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Well, whaddya know...it's 2007 and we're still here.

Count that as a victory. Happy new year.

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I know, it's a day late, two days, really, so why not go all the way back to New Year's Eve 1978 for memories of when Dick Clark could count the seconds down with the best of 'em- that's right, it's "New Year's Rockin' Eve '78"!:

Robert Hegyes! Who wouldn't want to spend New Year's Eve with Juan Epstein? And to think, "New Year's Rockin' Eve '78" was probably Robert Hegyes' career highlight outside of "Kotter." (Okay, he did 50 episodes of "Cagney and Lacey," but still.) Whatever happened to Robert? Click here.

And with Robert you got Suzanne Somers at the height of Suzanne Somers-mania, Andy Gibb at the height of Andy Gibb-mania, Crystal Gayle at the... well, Crystal Gayle, K.C. and the Soon To Be Passe Sunshine Band, Johnny Rivers- Johnny Rivers?- and the Ohio Players, doing "Fire," of course. This year, you got Christina Aguilera in a jacket with fur billowing out of the collar, Rascal Flatts butchering "Life Is A Highway," Ryan Seacrest in full Ryan Seacrest mode, and the Dickster giving it another shot. Maybe they should just replay the 1978 show from here on out.

Back to '78, the day after New Year's featured this CBS lineup:

Can we focus on the Cotton Bowl Parade for a second? Hosts: Ironside, Willona from "Good Times," and mimes. Mimes! They had mimes describing the parade! Who thought that was a good idea? Did a CBS executive say "hey, those Shields and Yarnell kids have a show on the network- let's use them!" and nobody in the room told him "um, they work mute"?

Oh, and in the Cotton Bowl, Notre Dame blew Texas out of the stadium. The Notre Dame squad was quarterbacked by some kid named Montana and outrushed the Longhorns despite the presence in the Texas backfield of one Earl Campbell.

I don't remember any of it, to be honest with you.

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It's January, which means one thing in my life. Okay, there's an estimated tax payment, too, but one thing that impacts on my life in a major way. And by that, of course, I mean the annual flood of well-meaning folks into the health clubs and gyms of America, signing up with every intention that this will be the year they hit the cardio room and weights every day... or at least three times a week... well, a lot. This, in turn, means that for at least the first couple of months of the year, the weight room is crowded with newbies, fumbling around with the free weights and Smith machine, using the circuit machines as resting places, just plain getting in the way.

For those of us who hit the gym all year round, it's a temporary but very real annoyance. You want to be welcoming, you want to be tolerant, you want to offer support to the newcomers- after all, we've all been there before- but, damn, it slows everything down. I want to lift, but the weights are being played with by an eager guy in a designer ball cap and new gym shoes who's determined to get that six pack so maybe his girlfriend will be in the mood a little bit more. I want to use the chest press and lat pull machines, but some older folks are sitting on them, taking a breather from, er, taking a breather. The locker room is more crowded, and there's a particular stench of sweat from people who haven't sweated much until now. The parking lot's more crowded, too. The whole experience is annoying.

But then you remember how this goes, every single year. January's a horror, February, too, but by the middle of March, you notice that the place is empty on Fridays. Then Wednesdays get more sparsely attended, and by April, it's back to normal, with a slight uptick when school lets out in June. And it's back to the regulars, back to tolerable.

Is it March yet?

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All Access' The Letter is back, and today's looks forward to 2007, sort of:

And... we're back.

Next week: I dunno. For now, though, happy new year and welcome back.

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I don't have a lot of time, so here's, er, this:

April 30, 1980. It was a very different world.

"The face on every newsstand"? I don't recall any newsstands filled with magazines sporting the beaming face of Jimmy McNichol, but maybe... nah.

The guest list is epic: Conrad Bain (singing "Louisville Lou")! Jeff Conaway (singing "City Boy")! Magic Johnson (Not singing!)! Donna Pescow! Gymnast Kurt Thomas! Special guest stars Kristy McNichol- gee, how'd they get HER?- duetting with Jimmy for "Blame It On The Boogie"! And Ricky Schroder singing "Yankee Doodle Dandy"! Plus Jeff Kutash's Dancin' Machine! And everyone singing "New York, New York"! This special isn't mentioned on his IMDB profile- it's not hard to understand why.

