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Here's the game program for Super Bowl VIII:

Dolphins-Vikings, and that tells you who won right there. It was played January 13, 1974 in Houston, but not at the Astrodome- they used Rice Stadium, which had more seats. (Trivia- the Oilers didn't use the dome as their home field until the 1968 season. They started at Jeppesen Stadium (now Robertson Stadium) and used Rice Stadium in '65-'67 despite the dome's availability) The game was a boring blowout; the halftime show featured the University of Texas Band's salute to American music. You'd be forgiven for completely forgetting the game. I have.

But I'll never forget this:

Electric Football! The single worst game ever released. Absolute crap. And every single male child of the 60s and 70s had one. You lined up the plastic players, flipped the switch, and watched the players all slide randomly in 100 different directions. The ad says "the players move the way they do in the pro game," and, believe me, if that was true for that Super Bowl, I'd remember it. The ad also talks about how "you can control every movemebt of every one of the players with Tudor's all new Total Team ControlTM." That meant you set a little wheel at the base of each player, and ostensibly the player would do what you wanted him to do. Naturally, it never worked.

But you can still get one. Why you'd want it, I don't know. Misplaced nostalgia, I suppose.

Speaking of misplaced nostalgia:

Jean Shepherd did an essay on his New Jersey Public Television show years ago, talking about the strange penchant of New Jerseyans to have a ceramic Mexican stereotype and ceramic burro- "his native conveyance"- on their lawns. And he went on to wonder if in Mexican suburbs, lawns sported little ceramic New Jerseyans with THEIR native conveyance, the Dodge Dart.

Actually, the native conveyance of the 1970s New Jerseyan was the Dodge Dart Swinger, or the Chevy Camaro.

Speaking of the Camaro, here's a paragraph from its Wikipedia entry, exactly as it's written and spaced and punctuated on the page:

Starting in 1967 rumors were going around that Chevrolet had found something to challenge the Ford Mustang. On June 29 1966 the Camaro code named Panther was announced to news reporters, and by september 1966 they were reaching show rooms everywhere.Even though the Camaro was less boxy and drove better. But the Camaros sales were still incredibly less.

I have no problem with the idea of an open encyclopedia written by users. But I'd like it better if the users could use commas and apostrophes. Maybe they could even complete sentences once in a while.

Oh, yeah, the Dart wasn't a very good car.

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This week's All Access newsletter was dashed off between power failures, and reads like it:

The Letter this week is being pre-empted by technical difficulties.

Okay, time to send this before the battery runs out, which could be any second. Enjoy the Super Bowl.

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Got a bunch of e-mails complaining about my position on Electric Football yesterday and, in varying tones, informing me that a) I am an idiot and b) the game rules. I'll respond to everybody when I get some time, but the shorthand is: hey, if you like it, great, and I know people take it seriously and even modify the little plastic players to gain greater control and all that. Sorry, it was just not fun for me and it's still not all that appealing.

On the other hand, electronic football was great. This electronic football. You maneuvered a blip into the end zone. After playing for a while, you learned the patterns and could score pretty much at will, but it was still fun. And every once in a while, Mattel brings it back. Next time they do, I might just have to pick me up one o' those things.

After I get a Wii, of course.

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Oh, yeah, right, another one from the shelf- here's the program from Super Bowl X:

The Steelers- the ones where it seemed like every single player was a star- beat the Cowboys. More importantly, the halftime show was... Up With People. It was their first outing as the halftime entertainment, and they did it three more times. I don't have to explain Up With People to you, do I? Thanks. The show that Bicentennial year was "200 Years And Just A Baby." The program says that they sent a "cast" of 300 clean-cut automatons out there dancin' and singin' and burrowing their way into your heart, where they devoured your internal organs.

Oh, yeah, they're still around. But Super Bowl halftimes long ago morphed into something very, very different.

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Too lazy even to scan anything today.

We're going to take a Super Bowl break from watching what we eat- you can't do the Super Bowl without chili and beer. So that's what we'll be making, my mom's special recipe, beans and beef and beer in a heavenly combination, cooked all day so that it's perfect by game time... and the next day... and the next day.

