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I fell in love with radio again this weekend.

It's too easy, after working in a business for a very long time, to build up an intolerance for it. Work in radio for a lot of years and see how you feel about what you hear while you're driving around- same songs, same jingles, same everything from market to market.

On Saturday night, I found salvation.

We were driving back from the desert and passing through Moreno Valley when I gave up on the FM dial and hit the AM button to see if there was any more war news, and that's when I found something that reminded me of why I wanted to be in radio in the first place.

Oh, sure, I listened to the big guns back then, the WABCs and WFILs of the world, slick big-city top 40 giants. Everybody did. But what really piqued my curiosity were the little stations- WKER in Pompton Lakes, NJ, which always seemed to be broadcasting live from the Preakness Shopping Center. That little AM in Parsippany in the tiny brick building you could see through the trees from Route 80. WRKL in Rockland County, WERA in Plainfield... none of these stations sounded slick. They didn't even sound good. Truth be told, they were awful compared to the New York and Philadelphia (or even Hartford, Bridgeport, and Allentown) stations- amateurish voices, horrible music, poor sound quality, mistakes galore. And I loved it, because it sounded more real- I might never be Dan Ingram, but maybe I could chat about the goings-on in Wayne and Pequannock and Butler and Kinnelon while using the Jack Jones and Ray Conniff records for bathroom breaks. I remember going to find WKER's studio, driving out to a residential street behind the Old Barn Milk Bar, and there it was, in a split-level suburban house indistinguishable from its neighbors, with the short stick in the backyard pumping out the 1,000 watts until sundown, when WTOP came booming in all over the national anthem.

So there we were, pointing the Volvo through the pass towards home, when the past came flooding back. There, way at the extended end of the dial, was the radio I remembered from my youth- unfamiliar oldies of questionable popularity, an amateur jock learning the ropes, the same liners read the same way in every break, no discernible paid commercials (every stop set featured a PSA, another PSA, and a promo, except when it went promo-PSA-promo), audio quality that ranged from underwater to undersyrup. Tom Jones singing "Green Grass of Home." The Bee Gees with "Massachusetts." Absolutely nothing you'd hear on K-Earth or KOLA. Absolutely nothing you'd hear on a professional radio station.

I loved it.

This station sounds like those weird suburban stations of my youth, or the cheesy local-yokel automated stations in the Florida Keys that had local commercials for restaurants and fishing gear suppliers whose addresses were given as "Mile Marker 77," or the way the Jersey Shore stations used to sound before people like me came along to try and make them sound like the big guys. It's radio from another era, radio before consolidation and satellites and research, radio when it was fun.

It's called KHPY, or "K-Happy," and it's up at 1670 AM in Moreno Valley, CA. If you're out that way, check it out. It's amateurish, it's weird, it's embarrassing, and it's great. And it gave me that feeling again, the feeling that radio is, in some way, magic. It's nice to feel that way again.
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The casinos in Connecticut are pulling their regular ads because of the war. They're indicating that, you know, it's unseemly to be upbeat at a time like this:

The "Come Play" and "Have yourselves a ball" slogans were removed last week after the U.S. military campaign began in Iraq. Casino operators said they would evaluate their marketing strategies as the war continues.

Officials at Foxwoods Resort Casino and Mohegan Sun Casino said that it is too early to gauge how the war will affect casino business. Officials said there was a slight decline after word of the war hit.

"No one knows how long this is going to last," said Mohegan Chief of Staff Thomas Acevedo. "If it's a very brief war and if things are put to bed fairly quickly, there will be literally no impact."

There are some who continue to drink, dance and slip quarters into slot machines.

No kidding. And they should, no matter how freakish and inappropriate articles like this try to make them look. Not to diminish the impact of war, but, geez, you can't- shouldn't- stop your normal life because there's a war in Iraq. When we stop going to Foxwoods or Mohegan Sun and drinking and dancing and gambling, the terrorists wi... sorry, I know, we're not supposed to say that. But, really, the people who wanted the NCAAs cancelled and the Oscars cancelled and everything cancelled have to realize that not everyone reacts to things like war or international crises by planting themselves in the study with furrowed brow to mull over the situation, or in front of the Zenith staring numbly at CNN. It's OK to react by deciding to do something that takes your mind off of the trouble. It's healthy.