It's another show begging to show up on YouTube. No such luck. Someone work on that, please.

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Once again, the greatest invention of our age is this, added to this.

Here's why: it's Saturday afternoon and Fran's trying on clothes at a store in Long Beach. I'm there, too. Disaster? No. All I had to do is pull out my phone, fire up Sling Player Mobile, tune to NBC HD, and voila: there's Adam Vinatieri kicking a field goal. Fran gets to do what she needs to do, and I can still see the playoff game.

Can the wheel do that? Huh? I think not.

That's the future of the media, of course- whatever content you want, whenever you want it, wherever you want it. If I had to be in a women's clothing store this afternoon, or Pier One looking for chair cushions after that, or a restaurant this evening, or wherever whenever, at least I could remotely watch a football game, live, without toting around a portable TV. The same gadget that got me the game can bring me streaming audio, e-mail, web access, time-wasting games, word processing, spreadsheets, instant messaging, a full calendar/datebook, and, oh, yeah, phone calls and text messaging, all with a full QWERTY keyboard. And it fits in my pocket.

And the devices can only get smaller, faster, cheaper, and better. Meanwhile, I can take Fran shopping and watch Peyton Manning survive another week at the same time. Is this a great time or what?

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They'd damn sure better play a better brand of football than they did today if they have a prayer against New Orleans next week- you hope that it was just a case of playing down to the level of your competition, or that they just didn't have any corners tall enough to counter Burress- and it was way too close, but...

...we'll take it.

E-A-G-L-E-S-EAGLES!!!!

(whew...)

(And was that one of the lousiest playoff games yet or what? How do you make a closely-fought NFL playoff game in the rain dull?)

(And somewhere, Martin Gramatica is on the phone to Jerry Jones complaining that if they'd gotten HIM a personal holder instead of sticking him with Tony Romo...)

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I didn't grow up with college football, which may be why I don't much care whether OSU or Florida win. In the part of the mid-Atlantic roughly bounded by, say, Fairfield County, CT to the north and Delaware to the south and inland to about Harrisburg, with the occasional aberration of this year's Rutgers run, people don't really follow college ball too closely. New York doesn't really have a local team- Syracuse is the de facto college football team there (I remember alumni buying time on a noncommercial FM to air the games). Some people in Philly care about Penn State, but not that many. College basketball is another story. As early as I can remember, I was watching college and pro basketball on TV, the Saturday syndicated games, the Seton Hall games from Walsh Gym, the Big 5 and St. John's and Rutgers from the old College Avenue gym with the wall on one side of the court. But football? That was Sunday, that was the Giants and Eagles and Jets and Packers and Raiders. Saturday was for hoops, or for "Soccer Made In Germany" with the incomparable Toby Charles. College games never figured into the equation.

Of course, I married into the University of Miami penal football institution, so I made it to the Rose Bowl a few years ago. But other than that, I don't know as much about the college game as I do about the pros. I'm trying to learn, however. And watching tonight means I'll have some questions, such as "is 'Electrifying' Ted Ginn Jr.'s legal first name? Because the announcers can't stop calling him "The Electrifying Ted Ginn Jr." Even injured, they think he's electrifying. After the opening kickoff, I'll take their word for it. And they're paying a lot of attention to his stomping around on the sidelines waiting to get back in the game.

Apparently, Florida is stomping all over the Buckeyes, which will make things interesting if you ask anyone in Boise or at USC what's up. Doesn't matter much to me. Maybe if I'd bet on the game....

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You want an iPhone? Who doesn't?

Well, me, at least for now. It just isn't quite the phone I'd want for six hundred dollars. The screen is cool, no doubt about it- widescreen, touch-sensitive. The iPod capabilities are cool. OS X and Safari and push mail- nice. The widgets and Google Maps thing aren't critical, but they're nice to have. And it's thin and Apple cool-looking and plays videos in widescreen and has Wi-Fi and Bluetooth 2.0. It's beautiful and if it's anything like other Apple products, it's probably more useable than my chunkier Treo and the wheel-burdened Q and Blackjack. So, what's not to like (besides the price)?

