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This week's edition of the All Access newsletter is intended as a ray of hope in an otherwise dark and gloomy night:

"I've had it."

Next week: I gotta write another one of these? Isn't it Christmas yet?

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We were at the Reagan Library in Simi Valley and I was waiting for Fran up front by the door, and there were menorahs. There were two small glass displays with menorahs given to President Reagan, and I was looking at them when an older woman spoke to me.

"Isn't it strange?"

Huh?

"Isn't it strange that these menorahs are up here?"

Strange? How so?

"Well, they're menorahs."

Yes, that's right. They certainly are menorahs. Is that a problem?

"Well... he wasn't Jewish."

So?

"So why are they up HERE?"

I don't see why not. Do YOU have some sort of... PROBLEM with that?

"It just doesn't seem... RIGHT." And she walked away.

I guess I don't look Jewish. The blond hair and blue eyes throw some people off. And it's been a long time since anti-Semitism paid me a visit. But I don't get out much these days.

The rest of the afternoon was pleasant, other than the male janitor who walked into an occupied ladies' room and refused to come out until security came over (and even then, he didn't seem to understand what the commotion was about). And after the menorah incident, there was one surefire way to fix things, to return to our roots: dinner at the best authentic Jewish deli in Southern California, Brent's in Northridge. Let that woman be anti-Semitic. It just leaves more kishka and brisket-on-rye and kasha varnishkes for us.

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So, what did I accomplish this weekend besides being subjected to anti-Semitic slurs and pervy janitors at the Reagan Library? Well, I shut off our satellite TV service, so that's something.

Why I ditched the Dish:

1. No more "distant networks." Because we live on the wrong side of a mountain and therefore can't get L.A. television over the air, we'd been permitted to get the New York ABC, CBS, NBC, and Fox affiliates. Add to that a Superstation package with New York's CW and My TV affiliates, and we effectively got New York TV across the board, handy for early viewing of prime time plus New York's always entertaining local news. Last week, because Dish Network got slapped with a permanent injunction, the Big 4 network affiliates fron New York disappeared here. No New York, no advantage over cable.

2. It didn't matter much, anyway. Between using the DVR and watching HDTV, in the past year we rarely sat down to watch prime time programming live anyway. We aren't missing anything anymore. Besides, while it was nice to have the extra shot at programming, if you miss a show there are ways to get it that didn't exist a few years ago.

3. Cost. Dish Network service for basic cable was a little cheaper than Cox Cable, but then HDTV came in. And we want HD. Cox charges an arm and a leg for HD service, nickel-and-diming you for the DVRs and the "tier" that adds ESPN and Discovery. Dish takes two arms and two legs, mostly in advance- you have to pay $199. up front for the right to lease an HD DVR, and if you want one for the second set, it's full price (oh, you can run a wire to the second set from the single DVR, but you won't get HD on that set). With Cox, it's zero up front. And if the box goes bad- and we've had two go bad- it's replaced gratis. Plus, we already had local channels and Internet service through them, so the wires were in place.

4. Channels. Other than the Superstations (which now pretty much all carry the same shows), ESPNU, and Fine Living, everything we'd ever watch is on Cox, too, for a similar price. The picture quality, now that Cox has most channels being delivered in both digital and analog form, is actually a little better than Dish. We're not missing anything. OK, we miss RFD-TV ("Big Joe's Polka Show"!) and the ability to watch cheesy Denver news, but that's it.

Really, though, the HDTV stuff's the key. Everyone is charging a lot for HD service- that's going to have to change- but requiring a big upfront expense for the receivers is just not going to work. Dish DOES have more HD channels, but a lot of them are useless, like the VOOM channels with endless repeats of movies I don't want to see. I'd like HGTV and Food Network and NFL Network and ESPN2 in HD, but I can wait for Cox to add them. I get ESPN, Discovery, TNT, Universal, and MHD, plus ABC, NBC, CBS, Fox, the CW, and PBS, and, of course, HBO and Showtime. That should take care of our needs for now.