You sit in a darkened room trembling in a corner. I'm going to Vegas.
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For the many fans of Ella, the World's Most Famous Cat, here's a picture for you:

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Tonight on All Access Talk Topics: the Fedayeen, another NannyCam incident, a butch, buxom Wonder Woman, the dog-to-English translator, a miracle cancer-curing Padre Pio statue, and more.

Go there.

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Here's yet another vaguely disapproving story about people not having the decency to stop what they're doing and don sackcloth and ashes because there's a war on. This one is about students who- imagine this!- went ahead and traveled to Cancun to party for Spring Break, despite, you know, the war and all.

Even as war raged in Iraq, spring break life took its alcohol-fueled course in Cancun, where the party trail sometimes stretches from all-night discos to jail cells.


Most college students were on the beach or at the bar instead of glued to hotel TVs to watch the war's early developments. While some here expressed concern, U.S. bombs falling on Baghdad didn't prompt the cancellation of any wet T-shirt contests or force all-you-can drink night clubs to close their doors.

I never went to Spring Break- I had to work, and the whole go-to-the-beach-get-ripped-puke-over-the-rail-spend-the-night-in-jail thing didn't really appeal to me. Still doesn't. But I'm not sure what would be accomplished by these kids staying home watching CNN, either. As frivolously inclined as they appear to be, I'm pretty certain they understand what's going on in Iraq, know what war's about, and care about it. There's only so much war news you can take before you need to blow off steam. I have to follow the news- it's my job- but watching the reports and listening to talk radio and reading the paper has been leaving me with a dull uneasy feeling, nothing debilitating but definitely there. I can't imagine how I would feel if I had kids, or I was of age to serve in the military, or had a loved one over there- my head would probably have exploded by now.

Maybe we all need Spring Break. Or at least a festive drink with a paper umbrella in it. Couldn't hurt.

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At dinner, one TV set above the bar was carrying the Laker game and the other had CNN. I didn't notice it before I took my seat, which explains how I ended up with a clear angle for the CNN set and no view of the Laker set at all. I thought this might have the positive effect of forcing me to pay full attention to Fran and my barbecued chicken instead of watching Shaq and Kobe dismantle Atlanta, but my eyes kept drifting to the tube, because it was there and because, like a toddler, I'm easily amused by primary colors and movement. CNN was all about the primary colors and movement tonight, but one item in particular grabbed me and wouldn't let go, a headline on the bottom of the screen: "Abu Dhabi TV Reports Iraq TV Hit."

While this could mean a story about "CSI: Basra," I think they meant that a bomb or something took Iraq TV off the air. Couldn't tell if it was knocked out long term or just for a short time, but...

No TV! The most devastating thing anyone can do to another human being! No "American Idol"! No "24"! No "Jimmy Kimmel Live"! OK, they don't get any of that stuff. All they get is... is... I don't know. I tried Googling the Iraqi Broadcasting and Television Establishment (the national broadcaster) and couldn't find any listings. Did they have "Baywatch"? Don't know. Lately, to the best of my knowledge, they've been all 80's-vintage Hollywood C-movies and patriotic music- the cheese factor of the network logo (a disturbingly Third Reich-like eagle-with-folded-wings) and oddly upbeat marches is pretty high. (Speaking of oddly upbeat, don't get me started on the Mexican anthem, which the local stations here licensed to Tijuana and Rosarito have to play and which interrupted my Fox Sports Radio appearances for a few weeks until I got wise)

But no matter what's on Iraq TV, taking it out is a serious matter. It was, of course, overdue, since the stations were being used exclusively for boosting the morale of the troops (and deflating the civilians' hopes), but I think the Coalition missed its best shot. Imagine the impact if, instead of static and snow, Iraqis turned on their TVs to find American and British TV. You want them to know the Yanks and Brits are coming? Don't bomb the transmitter. Take over the studio-transmitter link. Overpower it. Start pumping Fox and CNN and Sky News and "Reba" and "SportsCenter" at them. There is nothing quite as powerful, for better or worse, as American pop culture. Do an all-day Anna Nicole marathon and it won't just be the Fedayeen surrendering.

Oh, and the first thing I'd have done if I were in charge would have been to drop paratroopers into Baghdad to paste signs over the Saddam murals: "COMING SOON: another STARBUCKS." If you want to spread democracy, you need a viral agent like Frappucino.