Cingular. Cingular EDGE. Dealbreaker.

If you want me to buy a smartphone- and I'm the target audience for a smartphone, because I use mine to do work all the time- the thing has to do EVDO or 3G. It has to be high-speed. If you're offering a phone for productivity, and you put it on the slow EDGE network, it's not a good match.

That being said, it'll sell a zillion. And when it's available with EVDO speed on Sprint someday in the future, I'll buy one as fast as they can put it together.

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Too tired to write tonight. Let's turn on the TV. What's on?:

Doesn't he look like he's about to projectile vomit all over the carpet? And here, he looks a tad worried:

As well he should.

By the way, how distracting is that waving flag graphic in the upper left of the screen? Or the huge bar on the bottom? Or the "Moving Forward" graphic- since when do presidential speeches have titles?

Still beats CNN, though. Although this coverage sums things up nicely:

Even I know what Mas Tropas means.

But I'm bored- what else is on?

There's this:

Not sure what's going on there, though. I am sure about this:

It's a Jerry Springer knockoff in Spanish! Not tonight, I have a headache:

How about channel 22?:

Spanish-language show with outrageous Arab stereotypes- check out the fake nose. Is CAIR aware of this?

I didn't even know we get this one:

Nothing on it, though, so even the Air Force seems caught unaware. There's gotta be SOMETHING on...

Aaaaaaahhhhh. Much better.

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This was another long day, leaving me no time, so I'll just give you what I heard Opie and Anthony playing at the very begining of my day, about 4 am, someone's brilliant distillation of "CSI: Miami" into a seven minute procession of David Caruso's opening one-liners. You'll want to take your sunglasses off in a meaningful way, and you'll hear Roger Daltrey scream in the deepest recesses of your consciousness for the next month, but it's worth the risk:

Brilliant.

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This week's headache-tinged, hastily-dashed-off edition of the All Access newsletter once again takes a dip into the future:

This week was great for a technogeek like me. Between CES (huge HDTVs!) and MacWorld (some phone thing), there was news galore about all sorts of cool whiz-bang new geegaws and doohickeys that look really amazing and totally desirable until I remember this: most of what you get on them is the same old garbage, only in digital, which means you can see every line on David Caruso's face. That doesn't bother the kind of people who develop these devices and go to the conventions, because they're also the kind of people who would rather watch an hour-long close up of Rosie O'Donnell's armpit if it's in HD than watch "The Godfather" if it isn't. Meanwhile, so far, much of the revolution in Internet "user-generated content" involves blurry video of exploding soda bottles and guys getting hit in the groinal region. As entertaining as that can be (for thirty seconds at a time, at least), I'm hoping for something better.

Next week: More inane ramblings. But it's digital, so it's better.

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Oh, well.

This was, of course, way further than the Eagles were supposed to get. And the came within three points, losing with the help of a few questionable calls and a nearly total inability to stop Deuce McAllister. Reggie Bush, they stopped. The passing game, they stopped. But Deuce, nah. And the offensive line wasn't able to hold off the Saints long enough for Garcia to get untracked, or, with the exception of Westbrook's long touchdown run, to open any holes for the running game. So it's over.

And, in a way, it makes life easier. I don't have to schedule things around the games anymore. It's freeing, realli, it is. And if this seems like gross rationalization by a loser, well, yeah, it is, but it's all we got.

Congratulations to Saints fans, who I hope will remember this fondly when Tom Benson moves the team away in a few years.

And, no, I don't know why they punted on 4th and 15 with time running out and the season on the line.