Plus, this: we were subscribers to Dish for about a decade. I was determined to quit, but I was interested in hearing what kind of deals they'd cut to keep me as a subscriber, considering that I was in the top category of their subscriber base by their own measurement (high bills for long periods and every one paid on time). The result: no deal. Oh, they'd give me a hundred dollar rebate on the receiver lease, paid in ten dollar increments for ten months (in other words, an interest-free loan of a hundred bucks to them), but that's it, no other discounts, no second receiver break, nothing they don't offer everyone else. The CSR kept reading off a script trying to entice me with the many channels I'd be missing and the all-MPEG4 receiver technology and other things that weren't making a difference to me. They didn't put up much of a fight. That's in contrast with Sprint PCS, which reacted to a deal I'd gotten with another cell phone carrier by offering a great deal for me to stay, which I did. Sprint wants my business and wouldn't let me go until I was happy. Dish Network didn't really care. Goodbye, Charlie.

So I'm back in the embraces of the Evil Cable Empire, at least until Verizon FIOS comes to town (which can't happen soon enough). Now that I've rewired the TVs and relocated my Slingbox and have it working, I'm set. Now, I gotta go up on the roof and take down those stupid dishes.

Or I could leave them there and call them "art."

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By the way, did anyone see the Denver-Seattle football game tonight in HD? Was it as unwatchable were you were? On KNBC Los Angeles via Cox Cable (reception of KNSD San Diego wasn't good tonight), the macroblocking was worse than distracting. Any motion at all made the field look like a mosaic in shades of green; unless the players and camera were absolutely still, the video was a mess.

How does a network feed this stuff and not issue a public apology? If I hadn't seen well-produced HD before this, I'd think that HD was all hype. Horrible job. I don't know if it was better on stations that don't run bandwidth-wasters like KNBC does with Weather Plus on its second channel, but, really, that was awful. It came down to an exciting ending and a winning field goal with 4 seconds left, but all I could think about was how terrible the picture looked. They can do better, if they care.

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December 18, 1962:

I loved Mr. Magoo. I loved the Magoo of the UPA theatrical shorts and the Magoo of the lesser TV show with Waldo and Presley. I did not like "Mr. Magoo's Christmas Carol." The problem is encapsulated in the TV Guide "Close-Up" listing:

"The myopic comedian plays it straight in his portrayal of Ebenezer Scrooge...."

No, no, no. It's Mister Magoo! Mister Magoo doesn't "play it straight." Mister Magoo walks into walls, walks on beams being swung around a construction zone, mistakes a bear for his nephew. Mister Magoo does not have "a memorable score by Jule Styne and Bob Merrill."

Why did they do this?

I hated this special as a kid. I hate it still. Bah humbug, indeed.

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From 1962:

Kids today wouldn't understand, but View-Master, to those of us who grew up in the Sixties and Seventies, was our HDTV. It was our Internet. You got these little cardboard wheels with little slides in them, slipped them into the viewer, held it up to the light, peered in, and presto: 3-D color pictures. A little lever on the right side changed the picture, and there were plenty of different disk packages to buy- travelogues for everyplace, and stories and cartoons and all sorts of entertainment stuff. The latter had little scripts that showed through the little window between the eyepieces. They couldn't tell much of a story in a few slides, but seeing the Flintstones in 3-D, well, that was one hell of an experience for a kid like me who didn't have color TV until October 1971.

The second page of the ad shows off some of the travel options:

Italy! Mexico! France! California! New York! Philadelphia! Detroit!

Detroit?

Yeah, some of the View-Master stuff was of questionable value, but I looked at them all. And, truth be told, as low-tech as they were, if I had one here right now, I'd spend hours looking at the pictures, especially if they were vintage 1962. I'll bet there are a lot of fascinating scenes on those wheels that just aren't there anymore, even in Detroit.

Hey, whaddya know- they're still around!

And someone categorized all the vintage reels!

(Yeah, I looked on eBay. Tempting.)

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Sunday, March 13, 1966:

I remember watching Ted Mack and the Original Amateur Hour on Sunday afternoons back then, although I think I preferred "G.E. College Bowl" on NBC at the same time. (I was very, very young, in case I need a defense) Ted presided over a parade of bad operatic singers, baton twirlers, tap dancers, and the like. This installment had quite the lineup. Let's look at Google and see what happened to them...

