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I'm not gonna post a link to a couple of web sites that name the woman charging Kobe Bryant with rape and show her picture with her high school cheerleading squad. I'm just gonna say something about the Net, nothing earthshaking and nothing you don't know already, so if you want to go see what Lileks' Monday column is about, go ahead and go there.

Still here? I'll keep this short, because it's obvious and it's Sunday night and I've been writing for hours. It's just that the Internet allows people to exercise their free speech- good- but allows people who have no regard for small things like libel and privacy to post whatever they want- good in the abstract, bad in practice.

The abstract is that free speech is always preferable to restriction, that the only way for the truth to emerge is for all information, including things you don't want to hear, to be freely available. Fine. The practice, however, means that people can call a possible rape victim "Kobe's bitch" and someone who's, basically, a liar. In this case, the people posting the picture and name (and their conclusions in the case) certainly see this as a joke and themselves as incomparably witty and cool because they have the "guts" to name names and announce the "truth" when those wusses at CNN and Fox won't. What they won't bother to consider is that there are real people involved in this case, one of whom was not, and is not, a public figure. (Sidebar: for those saying she's doing this for the money, if her name's officially anonymous and she's making no public statements, exactly how is she supposed to make money doing this? Why would you make this charge if you know it's only going to result to a nightmare of media and public scrutiny and some University of Vermont student calling you, in effect, a whore?) And I can only wonder what they'd do if a family member of theirs was raped and some asshole college student somewhere posted her name and picture on the Net and called her a lying slut.

Think that'd be funny? Clever? Fair?

I'm starting to hate humans again.

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It would be nice not to be handy around the house.

Some guys are genetically incapable of any kind of handyman activity. They can't fix anything, they're baffled by mechanical things, they just call the expert in on everything. It's a built-in excuse. "Gee, honey, I don't know why it's dark in here. Let's call an electrician."

I'm capable of a certain amount of Tim the Tool Man stuff, which is a problem when something goes wrong, because I'm expected to FIX it. As I said, I'm capable of a CERTAIN AMOUNT of fixing, not ALL fixing. This means that when I flop, it's doubly hard to take, because I try, oh, how I try to make thing work, and it's so hard to admit defeat.

Today, the lawn sprinkler system got me, but I was all ready to chalk it up to something I just don't have the equipment to do until I shorted out another zone. See, the sprinkler was for some reason not being triggered in the front lawn area, so I got out the voltage meter and I went to Home Depot and got a solenoid for the valve and a new digital controller because the one we had was confusing and old. I replaced the controller, made sure all the zones worked... nope, the front lawn's still dry. I replaced the solenoid out on the valve. (You know I'm a handy guy- I know what "solenoid" and "valve" are) Nothing.

So it must be the wire between the valve and controller- ah, can't fix that, it's underground and I don't have the time, tools, or patience to dig. OK, let me check the other zones... uh oh. Another zone- the patch of grass by the front window- suddenly doesn't work. Screwdriver to terminal, readjust the connection- aha, there's the water! Uh oh, water abruptly shut off. And I can't get it to work again. This is when I panic- I didn't fix it, and now The Professional will be coming in at $85. an hour to look at the controller and the valve and shake his head and say "who did this work?" in the tone that says "this work sucks." And I'll just have to look sheepish and say "gee, I dunno."

You didn't think I'd let him get the satisfaction, did you? He's already getting the $85. an hour plus parts.

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Busy day and evening today, so I'm kinda thinking in a disjointed manner tonight. I shot my wad on the daily e-mail newsletter, which I'll repost here; in the meantime, just one thought: can you imagine being such a horrible person that when you're killed, the world's financial markets go up in celebration? The only people in the West who seemed to be saddened by the Hussein Boys' death were at the BBC, but you expected that. (I swear, if it wasn't for "The Office" and "Coupling," the promise of more Alan Partridge series, and the occasional "Have I Got News For You" episode I find in my Net travels, I'd never watch that network again)

Anyway, here's today's "THE LETTER from All Access News-Talk-Sports," in case you're not on that particular mailing list (talk about repurposing!):

I was just sitting there trying to come up with ideas for the Talent Toolkit feature at All Access News-Talk-Sports when... OK, here's the way my mind works: a site about weird sports like "wallyball" reminded me of gym class in high school, when they used to send us into the frosty suburban morning in shorts and t-shirts to play something called "team handball," which led to me thinking about...