No, you can't have any. It's all ours.

Anyway, here's where I'd give you my pick for the game tomorrow, except that I really don't care who wins. I can't work up a hatred for either team. In a way, I regret that a team I really hate- the Cowboys or Giants, for instance- isn't in the game so I'd have a rooting interest. But I didn't bet on the game, and I don't particularly dislike either the Bears or Colts, so I'll watch, but in that detached way that kinda puts a damper on things. Maybe the commercials will be good. Maybe someone will do something entertainingly stupid. Maybe I'll pay attention.

Maybe I'll have forgotten everything about the game by Sunday night.

=================

Oh, yeah, Fran is now officially a docent at the local nature center. She "graduated" today. I am intensely proud of her- it wasn't an easy course, and she's a star. That made it a very good day.

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Can we just get rid of all of the other commercials and the football stuff and Stevie Nicks and Cirque du Soleil and just have CBS play that Charlize Theron Dior commercial over and over?

'Course, with Sen. Ted Stevens (R-Bedrock)'s YouTubes, that's not necessary:

Thank you, technology.

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I'm not really live-blogging the game; while I'm still at the computer, I'll throw up some observations, but when the columns are done, it's off to the big screen plasma...

3:26 pm: Well, that didn't take long. You kick to Devin Hester, you take your chances. That's one less touchdown that Rex has to come up with.

3:30 pm: What's this thing with the players turning around when they're introduced? Do we need this to be "creative"? Just give the lineups.

3:34 pm: It's natural to be a little jittery out of the chute, but two false starts, a couple of near interceptions, and, finally, an actual interception is no way to start a Super Bowl. Memo to Manning:you're looking for Harrison, not Harris.

3:35 pm: First in-game commercials- stupid Bud Light rock-paper-scissors spot, mildly clever viewer-submitted Doritos spot. Nothing Super Bowl-memorable.

3:38 pm: Rex pitches one long into double coverage, lucky not to be intercepted. The Rex we've come to know and, er, love. Three and out after an interception. Yecch.

3:39 pm: Another unfunny Gaffigan/Black Sierra Mist spot, then another inexplicable SalesGenie.com spot, then yet another unfunny Gaffigan/Black Sierra Mist spot. Are those SalesGenie spots supposed to make us want to be like that smarmy Ken doll? If I'm a salesperson and I see those commercials depicting a top sales guy, I'm jumping off the Vincent Thomas Bridge. Gaffigan's a funny guy, Black a little irritating, but the Sierra Mist spots aren't selling me any soda. If I didn't know about the spots beforehand, i wouldn't remember what they were trying to sell.

3:47 pm: Manning hits a wide-open Wayne. Not a single Bear near him. But then they botch the snap on the extra point- the snap's OK but mishandled in the rain. Literally sloppy game so far.

3:48 pm: Toyota truck races through a closing gate and stops just before plummeting off a ramp. Like anyone would believe it can do that. FedEx in space: meh. Bud Light wedding gag- auctioneer officiates so everyone can damage their livers more quickly. Meh.

3:50 pm: This time, the Bears fumble on the kick return. Manning returns the favor with a horribly botched handoff that Manning thumped right into Addai's chest but Addai was being hit at the time. Next play, Jones takes it almost all the way. I hope the rain keeps falling and it gets really, really sloppy- there's nothing more entertaining than a Mud Bowl, except, perhaps, a Snow Bowl.

3:54 pm: A touchdown pass by Rex Grossman. Shock.

3:55 pm: Homoerotic Snickers commercial. Previously seen Schick commercial. Spot for the movie "Pride," which appears to be the heartwarming story of how a team of black swimmers beat a team of white swimmers. Promo for "Survivor: Fiji." It's raining harder. High-scoring, bad weather- I think I like this. After the kickoff, a musical Chevy commercial that did not make me want to buy a Chevy, a Carlos Mencia Bud Light commercial that did not make me want a Bud Light, a Grammys promo involving Justin Timberlake, and, finally, paydirt: a surprise promo with Letterman and Oprah watching the game. Short but effective.