(crickets)

Well, not quite. I did note the existence of the Ole Olson Trio in Veblen, South Dakota, which may or may not be THE Ole Olson Trio- "Ole Olson" is not an uncommon name out there. There was a gospel, not rock, group called the Stovall Singers that recorded a couple of singles, although I can't tell if this was them. And I did track down Rockie Smith- she was a dance teacher in Arkansas who died in 2002 and bequeathed an endowment for the arts at Mississippi State. But no "American Idol" action here, even if it pretty much was "American Idol," or at least "X Factor"/"America's Got Talent" without the three judges and the text message voting.

Wikipedia says Gladys Knight, Pat Boone, Teresa Brewer, The Rock and Roll Trio, and Raul Julia were among the winners over the years. Other sources say Paul Winchell and Teresa Brewer also started there. Actually, for a show that lasted from 1948 through 1970 (1934-46 on the radio with Major Bowes), that isn't a lot of breakout talent discovered there. For every Gladys Knight, there were a lot more Zucchi Twins. Unfortunately, as campy and fun as it sounds, the show was, er, boring. Ted was dull, the acts sucked but not so badly as to be fun to watch, and, well, you would have switched to the College Bowl, too. I'll wager that I did.

Later on Sunday, before Ed Sullivan, there was "My Favorite Martian," which I watched except for the opening credits, which scared the hell out of me. But that's another story.

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This week's "The Letter" All Access newsletter is all about why I just don't feel much like talking politics at the moment; after all, there are really important things to deal with, like, er, other stuff:

The holiday season is here, and that means the renewal of many traditions, not the least of which is going to holiday parties and telling people you're a forensic accountant. At least, that's what I ought to do. That way, I'd avoid another tradition, the predictable reactions when I say what business I'm in. All I need to do is say the words "talk radio" and I get:

Next week: I realize that I have to go get gift cards as tips for the postman, gardeners, trashmen, pool guy, the guy who cuts my hair, the Times carrier, the Daily Breeze carrier, and the guy who trims Ella the World's Most Famous Cat's toenails. What? What's going to be in the Letter? Who knows? I have other things on my mind.

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Long, frustrating day, so I'm gonna have to be short tonight. And the Sixers situation imploded tonight, so it's just not a night to write and think much, but the whole A.I. thing made me long for the good old days when point guards passed instead of shooting 35 or 40 times a night, when they played hard instead of blowing off practices and team functions, the days of guys like, well, like this:

I'll bet he kinda misses those days, too. Back then, all the problems came from the combustible forward out of Auburn....

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Today was taken up mostly by a matinee of "Casino Royale," which can be summed up as Text Message Bond. Really, there's text messaging galore in this thing. The code for destruction? Texted. Meeting arrangements? Texted. Martinis? Texted, not stirred. Okay, not the last one, but I haven't seen a plot as propelled by texting as this one. The race to make a movie about instant messaging is on. Throw in the change in the pivotal card game at the titular venue from baccarat in the book and original (parody) movie to- oy- Texas Hold 'Em and you've got a movie that will seem dated beyond words a few years from now.

That being said, Daniel Craig makes a good Bond- I'd agree with those who say he's the best since Connery- and there are plenty of scenes of places you'd want to go, plus a lot of absolutely absurd action (the first sequence after the credits, a race through a construction site, is positively Bugs Bunny-esque. It's everything you want in 007. And at matinee prices, what the hell, it's worth an afternoon.

Besides, no way in Hell was I gonna go see "Apocalypto."

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Ladies and gentleman, let's wrap up the weekend with, from the 1975-76 Philadelphia 76ers game program, the Worst Basketball Action Shot Ever:

If you can ignore the hair, note the defensive exertion of the UCLA guy- arms down, a look of mild concern on his face, no effort to, you know, play defense. The LaSalle guy appears not to know what to do with his right arm. Both are wearing long pants. Yes, this screams "authentic."