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From January 15, 1974:

The debut. Note Fonzie's cloth coat, before the network relented and allowed him to wear (brown!) leather. (ABC must have had a good feeling about the show, considering the full-page ad; two days before, the Super Bowl didn't even rate a single ad. But, then again, back in those years, the Super Bowl had a half-hour pre-game show and that's it)

THe early episodes of "Happy Days" were the best, before the show devolved into a catchphrase-and-ham-acting festival. In fact, the early episodes were low-key, wistful, not terribly funny but not meant to be a laff riot. Fonzie, despite the coat, was still slightly menacing, Potsie not yet defined as stupid, Ralph not the wanna-be comedian. Richie still had a brother, Chachi didnt exist, and Ted McGinley wasn't anywhere in sight. There was no hint that the show would be home to a screeching laugh track, Leather Tuscadero, and "Big Al." It wasn't great, but it wasn't bad.

Of course, the catchphrases and broad characters are what made it huge. Doesn't mean I have to like it.

It's kinda surprising that the show was a mid-season replacement, debuting two days after the Super Bowl, but that's what it was, a spinoff of a "Love, American Style" segment. Every once in a while, I still see it on TV Land or WGN, and, for the most part, it's hard to imagine that it was all that popular (especially in the later, Richie's-off-in-Greenland years). But back then, it was what we watched.

On the other hand, all that was on against it was "Adam-12" and "Maude." What choice did we have?

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Yeah, we saw tonight's "24" early. We've seen, um, "the scene."

SPOILER ALERT: STOP RIGHT HERE IF YOU HAVEN'T SEEN IT YET AND INTEND TO SEE IT.
























I SAID, IF YOU HAVEN'T SEEN IT YET, STOP, WATCH IT, THEN COME BACK!




















REALLY! I'M SERIOUS!


























AH, WHATEVER. DO WHAT YOU WANT.




Okay, still here? You might say we've come a long way when what caused mass protest and consternation when ABC aired "The Day After" in 1983 is just a part of a regular, popular TV show 24 years later. Or you can have the same reaction that I did: it's fiction. The mushroom cloud over Newhall doesn't even look remotely real. Is a nuclear explosion a possibility? Of course. But we can be thankful that Newhall is, last I checked, still intact. Santa Clarita and Stevenson Ranch are OK as well. Jack Bauer is a fictional character, and so is Chloe O'Brien and so are the terrorists who went nuclear and are promising four more. I'm pretty sure most folks with a functioning brain can figure that out on their own.

Or maybe not. ABC News has this report that posits how the show's depiction of terrorists gone nuclear is somehow a problem that critics are saying could cause the public to lose perspective and, I don't know, look for Middle Eastern people to lynch. But when you actually read the article further, ABC's deep investigation of the "controversy" found a grand total of one guy, a left-leaning college professor, who has a problem with the show.

One guy.

What's the problem, then?

Oh, right, "24" is not on ABC.

Anyway, I kinda liked the first four hours of this season. Yeah, there were plenty of preachy moments involving the government's overzealous actions against citizens, but they were counterbalanced by the inclusion of the fact that, well, there are terrorists among the public (including Kumar, who must have been converted to terrorism after seeing Neil Patrick Harris act butch at the Cherry Hill White Castle) and they do want to kill us. Jack's killing folks left and right (including a friend who, well, he had to kill but who wasn't necessarily wrong), Chloe's still snippy, President Wayne Palmer's not as presidential as he needs to be, Peter MacNicol's new character is a little too cartoon-slimy, Buchanan is a steady leader at CTU and married to Karen Hayes (which means he's guaranteed not to survive the season), Dr. Bashir from DS9 does a good job as a cooperative terrorist of questionable motives, and you can still sometimes figure out who's going to die by seeing who's listed as a "guest star" and who's listed in the main cast.

Hooked again. Damn you, Fox.

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I've been listening to some of the old Jean Shepherd tapes lately- there's a podcast that serves up a ton of old shows that you can find on iTunes by searching the podcast directory for "The Brass Figlagee"- and the ones I keep going back to are, oddly enough, the oldest, from January 1953, when he was finishing up a brief run at KYW in Philadelphia. He was in Philly for just a couple of years, between stints in Cincinnati and a few years before his fateful move to WOR in New York, where the Jean Shepherd of legend became a nightly fixture. At KYW, Shep did a late-night show live from the Penn Sheraton Hotel at 39th and Chestnut (picture here), and it was like a prototype for the more familiar WOR shows, but that's not what's most fascinating to me, even though it IS interesting (he goes on at length about the old days of radio, too- also cool, also not what grabs my attention). What's most interesting to me is this: the tapes were obviously recorded some distance from Philadelphia, live over the air, and there's static and the signal fades, but there's also the sound of splash from other stations, and at times you can almost make out a tune, a voice, some identifying sounds.