4:00 pm: They're now showing the Reggie Wayne touchdown again. Why? That happened a long time ago- it wasn't even the last score.

4:04 pm: Another fumble. Punched loose by Sanders. Seriously, the messier and sloppier this gets, the more entertaining it'll be for anyone who doesn't have a horse in this race.

4:07 pm: Manning almost had Harrison, but a nice play knocked it loose. Bad neutral zone infraction by the Bears on the supsequent punt but not enough to give the Colts a shot at the field goal, and that's where the rain plays a part- they'd have given Vinatieri a shot if the weather wasn't a risk.

4:14 pm: First CBS-stars-in-the-stands sighting, and it's a bad one: David Spade, Patrick Warburton, and Oliver Hudson uncomfortably seated together in the rain, promoting their new, dire-looking sitcom. Warburton, I could buy as a football fan. Spade? Not in a million years.

4:15 pm: Go Daddy- more babes, although not enough of them and not good-looking enough. Old Coke ad, a take-off of GTA- they couldn't come up with a new one? How lame is that? Generic CBS promo selling that they're number one, as if anyone would care. You have "CSI"? You don't say!

4:22 pm: Colts settle for a field goal. A couple of plays that had no chance to go anywhere- lousy play-calling. Addai had no room.

4:23 pm: Budweiser dog commercial- sad dog joins parade. EVeryone but me seems to love the animal Bud spots. Stupid Garmin spot with "Mapzilla"- does nothing for me, but then again I never need a GPS and maps don't bother me. CBS Cares with Lovie and Dungy- er, OK. More Grammys- no, I don't care about the Police reunion. Hey, they're letting you watch all the ads online- like they're not already on YouTube.

4:28 pm: I'm hungry. Chili's simmering away, there are a few bottles of Shiner in the fridge, I'm ready. Career Builder's replacement for the monkeys is a lame jungle bit with people working in, er, the jungle. Another user-generated Doritos spot followed by a user-generated Chevy spot with guys taking their shirts off to clean a Chevy full of women- what we're seeing here is that the general public can crank out horrible spots just like the professionals.

4:34 pm: Rhodes rams it into the end zone. Much better drive.

4:35 pm: Okay, the Bud Light spot where the fist bump is replaced with a slap in the face made me laugh, even if the final, er, punch line wasn't all that funny. The one where a guy in a heart suit is attacked by bad guys labeled "diabetes," "high blood pressure," etc.- "beatyourrisk.com"- for King Pharmaceuticals was just stupid. And they still persist on trying to convince everyone that Prince is still relevant.

4:38 pm: The chili is definitely calling to me. Meanwhile, a GM spot with an assembly line robot dreaming that he got fired and was reduced to being one of those arrow-sign holders before jumping off a bridge was more depressing than funny- yeah, suicide's a great way to make me want to buy a Pontiac. Coke celebrates black history, as if it's not a marketing ploy.

4:46 pm: Movie promo: "Wild Hogs." "Connectile Dysfunction" ED parody for Sprint- good idea but weak execution- not as over-the-top as the real thing. Another spot for Sprint's useless NFL offerings. Promo for "How I Met Your Mother," which I wish was funnier than it is. Promo for "The Amazing Race All-Stars," which I'm sure will be good as far as reality shows go but which I will not watch. Simms criticizes the Bears' tackling- the Colts are starting to move the ball better, and Addai is picking up his game- and picking up the first down.

4:50 pm: Fletcher caught the ball but then, making his move, flat out dropped it. And on the very next play, Grossman fumbles and the Colts get it back. Rex just didn't grab the snap- it was there, he just missed it. We're back to sloppy. And we're back to the Colts moving it- Rhodes instantly runs for a first down.

4:53 pm: A spot lauding the black coaches, brought to you by the educational folks at Frito-Lay. Fritos... Frito pie... chili... mmmm. I'm going to bail shortly to eat.

4:55 pm: Old guy is inspired to run with the bulls by his first taste of Coke. David Spade is the spawn of Satan... a very fey, humor-impaired Satan.