Authentic is, of course, that for which the advertiser, Mitchell and Ness, later became quite well known.

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You know I'm busy, bored, pressed for time, or tired when the scans break out again, and again, and again.

Like this from 1959:

It's the White Guys In Suits Film Festival! You look at this ad, you're watching every one of these. In suit and tie, naturally.

From 1966:

Dammit, woman! I want Durkee's Famous Sauce! That's the last time I warn you!

And you know it's good because it's "Zexty"!

And from 1979:

Leif Garrett, "The Hippest." "Actor! Singer! Sensation!" "One-of-a-kind superstar!" Brooke Shields, Marie Osmond, Flip Wilson, and Pink Lady.

Words fail. This HAS to be made available on DVD immediately.

Enough for now.

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What time is it? Late. So more random nostalgia and sarcasm.

Check out this 1964 ad for a Youngstown, OH TV station, with a young movie show host in a classy WFMJ sweatshirt:

Whatever happened to him? Oh, look, here he is:

He's one of Philadelphia's longest-lasting news anchors, first with channel 6 and now at channel 3- his whole story's here, and while they say he worked in Youngstown, the part where he's hosting movies is mercifully left out.

More "where were they then?", this time in the sports department from 1976 in St. Louis. Check out the outfits on these guys:

Dewayne Staats has been a major league announcer for a long time, most recently with the Tampa Bay Devil Rays and with the Astros, Cubs, Yankees, and nationally for ESPN before that. Here he is now, sans leisure suit:

He probably still has the leisure suit in the deepest recesses of his closet.

Al Hrabosky was, of course, at the time one of baseball's most notorious characters, the Mad Hungarian, and slid right into the broadcast booth upon retirement. He's been doing the Cardinals games since 1985:

Kinda the same, actually, just gray and without the mustache and beard.

In 1974, in Rochester, NY, you watched these guys or got your legs broken:

The third guy didn't get the memo to scowl for the camera. The others are auditioning for "Police Story."

Back then, in Buffalo, you watched bowling every night, whether you wanted to or not:

Every city had bowling on TV. Regular folks bowling for cash prizes. (In Boston, it ws "Candlepins for Cash." In most cities, there was at least "Bowling for Dollars") That was entertainment. And then, at some point, it all went away. DId the public all decide at the same time that they'd had enough? How did that work?

Finally, this inexplicable 1976 news ad:

Nobody does what? Drive one of those bike-drawn rickshaws in a trenchcoat? What were they thinking? Was that supposed to make people want to watch Newsbeat?

(Incidentally, Auble's still around. Ford retired in '05 after a long career anchoring on channels 5 and 2. I guess providing an on-call rickshaw business is a good way to make it in TV news.)

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In one 24 hour period, I heard my name mentioned twice on big-time radio- once on Deminski and Doyle's show on Live 97.1 Free FM/Detroit Tuesday afternoon and the other on Opie and Anthony's show this morning. This is important because it props up what's left of my fragile ego and makes me (mistakenly) think that I'm in some measure a mover, a shaker, a playa. In reality, it's slightly above getting your face on the video board at a ballgame when they scan the crowd or do the "Kiss Cam" thing. But I appreciate it, and I heartily encourage all radio and TV personalities to mention my full name, in a positive or at least neutral manner, of course, several times daily. Sure, you'll confuse the hell out of your listeners, but there'll be some powerful karmic credits coming to you for it. Extra credit for mentioning AllAccess.com, and eligibility for sainthood for plugging pmsimon.com.

And if it makes some pathetic wretch at the margins of show business feel like he's not entirely anonymous for a few seconds, who can argue with that? It's so charitable, it's practically tax-deductible.

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On a long day when I was the only person holding down the fort at All Access, what better way to end it than with a fond memory of one of the very worst moments in television history. February 4, 1978:

Part 2 of a two-parter. Rerun, a bootleg tape of a Doobie Brothers concert, a huge cassette recorder... if the entire band, Rerun, Dwayne, Raj, Dee, AND Shirley literally jumped over a shark at the end of the episode, you wouldn't have been surprised in the least.

Here's a recap of the hilarity.

