwed up, there's actually a good reason other than sheer laziness to do so. So...:

This week: learning from Allen Ludden, with a special guest appearance by Bert Convy.

Next week: I have no idea. Maybe something will happen at this weekend's convention. Or maybe I'll just dash off something stupid at the last minute as usual. Bet on the latter.

Another interminably long day, mostly involving travel. Up at 3:45, out the door by 4:30, airport by 5, flight at 7, landed at 3:30 Eastern, then an almost two hour cab ride to Manhattan and I'm worn out. Hate to lose a whole day like this, but that's how it works out. (The red eye is not an option- I did that to Florida for a while and it was worse) At least JetBlue has TV, but after the endless cycle of SportsCenter repeats and a whole bunch o' "Password" and "$10,000. Pyramid," your mind turns to Jell-O.

Which is what my mind is now. So I'm turning in. Remember, convention coverage starts Friday. I bet you already kinda know what I'm gonna write about that. (See last year's entries)

Travel tip: Don't.

Gotta pack, got work still to do before leaving, way too busy. Talk to you tomorrow.

Random late-night thoughts:

1. To the guy who squeezed the water out of his bathing suit onto my towel in the Torrance Y shower room today, thinking it was his- pay attention to where you put your towel, moron. Offer to go down to the first floor and get a fresh towel for the guy whose towel you just doused. And switching to Japanese and feigning inability to speak English doesn't wash when you appear to understand what people are yelling at you. Geez.

2. 6-6-06 is meaningless except as a stupid marketing ploy for a needless movie remake. They were skywriting it over Hollywood when I arrived at the ballpark tonight- guys, it's cheesy. Maybe it'll make a fortune- probably will- but it's way cheesy. Please, let us hear no more of this.

3. My World Cup pool teams: Argentina, Portugal, Croatia, Ghana. Not too bad. 'Course, now that I have them, they'll disappoint. (Not that Ghana has much disappointment room, but the other three... And now you know what some folks do in a baseball press box while the Mets are pounding Brett Tomko)

Enough for tonight.

All that hype for the "last episode of the season" (actually the middle episode of a season HBO greedily split in two) and we get a Soprano Family Christmas? You gotta be kiddin' me.

The episode set up fireworks that never came, except for an explosion that didn't kill Phil Leotardo. Christopher slept with, and did heroin with, Tony's unconsummated real estate slut, but Tony didn't whack him when he found out. The proposed Tony-Phil/Sack truce fell apart, but nothing happened except Phil ended up in the hospital with a heart attack. A.J. brought a Latina single mother home as his date for Christmas at mom and dad's house and bought her an expensive piece of jewelry- at the mall!- and Tony didn't get pissed off. The only Tony moment came with Dr. Useless, when he complained about Christopher and mused about his own screwed-up attraction to classy broads, but it led to nothing. Even a scene with Uncle Forgotten and Bobby Bacala was a throwaway. Oh, and Tony was worried that Carm would hire a private eye to look for Adriana (whose mom lay in the hospital after self-inflicted wrist-slashing), so he had Silvio take care of the inspectors so that house she was building would be on again and she'd have something to do. Problem solved.

One future problem: the FBI agent tipped Tony that they'd heard the Sheepshead Bay guys talking about revenge against him. Just a heads-up. And now, if they DON'T whack Tony in the final eight episodes, it'll be yet another plot point that went nowhere. I didn't think I'd WANT to see Tony get it, but, hey, you hint it, you have to deliver it.

And it was all wrapped up in Thanksgiving and Christmas family gatherings. How very King Family.

On the other hand, at least the Vito story's over. Poor Johnnycakes. And we have until January to imagine colorful ways that Tony might get hit. Paulie Walnuts, with the lead pipe, in the Pork Store? Phil Leotardo, with the candlestick, in the Bada Bing? The feds, with the revolver, in the North Caldwell McMansion? We'll have to wait.

At least we'll have Johnny Drama to keep us company.

And now, the jinx is back.

This time, Fran was with me at the game, and the Phillies instantly fell behind while the Dodgers were taking batting practice against Eude Brito, in his first major league start (welcome to the bigs, kid! Hope you haven't sublet that apartment in Scranton yet). Meanwhile, the temperature started at 91 and probably hit "Broil" sometime around the fifth inning. We bailed in the seventh with the Dodgers up 8-0- we had much better things to do, like commune with the morons at Wal-Mart, including the woman with two kids and a basket stuffed full of stuff which she insisted the checker check for prices on an indivudual basis, then when all of it was checked out, then demanded that the whole purchase be voided and re-rung one at a time until it reached the amount she wanted to spend. (The cashier kept looking at me and whispering an apology)

It's evening now and still damn hot, so I'm gonna shut this thing down and try to cool off. You'd best do the same. (Tomorrow: last "Sopranos" for a while. Prepare yourself)

The answer: I guess not.

Phillies 8, Dodgers 6.

That's a relief.

I have been advised by experts- OK, my friend Joe- that my presence at Dodger Stadium when the Phillies are in town guarantees a loss by the Phightin's, and therefore I should be barred from the ballpark.

Last night, he was right. 7-0.

I'll be there tonight. And tomorrow. Let's see if his theory holds up. (And, come to think of it, I can't recall ever being there when the Phils won...)

Will someone please explain to me why my neighborhood doesn't lose power during storms, but when it's 70, sunny, and light winds, bam, the electricity cuts off?

Twice today- TWICE- we lost the juice. No explanation, out for a few hours. No weather trouble, no construction accidents, it just... blew. I couldn't work, I couldn't do much of anything, and all I COULD do was sit there and forlornly look at the computer and the TV and wonder what life was like in the 1700s. Lord, am I pathetic.

On the bright side, the Phillies are in town to break my heart again. Off to the game....