But they didn't ask me.

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Tonight on All Access Talk Topics: sandstorms, eliminating the national anthems before sporting events, Arkansas gets a Starbucks, an appearance by Wayne Gretzky, Calvin Klein meets Latrell Sprewell, and so much more.

You'd best get a move on and go here.

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I went to the gym today, and it was crowded. I go to the gym pretty much every day, and, lately, it's always been crowded. That's odd, because it's March- almost April- and, by now, the people who join the health club in January- best of intentions, resolutions and all that- have usually fallen by the wayside.

Not this year. They're still at it, chugging away on the cross-trainers, using the weight machines, shooting hoops.

Chugging away on MY cross-trainers, using MY weight machines, shooting MY hoops.

I now have to pounce the second a cross-trainer opens up, especially the newer ones, even more especially the ones under the air conditioning ducts that I like because the room gets hot and stuffy. I have to wait around the rowing weight machine while an elderly gentleman does his 3,275 reps at 5 pounds each. Forget the chest press machine- some high school kid (aren't they supposed to be in school at lunchtime?) is using it as a resting place.

I like my normal routine at the gym. I like to do crunches on the sit-up bench, then the rowing machine, the chest press, the lat pull- in that order- and then across the hall to the cross-trainer, or maybe go to the court and practice free throws and three-pointers. Shower and home. Same every day. But with the teeming throngs still around as if it was January 15th and they'd just gotten on the scale for the first time since inhaling that Honeybaked ham at the Christmas party, I spend most of my time waiting, or I have to skip parts of the routine. Today, the row and chest press had to go. How am I gonna get to look like those guys on the cover of Men's Health if I can't do my routine?

Don't answer that.

Anyway, I found myself wanting people to stop being so damn diligent about their health. I want them to stop clogging the gym. I want them to go away, pound the Bud Light and the Fritos, be the Flabby Americans they're supposed to be. WHAT THE HELL ARE THEY DOING TAKING CARE OF THEMSELVES? TACO BELL IS TWO DOORS DOWN! GO THERE!

It's their civic duty, after all. I need to get MY workout in. I'm a very important man.

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Tonight on ALL ACCESS TALK TOPICS: Detroit honors Saddam Hussein, Martin Sheen the way he should always be, why I should have made failure my career goal, and so much more, you'll plotz.

Now would be a good time to click.

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Thanks to Greg Behrendt, one of your finer stand-up comedians as seen on HBO, NBC, and Comedy Central (and in the upcoming final season of "Sex and the City"), for adding this site to his site's links (should be up today), even if he (as I suggested) lists me as a Token Right-Wing Lunatic (Greg is, as a Hollywood/San Francisco show biz kind o' guy, not a Right-Wing Lunatic like me, but there's always hope).

Go, then, to gregbehrendt.com, sample the love, buy the t-shirt, and see the video, which is called "Greg Behrendt Does Not Rock."

Oh, but he does. He does, indeed.

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The winds kicked up last night, and when I woke up this morning, it sounded like the early stages of a fairly large hurricane out there. Of course, it was nothing of the sort- this is Los Angeles, where we don't get hurricanes, or, really, much of any kind of weather at all besides sunny/70s- but it sounded fierce enough, and when the sun finally broke over our neighborhood, I saw that about a dozen large dead palm fronds were strewn across the driveway and our recycling can had disappeared.

No recycling bin? Can't have that.

So I went out and immediately got blown back against the door frame. This was one fierce wind, but it wasn't going to stop me- I steadied myself and drove headfirst-low to the ground, sideways, the Snidely Whiplash walk- out to the curb, where the can's lid sat upside down on the pavement, forlorn, waiting to be rejoined with its... OK, that's a little too much. It was just sitting there. And I looked up the street, then down the street- no can. I checked against the house, on the roof, in the bushes, across the street- no can.

Then I went to investigate. Up the street- is that it? No... into yards, prowling in alleys and driveways and vacant lots. No can. Then the other way- more yards, more driveways...

...There it is. Wedged in the opening to the neighbors' utility alley, between the bushes.

Is it?

I mean, all these things look alike.

Well, they're not going to miss it, are they?

I took it. I picked it up and brought it back to the house- are they watching? No? Good- and put it where it would be safe against the wind. Mission accomplished.