And yes, it's on DVD. But that's OK, you don't need it. You need this and this, which came in the mail today.

The Dom Irrera bits are worth the entire price. Plus you get Dave Attell, pre-"Raymond" Ray Romano, and Louis C.K., more than enough to balance out Janeane Garofalo, Judy Tenuta, and Marc Maron. What a deal.

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The last "The Letter" of 2006 is about, er, being the last "The Letter" of 2006. Apologies for repeating the song lyric from an earlier post here, but it's a different audience ("It's new to you!"):

There's a song by a band called the Mountain Goats that Fran and I adopted as our theme for 2006. The refrain of the song is this line:

Next week? No Letter. Not until January. Until then, may you and your family have the best holiday season ever- after this year, I think we all deserve that.

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Nothing? Not even a scan? No comment on the Handel-White blowup or the Air America "letter of intent" or the Daily Breeze sale? Nothing on the lethal injection troubles and broken Wii straps and people getting sick at the Olive Garden? Nothing on Bob Barr going Libertarian, Miss USA's party problems, the end of FHM USA, the Duke accuser's baby, or Judith Regan's firing? No.

Look, I was the only All Access hand on deck for the last three days. All the news, all formats, plus my usual columns. And I still have to do it for several more days. Add a pounding sinus headache and a dead car battery, and ask yourself if you'd want to sit there and write some more at the end of the day.

You wouldn't. Talk to you tomorrow.

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Remember this? Remember how a card sent to someone in Australia ended up in my mailbox in California instead?

It happened again. In my mailbox today:

Etobicoke is a suburb of Toronto. I live in a suburb of Los Angeles.

It's not even on the way- Illinois to Toronto by way of Los Angeles?

Nobody noticed this along the way?

The United States Postal Service- who needs FedEx when you can get service like this?

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A coupla notes on the Eagles-Giants game:

Memo to Jeff Garcia: Look, all I'm saying is that if you don't want those rumors to float around, you probably don't want to be shown on national TV kissing Jeremiah Trotter in the helmet. You can date whichever Playmates you can find, but kiss a guy in high definition and people are gonna talk. Nothing wrong with whatever you want to do, of course, but if you're looking to dispel the kind of stuff T.O. says about you, you're probably better off with a handshake. Just sayin'.

Gotta give it up to the guys in the stands at the Meadowlands wearing Dawkins jerseys. That's showing guts out there. Not terribly bright, mind you, but gutsy, no doubt. Getting out of there without bruises should be interesting.

And remember when I wrote the Eagles off? When EVERYONE wrote them off? Perhaps we all misspoke. We did not figure into the calculation how profoundly sucky almost everyone in the NFC continues to be. And profoundly sucky they are. That a team with a porous run defense (although they made some nice stops on Tiki today) and a mistake-prone secondary that gives up big plays is not only still in the race but in good position for a wild card berth (and a division championship is still a real possibility!) is an indication that something is very, very, very wrong with the league.

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I could not be in a worse mood if Terrell Owens walked through the door and spit in my face, or Melo slapped me and then backpedaled 75 feet. That's what having to do the work that's normally handled by at least a dozen people will do to you, and having to do it for a whole week is no way to celebrate the holidays. I've had to cover everything- every format, the whole industry, every story- since last Tuesday evening, and I'm expecting my head to literally explode all over the keyboard any second now.

The good thing? After tomorrow night, it's over. It's someone else's responsibility. But for one more day, it's up at 4 am and write, write, write, call, call, call, e-mail, e-mail, e-mail all freakin' day. And people aren't really even aware that one guy is doing all of that, let alone beating the other trades on most stories. How did I end up with the short straw here?

Anyway, I've had it, and I still have a day to go before I can finally breathe again. Don't expect rainbows, lollipops, and elusive butterflies of love around here until I get past Tuesday.