4:56 pm: Vinatieri misses wide left. There's your half. Here comes my chili. I'll leave Prince to you.

5:38 pm: The chili? Spectacular, and I'm not just saying that because I made it (started at 10 am!) with a loving mixture of beef, beans, tomatoes, seasoning, and a bottle of Shiner Bock. The halftime? An oldies act with a fake crowd- typical. The game? Another Vinatieri field goal. Yawn. The rest? I'm gonna go watch it on the big TV. Work's about done. I'm about done.

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Second half- all the highlights involved Rex Grossman in one way or another, but that was all bad for Chicago. It's funny, they seemed to break off some nice gains on the ground, but insisted on passing, which isn't Mr. Grossman's strong suit right now.

I did, however, enjoy the rain, and the many empty seats as people who spent thousands of dollars to be here bailed early. That was particularly amusing from my seat in warm Southern California, with my perfect view on a widescreen plasma in HD.

And I did enjoy Tony Dungy and Jim Irsay crediting it all to being a good Christian team. Guess God hates the Bears, and no Jewish team will ever win the big game. That's instructive.

Okay, another week and a half and pitchers and catchers report to Clearwater. I'm ready for spring.

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It's intolerably cold over much of the country, so here's the game program from the coldest football game I've ever attended, way, way back in 1974:

There was nothing bigger for many years in Paterson, New Jersey than the annual Thanksgiving clash between the two high schools, Eastside- the same one that later becaame Joe Clark's "Lean On Me" setting- and Kennedy, originally Central. My dad, who served as principal of several schools in Paterson, was an Eastside grad. The games were played at a venerable but horribly worn venue called Hinchliffe Stadium, where my dad played baseball- he was Eastside's second four-letter man, after Larry Doby- and where, he told me that cold morning in 1974, he watched the Phillies' Del Ennis hit a homer into the Great Falls beyond the left field screen in an exhibition game. Hinchliffe was- is- a horseshoe in football configuration- baseball was crammed in so that the right field wall was a pop fly away, a lot like the L.A. Coliseum for Dodger games.

I haven't been able to find any accounts of what happened in that game- I don't remember who won. I do remember drinking steaming hot chocolate to keep warm and I remember the decrepit stadium and the crowd, which wasn't massive. By 1974, interest was already waning somewhat in football, with basketball ascendant at the two schools. But the Eastside-Kennedy game was once the main event, and here's a site with a taste of what it was like, including the contents of three vintage programs and some pictures of the place...

...which is still standing, barely. There have been stabs at renovating it, at making it a sports academy of some sort. I'd like that. It's where my dad reached his athletic apex, it's where I remember spending a morning of bonding with him over hot chocolate and football.

Plus, there's always this ad from the 1974 program:

"Good Times" premiered that Fall. By Thanksgiving, Jimmie Walker was already iconic. Sometimes, greatness IS recognized in its own time.

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One reason soccer didn't take in America back in the "Once in a Lifetime" Cosmos days was that you got games like this one I saw on June 11, 1978, the Cosmos and the Philadelphia Fury. Here's just one page, from that evening's game program, of the Cosmos team photos:

How about that hair?

And here's the Fury's first page:

Therein lay the problem. The Cosmos were loaded with players who, despite some being well past their peak, still had drawing power. Beckenbauer, Chinaglia, Carlos Alberto, Bogie, Tueart- all familiar international names, all still worth a few bucks to see. And then you had the Fury with the most familiar names- Ball, Osgood, Giles- well over the hill, at the tail end, nowhere near the star power. Multiply that into a league of 24 teams with names like the Toronto Metros-Croatia (!) and the New England Tea Men and the Oakland Stompers and the truly unfortunate Caribous of Colorado with rosters of much lesser names and you were left with one drawing card and a bunch of who-dats. Needless to say, one team drew well and the rest drew flies.