That's what interests me- those other stations. What were they? Maybe New York or Toronto on 1050, or some other station closer to wherever the recording was made? What was that song? Who was that voice? I want to know, because while the tape of Shep is not only the oldest show tape in existence from his early days on the radio, the sounds from the other stations may very well be the only remaining evidence of the programming of those other stations, too, and that's where my imagination kicks in. Most non-network radio shows went out over the air and ceased to exist in those days. Few shows were taped, fewer kept. And those moments of other stations fading over KYW- could those be someone's father or grandfather, a voice unheard for many decades, the last, the only example of that person's voice?

On the "CSI" shows, there's always a sound and video tech in the lab who can isolate and amplify sounds from a taped cacophony and pull up a clear, unmistakeable sound. In real life, it's a lot harder to do. I'd love to take the KYW shows and see what else was in the ether while Shep was doing his show on a stage in the Penn Sheraton's Town Room. There really isn't much local radio remaining to hear from those days.

Well, almost. You can always go to ReelRadio.com and check out clips like this one from a 1952 Bob and Ray WNBC special about the station's first 30 years. On the same page, there's Alan Freed on WINS in 1955, and elsewhere on the site you'll find Freed at WJW in 1954, Dewey Phillips on WHBQ in 1955, a bunch of clips from St. Louis in 1955... no, they don't make 'em like that anymore. And, if you're like me, it leaves you wanting to hear more. I'm grateful for what's out there, but it just makes me want to know what else was on at the same time.

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I'm busy and not in the mood to write any more than I have to, so, from Lawton, OK-Wichita Falls, TX, circa 1975, ladies and gentlemen, I give you the improbably named news anchor...

Hugh Johnson!

That's some Hugh Johnson. I imagine that Hugh G. Rection was working in Dallas by then.

Dude rocked a hell of a suit there, too. You could walk out the door in that suit with that tie in 1975 and you looked only marginally more ridiculous than anyone else. Remember, people were wearing powder blue polyester leisure suits and Qiana shirts back then.

Plus, I prefer my news delivered by dour middle-aged guys giving me the evil eye.

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Tragic news in the papers doesn't really hit you until someone you know is involved.

I saw a story about a woman killed in an attack by al Qaeda insurgents on a convoy in Baghdad, and the name of the deceased was familiar. Too familiar.

Andi Parhamovich was a spokesperson for Air America Radio, and in my dealings with her, she was unfailingly responsive, helpful, and honest, even as the network was going through trying times and the management was less than forthcoming. And then, last Fall, she quit. When she let me know she'd be leaving, I asked her where she was going, and she told me that she was going to work for a democracy-building organization in Iraq. She was excited about it. After filling her in on Fran's progress, I wished her all the best, and that was the last exchange I had with Andi.

And now, she's gone. She wasn't there to fight. She wasn't there to hurt anybody. She was there to help, and now, she's gone.

Damn, damn, damn. It feels like a stomach punch.

I didn't know Andi beyond phone and e-mail conversations, but I still feel sick right now. War is an abstraction until someone you know is in it. No matter whether you support or reject the war, there's that human cost, reminding us that life, and death, and war are all horribly, extremely, tragically unfair.

Thanks, Andi. May you find peace wherever you go.

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This week's All Access newsletter was inspired, in part, by going onto the web to get some information about a show and finding nothing. What, you don't want anyone to know you exist?:

Yeah, I know it's late again. I spent several hours trying to find some inspiration, several more writing a long piece about that Sacramento water-retention contest disaster, about 30 seconds deciding that I wasn't saying anything you didn't already know, and finally gave up and moved on to write up some news items for the Net News section. And it was while looking for background information on some shows that something dawned on me.