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Here, to waste some space and time, is a publicity still from an unbelievably obscure summer replacement TV show from 1953, "The Wonderful John Acton":

To the left there is Harry Holcombe as the titular John acton, a County Clerk in a Kentucky town just after the First World War. And that's Virginia Dwyer as Julia Acton, and to the right it's Ian Martin as Uncle Terrence, and the little 10 year old kid playing John's grandson Kevin Acton, well... do you recognize him? Take a closer look:

Does he look at all familiar? Maybe a more recent photo would help:

Yes!

Remember, it's not too early to jump on the Walken In 2008 bandwagon!

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First day off in a long time, and what did I do?

A little work, of course. Broke a story. Nothing much else.

Maybe I'll post something more interesting later. Or not.

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Tonight's waste of time was the DVD of the fine Marky Mark (sans Funky Bunch)vehicle "Invincible," the story of NFL superstar Vince Papale, who wasn't, it turns out, a superstar at all. The movie was okay, although I think I liked it better when it was called "The Rookie." Or "Rocky." Or "The Rookie Meets Rocky," which is what I imagine the pitch meeting was like.

The plot is familiar to all E-A-G-L-E-S fans: a new coach (Greg Kinnear) takes over the Eagles and quickly proves his mettle by bursting into tears without provocation and also holding an open tryout at Veterans Stadium (a fine performance by Franklin Field), at which local impoverished barkeep Vince Papale (Marky Mark) impresses and eventually makes the squad (the non-Funky Bunch) while finding love with the Giants-fan sister (the one who plays J.D.'s pregnant girlfriend on "Scrubs") of the guy (some guy) who owns the bar (Itself). Much simulated football "action" and simulated Philadelphia accents (not all that close, although a lot closer than those Carl's Jr. ads) ensue. A loud soundtrack of not-always-appropriate seventies schlock passes for atmosphere. It's not exactly a steaming pile of excrement, but it's not anything you haven't seen before, except for maybe the sight of Marky Mark and Greg Kinnear slurping men's room sink water after tandem vomiting.

But it was a necessary thing. Fran had already picked out "The Breakup" at the video store. Hadda get some testosterone in there. Too bad there wasn't enough of it in "Invincible." Next time, we get a movie in which stuff blows up real good.

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The high school dudes were out in force at the gym today. School's out, of course, and the guys were hitting the weights and preening for each other's benefit, but at least they didn't get in my way much. As I was at my locker getting ready to hit the shower, however, a couple of tattooed teens had a conversation that went like this:

"Bitch supposed to leave me a message."

"Bitch."

"Maybe she... Bitch left me a text."

"My bitch better be waitin' for me."

"Fuckin' bitch."

And then they returned to their classes at CalTech.

No, clearly, we're not dealing with rocket scientists here. But we ARE dealing with the future of the world.

Kids today....

I guess you can blame pop culture for this, but I'd be more interested in where the kids' parents have been while their kids have been learning how to treat women like dirt. Mom and Dad probably don't care, because they remember what it was like when THEY were 17 and by God they won't make THEIR kids conform to blah blah blah. And so, we get a couple of suburban high school kids covered with back and neck tats and calling their girlfriends "bitches." Straight outta Torrance. And if you point out that they're behaving like misogynistic morons, YOU'RE the bad guy. You just don't get it. You're the old fart.

So I just don't get it. I don't think I want to.

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In light of yesterday's entry, it should be noted that I am licensed as a business in my town, and they have an interesting classification for what I do for a living. Here's the license:

And here's a closer look:

Ho, indeed. I DO work in an industry some would consider rather ho-ish. (It stands for Home Office, of course. But... ah, forget it.)

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Anyone- and this means you, Bill O'Reilly- who insists that Christmas is somehow under siege due to political correctness ought to spend this evening in the shoes of some poor sap who doesn't celebrate the holiday... someone like, say, me. This is what the secularized America of Christmas 2006 is like:

1) Everything's closed for business, and

2) There is absolutely nothing on TV other than Christmas stuff.