Today, of course, it's different, because you have the L.A. Galaxy with Becks and Donovan and then there's... er... that guy... heh... In any event, the league seems determined to get Beckham and the Galaxy to visit every city in the circuit at least once with a heavily backloaded road schedule timed to coincide, they hope, with the Anointed One's arrival in Carson. Once again, there's one team- one guy- everyone wants to see and a bunch of lesser-knowns, kinda like the days when Madison Square Garden would put "GEO MIKAN vs. Knicks" on the marquee. Kinda like the star-studded COSMOS vs. the Memphis Rogues. This time around, at least the MLS has built some foundation- new, soccer-specific stadia, for example- that makes the economics a little better, and there aren't too many teams in the league. But are they going to be able to draw enough for a Kansas City Wizards- F.C. Toronto clash to make them less dependent on BECKHAM vs. wizards? And is there any hope at all for a league with a team named Real Salt Lake?

There wasn't for the league with the Caribous of Colorado and the Toronto Metros-Croatia. Those Cosmos days were a blast, but it would be better for all concerned if history, in this case, refrained from repeating itself.

(And for a radio connection, Chinaglia has a show on Sirius, while Giles went back to Ireland and ended up on NewsTalk 106 in Dublin)

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Running late again, and if I'm going to get any sleep at all, I have to get done now. So nothing from me tonight, except a link: this made me laugh.

There might be a Letter tomorrow. Depends.

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This week's All Access newsletter is the plaintive cry of the willfully passive listener:

This week's theme: don't make me work for my entertainment!

And right here is where, if I practiced what I preach, I'd do a nice big tease for next week's column, to make you eager to read it. Too bad I have no idea what it's gonna be.

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I grew up believing that it is my- it is every American's- duty to exercise the right to vote. Every election was important, because we are blessed with the inalienable right to make decisions for ourselves, to determine our own fate.

So I got the sample ballot for the March 6 election, and here it is:

What the hell am I supposed to do with this?

I have no idea who these people are. I have no stake in the community college district- in fact, I don't even know what the Los Angeles Community College District actually administers.

(Pause to look it up)

Okay, they're the folks who administer Harbor College, which I only know as the "college" alongside the 110 freeway where they have a golf school and driving range. And I've been to Valley College because I had to park there to get a shuttle bus to the Radford Lot once. I know nothing else about it. I am not interested in attending class there. I know nobody in community college. I'm sure they do a fine educational job, but it has nothing to do with me.

Perhaps the sample ballot has a handy guide to the candidates, such as position statements. Let's check.

(Pause to leaf through the sample ballot pamphlet)

Nothing. In fact, the thing has 16 pages plus a 4-page cover, and only one page- what you see above- contains actual election material. The rest? Let's see- a cover page, then a page with a phone number for information repeated in seven different languages (Spanish, Tagalog, Korean, Vietnamese, Chinese, Japanese), a table of contents page, a page with an ad for touchscreen voting, a page of early touchscreen locations, a page of instructions, another page of instructions in pictures, a page of "ten steps to make sure your vote counts" (step one: "Be Informed"), the ballot, a page about parking at the polling place, a page with a calendar of March with the 6th circled, a page with a form if you want to be a precinct board member or lend out your home as a polling place, a page offering cassette recordings of the pamphlet, a page advertising the LA Cityview Channel where candidates can air video statements (a channel which we DON'T GET), a page on being a "permanent absentee voter," a page on joining your Neighborhood Council, a page of voter information for the City of Los Angeles (in which I do not live), a page on voting by mail, and a vote-by-mail postcard application.

Not a word about the candidates.

Why do they even bother? Why is this an elective office? Nobody but the candidates and their families cares. I doubt the results will even show up in the next day's papers. And we, the people, paid to have this waste of paper printed up and mailed to every registered voter.

Democracy's better than any other alternative, of course. But when there's no information available about the candidates or the board (go ahead, put "Los Angeles Community College District" in Google News and see what you get), why would anyone bother to show up?

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I just spent several hours shredding a pile of credit card applications, and I'm still not done- in fact, the shredder seems to have quit on me, even after giving it the proper rest periods. The applications were all unsolicited, and they show up her at the rate of about two per day on average, although sometimes it's more like five or six. What's most annoying about them, however, is that most are from one company. It's the one with David Spade in its commercials, and they will not leave me alone.