One more thing: I want to just send my condolences to the family and friends of Andi Parhamovich, who was one of Air America Radio's spokespeople and a friend of All Access before she left to join a civilian organization working to help develop democracy in Iraq, where she died when her convoy was ambushed by insurgents earlier this week. She went to Iraq because she was all about making the world a better place. She did.

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We were out all day, and it was while in the Valley this evening looking at all the people out for dinner on Ventura Boulevard that I realized I was in an unaccustomed situation- that is, I was out of the house on a Saturday night. Why, Saturday nights are for watching TV and going to bed early! What was I thinking?

But I'm safely back at the house and it's 11 pm, so I'd better head for bed, lest I turn into more of a pumpkin than I already am. Back to the usual hermit lifestyle and general misanthropy tomorrow.

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I was watching Game 3 of the 1969 World Series with my friend John, who happens to be a huge Mets fan and somehow acquired tapes of the whole series. I'm not a Mets fan, but I remember that series vividly, and I loved watching the old coverage, which included a pre-game show with Jim Simpson talking to Sandy Koufax (!) and Mickey Mantle (!), all in yellow blazers on a garish "mod" set in UltraSaturated UnnaturalColor (TM), then some raw footage of Tony Kubek interviewing fans on that subway station entrance platform in right field (with one young Noo Yawk girl answering every question with "certainly" in a hilariously thick accent), then badly chromakeyed Curt Gowdy and Lindsey Nelson previewing the game (with parts of their heads missing, chromakeyed out of vision), and then the game. Jim Palmer didn't have it and Tommie Agee had a game for the ages while Gary Gentry started the shutout and Nolan Ryan finished it.

And that reminded us of Gary Gentry. Gentry was supposed to be another star for the Mets- someone on the NBC telecast said that they expected him to be right up there with Seaver and Koosman within a couple of years- but he flamed out quickly, gone after a few seasons and finishing with Atlanta. What we both remembered- and what got reinforced by Gowdy and Nelson- was that nobody ever called Gary Gentry "Gary Gentry." It was always "Young Gary Gentry." "Young" was his broadcaster-given first name. "Young Gary Gentry" was on the mound, the Mets had high hopes for "Young Gary Gentry," another strikeout for "Young Gary Gentry." He hd just turned 23 when he pitched for the Mets in the Series in '69. He WAS "Young Gary Gentry."

And when Lindsey Nelson said "Young Gary Gentry" for the hundredth time, something dawned on me. "Hey, John," I said. "'Young Gary Gentry' is 60 years old."

And Tommie Agee is dead. So are Donn Clendenon and Pat Dobson and Cal Koonce and Tug McGraw and Elrod Hendricks and Mark Belanger and Chico Salmon. Dave McNally's gone, too, and Jim Hardin and Marcelino Lopez.

Yeah, we felt old. But it could have been worse.

While we're waxing nostalgic, here's the 1969 Mets yearbook page with Gentry's picture and bio:

Gentry was the pick to be a star. I haevn't figured out whatever happened to him after baseball- other than a brief mention on someone's blog about buying cigarettes in Arizona, there's been no mention of his whereabouts (although there are plenty of other people named Gary Gentry). The other guy? Discarded at the end of the year, fobbed off on Kansas City for Joe Foy. He ended up just being a five-time All-Star. He'll be 60 on April 26. Time flies when you're, um, getting old.

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January 4, 1978, ABC burns off a busted sketch-comedy pilot:

"That Thing On ABC"- self-consciously "wacky" "alternative" comedy title. Some established network guest stars- Bill Bixby, Cheryl Ladd, John Ritter, Henny Youngman (!), John Cameron Swayze (!!). And a bunch of unknowns in a comedy troupe. Unlike a lot of these shows, a few of the unknowns actually became knowns: Andrea Martin, Shelley Long, Marsha Warfield, Mandy Patinkin. Also Judy Carter, Denny Evans, Will Porter, and Deborah Zon, who remained unknown. You can assume this show was terrible:

...sketches that include a sendup of Bigfoot sightings, a takeoff on the movie "The Exorcist," and a spoof incorporating a beauty contest, the energy crisis and impersonations of Groucho Marx.