OK, Fox 11 is running the classic "I Love Lucy" episode in which Lucy and Ricky go on Freddy Fillmore's "Mr. And Mrs. Quiz," but otherwise there's "It's a Wonderful Life" and a rerun of a very special "7th Heaven" Christmas episode and, worst of all, channel 28 is running something called "The 47th Annual Los Angeles County Holiday Celebration," which appears to be a multicultural nightmare involving Christmas music and dance from Los Angeles County's many different ethnic communities, with the cumulative effect of the world's longest and most interminable elementary school holiday assembly. Even Food Network is in gingerbread mode. ESPN has football, but it's the Hawaii Bowl, which doesn't count as actual football, really. TBS doesn't start the "A Christmas Story" marathon until 8. This just sucks.

But don't allow my pain to get in the way of your Christmas pleasure. Have a great holiday, and be secure in the knowledge that Christmas continues to occupy its primary place in American life. Just remember that while you're opening presents and enjoying the blessings of family, somewhere, a Jewish guy is suffering through "Christmas With the Mormon Tabernacle Choir." (It's on channel 28 AND channel 50 tonight. Glad we have those "Dr. Katz" DVDs)

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Click the picture for a little belated (and extremely corny) holiday cheer, shot in fabulous low-definition Pocket Still Camera Video Crap-O-Vision:

(Or you can click here. Same thing. Whatever)

And Merry Christmas.

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Who knew that earthquakes in Asia would shut me up like that?

I have limited connectivity to my server in Taiwan. Let's hope this lasts for a while... I mean, let's hope I'm back soon...

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Okay, there we go, it's back. And my server's in Hong Kong, not Taiwan, but the quakes caused... ah, whatever, it's over now.

And I'm tired. I spent all day yesterday trying to get a friend's wi-fi network to work, then to cover enough of his house to reach the kids' rooms upstairs. I got the downstairs working, but even with a range extender, I'm having a hell of a time getting the upstairs wireless-G USB adapters to latch onto the network. The network's there- it shows up in the wireless network list, albeit a little weakly- but neither the supplied software nor Windows are grabbing on and logging in. Dunno why, but I'll figure it out. (It's a big house, so there's a lot of area to cover, but I'll make it work. I've promised the kids, so I will not walk away from it)

As a result, however, I'm pretty much shot, even a day later. And with a pretty impressive wind still blowing- it was so hard this morning that I had to cut my run short, because I was having trouble running against the tree-bending (and, in some cases, uprooting) wind- I think crawling into bed, pulling the covers up, and sleeping it off is a better idea than sitting here writing. So that's what I'll do.

One thing, though- at my friend's house yesterday, the kids were playing with what Santa brought them- a Wii. They were bowling and playing tennis and generally having a great time all day, and when we left late in the evening, they were still playing with it and jumping around. I'm not going to pay what the going rate is, but when the prices come back down to normal, damn, I gotta get me one o' them things. I think I could play tennis on that for hours myself.

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The big mall in our area recently opened its new wing. They took an old, decrepit wing of the mall- mostly empty for years, really empty since Montgomery Wards pulled out- and ripped it mostly down, rebuilding it into an upscale outdoor plaza geared towards trendy twenty-somethings. You know that's the target because it has stores like Anthropologie and Urban Outfitters and a Cohiba cigar lounge and a Lucky Strike bowling alley/bar. Also a nice local chainlet called Lazy Dog Cafe and an AMC 18 theater complex. It's been open for a couple of months, but we hadn't gone there until tonight. And we were surprised to kinda like it- the Lazy Dog food was good, they have a gelato and crepe joint that was quite good, and the atmosphere was less thuggish than we expected (that area of the mall was, before its transformation, best known for the regular presence of less savory sorts of people).

And there was a store that particularly caught our eye, something called Metropark, which is not the Amtrak/NJ Transit station near Iselin, NJ but rather the name of a chain of clothing stores that seems geared towards bringing Soho/Sliverlake fashion to your local mall. They're in several markets across the country- Vegas, Atlanta, even Freehold, NJ- and in several malls around here, but we'd not seen one until now.