In Iraq, soldiers have been braving winds a lot faster than those here, carrying sand so thick you can't see past the end of your nose, if you could open your eyes that far. There was sand in their mouths, ears, noses, sand inside their clothes and protective gear. And yet, they were able to somehow function well enough to engage in and win battles, able to "see" the enemy and take them out, and, every so often, advance a few feet here and a few feet there.

And we get a warm breeze and a missing recycling can and I treat it like "The Perfect Storm" or something. I'm not so much embarrassed for myself as I am in awe of the 19 year old kids who are accomplishing the impossible 11 time zones from here. I couldn't do that at 19. I can't do that now.

I count myself lucky to live in a place and time where people like them are willing and able to do it for me. God bless 'em.

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Tuesday night, I couldn't stay asleep. I woke up every hour, stared at the clock, rolled over, fell asleep, woke up an hour later, lather, rinse, repeat. At 4:45, 15 minutes before the alarm was to go off, I decided, ah, screw it, I'll get up, much to the delight of Ella, the World's Most Famous Cat, who knows that Perry Waking Up = food for Ella. And after that, I felt fine- fully awake, alert, normal day.

Last night, I got a full night's sleep. No interruptions. Alarm went off at 5, got up, went to my office, started work... and all day, I've been tired and drowsy.

Sleep is overrated.

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I did it again. Long, brilliant essay, hit the wrong button, lost it, links and all.

So I'm an idiot. You don't have to stare at me like that.

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I sang the Robert Hall song today.

You remember it, don't you? (clearing of throat) OK, all together, now... "Where the values go up, up, up... and the prices go down, down, down..." That was written, by the way, by Les Paul and Mary Ford, which is pretty huge. What? You don't remember Robert Hall? Well, then, how about John's Bargain Store? No?

Geez, I feel old.

It all came up when we were driving down Crenshaw Boulevard past the new Kohl's store (they've finally expanded to California, as if we didn't already have Mervyn's doing the same act) and Fran mentioned that she wanted to stop in there sometime to see if they had something, and my mind did this:

Kohl's --> discount clothes --> cheap --> John's Bargain Store.

I tend to think a lot about the things that aren't around anymore, and John's fits that bill. It was a store you'd find in, shall we say, less economically advantaged neighborhoods, and it carried cheap stuff. Some of it was overstock, some of it was plain crap. It was the 99 Cents Only of its day, advertised daily on Sandy Becker's show on Channel 5 in New York. And it wasn't where we were likely to go shopping- in fact, my family used it as an all-purpose insult. "Where'd you get that shirt? John's Bargain Store?"

Believe me, that line slayed 'em in 1965. (You know you've gotten old when your insults are meaningless to anyone born after 1970)

And when I was done musing about JBS, I remembered Robert Hall, at which Fran's family shopped for back-to-school clothes. We didn't shop there, but we all knew the jingle, and that's why I broke into song. Time was that you couldn't go more than a few miles without seeing a Robert Hall, and a Kinney Shoes, and a Gino's, and they're all gone. So are Bamberger's (my first store credit card!), B. Altman, Great Eastern Mills, Two Guys- commercial nostalgia, stores from a childhood that isn't there anymore, either.

But don't let me keep you from your own nostalgia. Think about the places you knew as a kid, the familiar landmarks, the things you did with your family that aren't around now, and wallow in it for a while. And rest assured that you're not alone- check out sites like Forgotten NY and James Lileks' stash of old newspaper ads and photos of "ghost ads" and Forgotten Detroit and B-More Ghosts and see what other people have been able to salvage of the detritus of popular culture past. And some PBS stations made documentaries with more of this kind of stuff.

Go ahead, wallow. I'm going to take a ride in the Rambler for a burger at Wetson's and maybe we can go to Kresge's and get a free banana split if we pick the right balloon to pop. You coming?

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I don't like waking up every morning and feeling obligated to immediately check the cable news channels and news web sites "in case something happened overnight." But I do feel that way, and I do check, and it's not doing anything to lower my blood pressure.

At least it's Friday. Maybe this weekend will offer some relief. Let's hope it's unlike last weekend.

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I love the Post.