I don't think a day goes by without that company, whose name I shall not utter, sending me at least one application. It will not take no, or silence, for an answer. And I can't stop it- the only way to stop the onslaught is to put a block on ALL companies, which I do not want to do- I might WANT another credit card, just not one from The Company The Name Of Which I Shall Not Utter- or put a credit freeze on myself, which would just make life more difficult for me. So I'm going to get these wastes of paper daily, and there's nothing I can do about it.

The Company The Name Of Which I Shall Not Utter does one other annoying thing that earns them a place in hell: it puts a thick cardboard card or magnet in every mailing so that you can't just feed the whole thing into the shredder unopened. You have to open the thing, peel off the card or magnet, and then shred it, meaning that it has one extra chance to wear you down. And if that's not enough, it has taken to putting THAT envelope in ANOTHER cardboard envelope, meaning that you have to open one, then open the other, then fish out the shredder-blocker. Multiply that by hundreds and you'll know what I did today.

But what can one expect from a company endorsed by David Spade? He's annoying, the company's annoying. I suppose that's truth in advertising.

You wanna know what's in my wallet? Say hello to my little friend...

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The Grammy Awards have never- okay, maybe "rarely" is the proper word- been relevant. The winners showed off the crassest of pop trends, with the truly interesting, challenging, and influential stuff relegated to the sidelines, waiting for recognition in some other venue. The Grammys weren't for the Ramones, they were for Christopher Cross. And maybe that's why I've never, ever cared about the awards.

This year's no different. The opener with the ought-have-stayed-apart Police was supposed to rope those of us who were of age when they had their hits into watching, but I don't care. Mary J. Blige's appeal escapes me- she doesn't have a particularly interesting style or voice and the songs are uniformly forgettable, so what's the point? The Dixie Chicks were never that great, but now they're selling a concept over music (and how did they beat "Crazy," which wasn't even nominated for Song of the Year, ot that nightmarish James Blunt thing, which was the song other than "Crazy" that defined the pop year?). The Red Hot Chili Peppers were past their due date years ago, John Mayer is winning awards for lamely ripping off "People Get Ready." It's bad out there, folks.

This year's music was crap. Either you've heard it before or it wasn't very good on its own. When I noticed Gnarls Barkley won for Best Alternative Album (a record that didn't strike me as alternative to anything), I had to look up the other Alternative nominees: the extremely overrated Arctic Monkeys, the extremely unlistenable Flaming Lips and Thom Yorke solo, and the Yeah Yeah Yeahs, who are, er, extremely overrated, too. Man, does current music suck right now.

But then again, the Grammy voters have their taste in their anuses, anyway. The Chicks denounced country fans, put out a lite-rock/pop album, and win Best Country Album. Jimmy Carter- Jimmy Carter!- wins Best Spoken Word Album (beating Bob Newhart!).

And "My Humps" won a Grammy. Worst song EVER, and it won a Grammy. That horrid pants-pissing wannabe Fergie singing about her lumps won a Grammy.

Rock F'ing Bottom.

No wonder I stick to talk radio.

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I'm on a mailing list about my college reunion. No, I'm not planning to go, of course. Frankly, I'm not even remembering most of the folks whose names are popping up- that's not intended as an insult to them, it's just that it's been 25 years (!) and I just don't remember that much anymore. But I do remember the topic that seems to have become a major discussion point with the folks who are conversing on the mailing list:

Genny Cream.

Genny Cream was the Official Beer of Pennsylvania College Students in the 70s and 80s. I don't know why. Genny Cream- Genesee Cream Ale- was everywhere. And it was weird, because it wasn't even a local brew- it was from Rochester. The Pennsylvania locals were Schmidt's, which tasted like piss water and came for 25 cents a glass at the local tavern where you'd get great burgers on hard rolls in the back and bowel-cleansing Schmidt's up at the bar, and Yuengling's, which at the time was the cheapest, most horrid-tasting swill you could buy but later became repackaged and resold to yuppies at a "premium price." Rolling Rock was around, but it sucked, too- thin, a little sour, ugh. Nobody drank Ortlieb's, which explains why it went away.