And that's why it was a busted pilot.

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Your DVR allows you to watch what you want, when you want it.

Life negates that.

We couldn't watch "24" when it aired this week. No problem- set the recorder for KTTV, 9 pm Monday. And it recorded, so I looked forward to watching tonight.

And then I was listening to a particular radio show, and without so much as a spoiler warning, one of the hosts spilled the surprise element of the episode's plot. I didn't want to know it, but that's too bad. Other people knew, and they'll make sure you do, too. At least on the Net, people put spoiler space in before they discuss this stuff. On radio? No such manners.

I don't want to have to avoid all contact with other humans before I have time to watch the damn show. And I can't walk around all day with my fingers in my ears screaming "NA NA NA NA NA NA NA NA I CAN'T HEAR YOU!" I'm not sure HOW to handle this. Maybe I shouldn't bother watching TV anymore. It's just too much trouble.

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We were eating dinner in San Pedro tonight, and the TVs were showing the NHL All-Star Game. I hadn't planned on watching it, but there it was, and my eyes occasionally redirected towards the sets, primarily because I'll watch almost anything on a flat panel in HD.

"So," Fran said, trying to draw my attention back to her, "who's good? What players would I want to watch?"

"Hm?"

"Players. In the game. The hockey game."

"Oh. Um, well, there's, ah, Sidney Crosby, he's kinda who the league wants to be the next Gretzky. And... and..." And that's when I realized how little I've been paying attention since the strike. I couldn't come up with names, and I was looking right at the All-Star Game. Teemu Selanne scored, a local star, no less, and I couldn't say his name. Alexander Ovechkin was on the screen, and I blanked. Thornton, Shanahan, Sakic- nothing. I couldn't even think of any Flyers to mention, although that's more because they suck- I know Gagne's there, and his first name's our last, but it just wasn't coming to me.

And I just... don't... care.

The transition is complete. And it feels good. Having sworn off the sport, I no longer have to occupy space in my brain for it. The old stuff's there- deep in the recesses of my mind, guys like Dave Keon and Tim Horton and Dave Schultz are skating on rinks without ads on the dashers, and somewhere in there, the California Golden Seals are still sporting Charlie Finley green and gold. I still remember teams long gone- the Michigan Stags, the Denver Spurs, the Jersey Knights. But nothing new. I don't even pause for the Kings and Ducks games on TV. Don't care. No time to care. Got baseball, basketball, football, a little soccer- that's more than I need. Something had to give, and hockey volunteered to take the bullet. And I don't miss it.

I used to like every sport- I followed everything, and I was proud of it. I knew other guys who were one-sport guys- football all year, or baseball- and I'd think they were lame. Now, I think they knew something I didn't: life's too damn short to waste on frivolous pursuits. You know, if I stopped following ALL sports, I'd have more time to spend on more important, life-enriching things....

But football and baseball and hoops are essential. I may be feeling a little smarter for dropping hockey, but I ain't crazy.

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Unexpected late delays, running behind, no time. Nothing today. Sorry. I'll do better tomorrow.

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This week's All Access "The Letter" came out of my inability to write this week's All Access "The Letter":

Ever since I made the transition from programming radio stations to writing about radio, I've become intimately acquainted with the concept of writer's block. I get nailed with that from time to time, and I've developed some procedures to follow when it hits, namely a) aimlessly surfing the Net for a while, b) consuming several large movie-sized boxes of Raisinets, c) going over to Borders and paging through books about coping with writer's block, and d) silently weeping into a pint of Newcastle Brown Ale. None of these work, mind you, but at least I have my methods.

And we're done for this week. Next week: maybe something about the Super Bowl. Or I'll be eating a lot more Raisinets. Or both.

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Gee, while I'd really like to regale you with more magic, I've been out all day and just got back, it's 11 pm Saturday night... Gotta go. See you tomorrow. Really.

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