That's the New York Post to you, bub. And when I say I love the Post, I'm not saying I love the Post for its content, because I can just get that on the Net. No, I love the Post the way God meant it to be- printed, an inky tabloid, subway-reading sized, sports in the back, "Page Six" on any page BUT page six, loud, noisy, kinda stupid, always fun. The screaming headlines, the questionable NBA gossip from Peter Vecsey, Cindy Adams defying time and logic, the black ink staining your hands and everything else it comes near.

THAT Post.

They started selling THAT Post in L.A. not too long ago. It's expensive- a buck a day, as opposed to a quarter in Manhattan- and it almost unforgivably substitutes L.A. TV listings and California racing forms for some pages in the back, but it's THAT Post. Needless to say, I'm very happy. I might even subscribe, for the pleasure of seeing it in my driveway every morning. I mean, look at today's Post- "HOW LOW CAN IRAQ SINK" with a color picture of a little girl being searched for weapons by a Marine on the front, "IRISH WAKE" with a bunch of sad Notre Dame players watching the loss to Arizona on the back. Big picture of Jim Boeheim in Sports, just like the old days. Vecsey floating a trial balloon of a possible Tubby Smith NBA bid. Cindy on about celebrities youy don't care about. Page Six breathlessly reporting that Natalie Portman was seen crying at Harvard. Pages and pages of war coverage, none with any doubt that the war is right and we're winning. Look at all that, then look at the Times.

Newspapers, these days, are irrelevant- by the time they hit your doorstep, they're out of date. The news has moved on. So what paper do you want- a deadly serious broadsheet with yesterday's news, or something loud, goofy, fun?

Me, too. I think I WILL subscribe, after all.

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Can of Fancy Feast Fish and Shrimp Feast, 39 cents.

Big Bag of Whisker Lickin's Crunchy Tuna Flavored Treats, $1.99.

Bag of Fresh Step clay litter, $6.99.

Being awakened on Saturday morning at 4:30 am by the cat jumping off the dresser in an attempt to get you up to feed her: priceless.

And you wonder why I'm always irritated.

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Another random weekend thought:

Retailers operating big department stores are all going to a new model- instead of having checkouts in each department or sub-section, they're creating central checkouts. You queue up at one of these islands, and that's where you pay. Macy's, JCPenney, Sears, they're all going to that plan. They say it's because consumers have demonstrated that this is how they prefer it to be, citing the success of Wal-Mart and Target, where you get everything, then bring it up front to check out.

Nobody asked me. And, after spending way too long in one of those checkout lines this afternoon, I think there's no way consumers prefer an interminable line at one checkout instead of the short or nonexistent lines at the old departmental checkouts. And they'd ESPECIALLY not want it when, as it was today, the four registers at the central checkout were manned by a grand total of one salesperson, who was not only slow but obsessed with the fact that the line was on the "wrong" side of a temporary barrier (no signs posted).

No, like everything else they do, they're doing it to save money. Eventually- and I've seen places like KMart and Pathmark test this- you'll check yourself out, bag your own stuff, pay by swiping your card, and haul it to your car, no human intervention necessary. That way, they won't even need to hire anybody. Oh, sure, maybe they'll hire a few helper monkeys to go in the back and fetch something in your size, but that's about it. And that won't be enough, either. Expect them to finally do away with not only the staff, but the merchandise as well. You'll go and they'll just take your money. Nothing in returm. They wouldn't even need a bricks-and-mortar location. Hell, let 'em just dip into your bank account at will. Saves time, saves personnel, saves trouble.

You think I'm kidding. I'm sure they're working on it as we speak.

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It's hard to listen to the radio right now, hard if you want to get away from the war for a few minutes. Every station's dropping war news into their schedule- Clear Channel's music stations here are running reports from their AM station along with a pitch for you to tune over to that station for more. The AMs are hopeless. When I was running this morning, there was nothing on but war talk and infomercials, even on the sports stations:

"Troop movement is reported in CLICK supply lines, which are being attacked from the rear by CLICK C-Silver, the only way to get CLICK the guaranteed absolute winner of tonight's game, and it's free CLICK to blow up CLICK..."

It's Saturday, damn it. I don't want to hear about people dying. I don't want to hear about the fantastic supplement that'll make me feel 30 again. I don't want to know whether Tommy Franks is holding his troops back. I don't want to find out where her "Love Buttons" are for only $14.95. I want the stupid computer show back. I want guys talking about Kobe showing up Jordan. I want to hear nothing of historical or social significance.

I want my life back.

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