So we went in, and it was, well, what I said- t-shirts and jackets and hats that your trendy 22 year old would wear, plus accessories- handbags, ties- and a few CDs and magazines and, seriously, a fridge full of Red Bull and designer water and energy drinks, with a safe alternasoundtrack (like the Killers) on the P.A. and young salesclerks roaming the floor decked out in the store's gear. Fran found a handbag that she really liked, and I found some great shirts that, if I spent more time at parties thrown by Young Hollywood- that is, if I were ever to be invited to a party thrown by Young Hollywood, which is unlikely given that Young Hollywood has no idea of my existence and would not invite me even if it did- I would wear in a heartbeat, all interesting patterns and designs and, shockingly, some were even in my size. We were actually having a good time browsing and noting that the store was, essentially, what Zipperhead on South Street in Philly would have grown up to be had it ever, er, grown up and gone a little more fashion-forward and moved into, say, King of Prussia mall, when a clerk sidled up and dropped the Big One:

"May I help you? Are you looking to buy a gift?"

A gift? A GIFT? For someone else, perhaps someone of "the right age"? What? Do we not look trendy enough? Are we not young enough? Do we look like old suburban farts who wouldn't know The Arcade Fire from the Partridge Family?

Er, well, yes. I mean, we don't dress trendy, we aren't young enough, and we don't look like people who would stray too far from maybe your classic rock station or maybe, in a generous mood, 93.1 Jack FM. But Fran was appalled and let the salesguy have it.

"It's for ourselves," she said, chuckling in that way that says you're not laughing out of amusement. "What, we don't look like we would shop here?"

The salesguy stammered something and slunk away, and we ended up buying Fran that trendy handbag, which I'm sure they still assumed was a gift for our daughter or niece or something. But it all reminded me how little I enjoy going into anyplace geared towards the young and trendy. At some point, I feel like I have to hand the sales clerk my resume: "Look! I've worked on radio and TV! I know famous people! I have the kind of indie and punk crap you find on Pitchfork Music and MySpace on my iPod! Please stop treating me as if I was your embarrassing father!" But it would be as pathetic as sneering "look, you stupid little whippersnappers, I was playing obscure punk on the radio before you were born!" It doesn't matter. All I am to them is some guy the same age as their fathers in a t-shirt and jeans, and Fran might as well be their mom.

And that shouldn't matter. Why should I care about what some retail clerk at the mall thinks of me? But on some level I do, because it reminds me of what I think of myself. I'm worried that I'll look in the mirror and think, geez, what an old dork. And I worry that, well, I AM an old dork. But I shouldn't worry. I should be embracing my old dorkishness. Am I an aging, boring suburban guy who drives a Volvo, watches football, and worries about the mortgage? Hell, yes! And there's nothing wrong with that! Power to the middle-aged boring suburban guys! The old dorks united will never be defeated!

Next time, maybe I should stick to the Sears end of the mall.

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"So," I was asked today, "what have you been up to for the holidays?"

Good question. My answer? Nothing much. Sleeping in a little. Watching movies. Working out. Shopping. Watching TV. A little work, a little visiting friends, reading a couple of books (Steven Levy's "The Perfect Thing" and Carl Hiaasen's "Nature Girl"). That's about it.

Perfect.

I needed some time like this. The critical element is time, namely having more of it and not watching the clock, not rushing through a workout or traffic to get back to work, not setting the alarm. I could easily get used to this.

But all good things come to an end, and by the end of the weekend I'll be back to the grind, back on the clock. It's my nature to spend part of my time off worrying that time off is running out. I'm entering that mode just about now. Consider this a bad mood warning. For the moment, however, I'm in a good place. I think I'll go back there now, if that's OK with you.

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On this, the penultimate day of the year of our Lord 2006, I:

1. Washed the cars.
2. Bought a chicken (cooked).

The sense of accomplishment is overwhelming.

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Yeah, we're staying in again. Would you go out on amateur night?

A year ago, we were in the midst of hellish uncertainty that got worse a few weeks later, and embarking on a medical odyssey for which we were only partially prepared. Tonight is a different story, and we're grateful for that. So, with less than six hours to go, we'll be planted on the couch in front of the big screen, watching movies and TV shows and maybe what's left of the Sixers, then perhaps we'll watch the morons waving at Ryan Seacrest at Times Square. And then it'll be 2007, and we'll keep moving forward.

Happy new year.

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