But Genny Cream was the default. Nobody complained about Genny Cream. And it wasn't horrible- it leaned a little too much towards the Molson tang, which I never liked, but it was drinkable. I don't remember it being much of a cult item, though.

Still exists, too.

I'm not really into beer nostalgia, because the stuff wasn't THAT good. Newcastle Brown still works for me. Even Shiner or Red Hook ESB'll do. But now that they brought it up, I gotta go down to my local beer place and see if they carry Genny Cream. Not that I want to taste anything that tastes like college. Nasty.

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Ran out of time tonight, so it's back to the scans for one of my prized possessions:

Okay, so they were mediocre that year- 83-71, 4th place. But you still had Whitey in center and Roberts and Simmons starting and Konstanty closing. I don't want to wreck the book by peeling it open too much, but here's Whitey's page:

The book is a wonderful relic of 1953- all the business-side people and press guys look like, well, 1953- starched shirts and ties and uncomfortable expressions. There's overheated praise, too, suggesting, for example, that Jim Konstanty will require at least a whole chapter of future baseball histories. And then there's the back cover:

It's got UHF! So you can watch all of Philadelphia's UHF channels in 1953! Like... er... well, there weren't any. Channel 35, WUHY, didn't show up until 1957, and most of the programming ended up on channel 12 eventually, anyway. There were UHFs in Reading and Atlantic City, but they didn't last long. But this Philco could get any theoretical UHFs that could sneak into the Delaware Valley, so you were set. (Philco was the original owner of channel 3, WPTZ, so they initially didn't have a vested interest in bringing you more channels, but by '53 they'd sold WPTZ to Westinghouse) The radio was AM only- FM existed but widespread success on FM was a few decades away.

I have a Philadelphia A's yearbook from that same year someplace, I think- gotta go look for it. If I find it, I'll throw that one up here, too.

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You get a card. A nice, funny card that fits your collective personality will do, but if you can create your own, you do it.

Add a small gift- the size and price are less important than the significance.

Candy. A box of See's Candy works. Bordeaux, Scotchmallow, peanut clusters, peanut nougat- perfect.

Have a nice dinner. It doesn't have to be at the most fancy place. Steak is good. Throw in some crab cakes to start and a Newcastle Brown to wash it down.

And then you come home and do whatever comes to mind. Playing World of Warcraft should not come to mind at this point.

Oh, and one more thing: you tell each other what you mean to each other. But you should be doing that every day of the year.

That's how we do it. Hope your Valentine's Day was good, too.

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All the headlines today said "Comic Franken To Run For Senate" or "Funny Man Franken Sets Senate Run" or something like that.

Since when is Al Franken funny?

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This week's All Access "The Letter" newsletter addresses a purely behind-the-scenes radio topic. Non-radio people may safely skip this one:

Confession of a Rogue Former Program Director: I never liked doing aircheck sessions.

Next week: I hit the road for a speaking engagement and get very, very cold. Expect some weather-related whining.

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Today's excuse: no sleep. That's literal. We spent all night someplace we didn't want to be, out of necessity (no, not prison or the police station), and by the time I got home it was already an hour and a half into work time. I tried to nap but the sewage line is backed up and I had to get up, call the plumber, and now I'm waiting for him to show up.

There's nothing like staying up all night to witness weirdness, and the emergency room is a prime place for that. There was the smoke-and-gin-soaked wreck of an old woman who left a trail of Eau de Marlboro was she staggered back and forth. There were the several massive people having breathing problems- no surprise. There was the doctor who showed up on his day off for treatment- he'd gotten rip-roaring drunk, precitpitated a bar fight, and someone tried to run him over in the parking lot- and came in loud and feeling no pain, cherfully spouting every obscenity in the book (including the long one) and keeping his fellow docs in stitches while they tried to figure out what to stitch up first and how to replace his teeth. When you're severely sleep-deprived, everything's Fellini-esque enough without something like that.

But we're OK, thanks, and now I'm dragging. Maybe the plumber will show up soon. Being able to use the bathroom would be nice.

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Fran was in the local twice-weekly newspaper, in the lead story- a feature on the new docent class for the non-profit that runs a local seaside museum and holds nature hikes and tours. They're a big deal here, and so is she. The article includes some quotes from her and briefly tells about her triumph over health adversity to graduate. It's pretty cool, and when I saw it in the honor box outside the post office, I had to call and read it to her on the phone.

That's because it isn't yet on the paper's web site. Yes, that's annoying.

But when it IS on the web, I'll post a link. And if you're in the Palos Verdes Peninsula area, pick up Saturday's PV News and read about my hero.

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I'm sorry, but I'm speechless at the moment.

I was not at home when the NBA All-Star Game started, but a message in voicemail broke the news: Siegfried and Roy, then Wayne Newton, then, singing the national anthem, no less:

Danny Gans.

I'm sorry. I can't absorb this news.

I've told you my feelings about Mr. Gans before.

And now I've gone from enjoying the idea of the NBA in Las Vegas to utter horror. It couldn't be worse if Bill Simmons was blogging live from the slam dunk competition with one hand in his pants while searching IMDB.com with the other to come up with appropriate 80s cheesy movie quotes to describe his love for Gerald Green- I assume that's what he's writing about if he's not namedropping as he always does at these things (yeah, good for you, Bill, you hang with celebrities, great, shut up). You have several stars MIA, a bunch of spoiled rich celebrities jamming the VIP rooms all over town, and a self-satisfied look-at-us-we're-stars-partying attitude permeating the proceedings. And Danny Freakin' Gans singing the national anthem. It does not get much worse.

I haven't watched a second of this mess. I don't think I'll start now. Good night.

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Here's the deal: this week is a travel week. I will be heading tomorrow to a speaking engagement (!) at a seminar for a broadcasting company. I will be traveling to a far-off land where the ground is coated with white magic and the people frolic with cheese on their heads.

As a result, I am frantically trying a) to get all my work done before leaving, b) to pack and get my laptop updated and all that, and c) to refine what I'm going to talk about so as not to come across as a blithering idiot. Okay, that last part might be rougher than others, but I'm going to give it a shot.

But that means something has to give, and the stuff for which I don't get paid, well, that goes first.

Talk to you tomorrow, depending on the availability of reliable Wi-Fi and/or EVDO.

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Things started out well today- caught an early flight to Minneapolis. That's about it for the day- I couldn't get on the next flight to Green Bay (full up) and had to wait several hours, during which I discovered that my internal laptop wireless card had chosen now to die. I did get some work in, but it was a battle with a connection that cut in and out every few minutes until finally just dying. Done. R.I.P. And I could only confirm that it was a hardware problem when I got to my hotel room and couldn't connect. I ended up hiring a cab to speed me over to the Best Buy about three minutes before closing to buy a new USB wireless adapter, then get me back to the hotel, which is where I am now, working and listening to the highly annoying noise from the atrium (no outside window, just one on a large room with a bowling alley, pool, and patio for a bar). Sleep doesn't look like much of an option tonight.

But I made it. And while I try to regain my bearings and get my talk together for tomorrow, remember that article that quoted Fran from the other day? It's on the web. Go here to read it. "Every day is a gift," indeed. As I said Saturday, she's my hero.

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Because every milestone is more special than the last...

Happy Birthday, Fran.

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It's been a long day, but a good one- I gave my talk to the folks at Midwest Communications, met some great folks dedicated to doing great local radio, and didn't, to the best of my recollection, say anything I might regret later. At least, I don't think so.

But I still have work to do and it's very late, so I'm going to just say Happy Birthday to the great Fran once again and then I gotta go. "The Letter" tomorrow if I can get it done on time. And maybe, if the loud music- it might, frighteningly enough, involve Karaoke- dies down across the Atrium of Sound, I might get some sleep. G'night.

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