..."Chicken Fat."

Chicken what?

Return with me now to those golden days of yesteryear. It's Monday morning at an elementary school, and the kids are settling in for class when the teacher walks in lugging one of those brown "portable" record players, the kind with the flip-top lid and the speaker on the front. She plops the thing in front of an outlet, plugs it in, pulls out a worn 45 with a yellow Capitol label, slaps it on the already rotating turntable, and drops the needle on the record to reveal the booming voice of Professor Harold Hill himself, Robert Preston, performing a song exhorting us flabby little kids in "Husky"-sized clothing to get off our Bosco-padded butts and do some toe-touches. That song, that piece of torture that somehow evaded the Geneva Convention, that relic of President Kennedy's Council on Physical Fitness, that unforgettably annoying yet impossible to forget tune? "Chicken Fat." Here's a sample lyric (if you've never heard it, think of it accompanied by a jaunty marching tune in the "76 Trombones" vein):

"TOUCH DOWN! Every morning- TEN TIMES! Not just... now and then! Give that chicken fat back to the chicken, and don't be chicken again! No! Don't be chicken again."

"PUSH UP! Every morning- TEN TIMES! Push up, starting low! (Editor's note: easy for HIM to say) Once more on the rise, nuts (!) to the flabby guys! Go, you chicken fat, go away! Go, you chicken fat, go!"

And I haven't even gotten to the "Left! Left! Left! Left!" part.

Anyway, here it is decades later, the song's been out of print for about that long, and I'm sitting here remembering "Chicken Fat." And through the magic of the Internet, I discovered that you can find the song on the Net. This is like revisiting a favorite root canal, yet there I was, suddenly 8 years old again, straining to get my gut off the floor while Robert Preston screamed at me from the front of the room. And that's why I had to share the magic- go to Talent Toolkit at All Access News-Talk-Sports and you'll find a link to it.

But that's not all All Access Ne... you know, I'm tired of typing that again and again. Call it AANTS. (Hey, that's good- we're as ubiquitous and annoying as ants) AANTS is also the home of Talk Topics, where this week, amidst the Kobe and Uday and other big-time news stories, you'll find homeowners' associations gone power-mad, why mooning a jury is not an accepted court procedure, a car wreck caused by underpants, an autopsy technician who made the mistake of taking his work home with him, and so much more. Plus, there's "10 Questions With..." syndicated talker BRUCE WILLIAMS, Talk Net Talk's generalized mayhem, and other stuff I'm too tired to think of right now. And the rest of All Access? Arbitron ratings, Net News, the columns, Net Talk, the formats, occasional Beyonce banner ads... what else could you possibly need?

You need to lose a few pounds, that's what you need. Ready? "PUSH UP! Every morning- TEN TIMES! Push up, starting low..."


Yours in good health,


Perry Michael Simon
Coach/Editor
All Access News-Talk-Sports

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In Defense of Indecency

There was a hearing in the Senate Commerce Committee on Wednesday morning. It was another one of those media consolidation panels that served as a forum to bash the big bad media companies for their transgressions, real or imagined, and it went the way these things usually go, except for the part about horse semen.

Yes, horse semen.

Allow me to explain.

The hot topic in this hearing was indecency, and the Senators and panelists were all in agreement that programming on TV and radio has gone to heck in a handbasket and there ought to be something the government can do. And FCC Commissioner Michael Copps, the hero of anti-consolidation forces who don't pay attention to what he actually says, raged about the legendary WKRK/Detroit incident and insisted that someone ought to lose a license for all this smut. Meanwhile, the issue of an episode of Fox' "Keen Eddie" involving stolen horse semen and a prostitute hired to get the horse to, er, produce came up. Everyone agreed that this was reprehensible and must be stopped, and that the public will not stand for all of this indecency. Bloviator L. Brent Bozell III, the Man Who Is Incapable Of Having Fun, was there saying something about how 97% of Americans want indecency eliminated. There was a consensus- television and radio are open sewers that must be cleansed by judicious regulation. Everyone congratulated each other and moved on to lunch.

Wait a minute.

Let's say a small child is in the room and that episode of "Keen Eddie" comes on. There's a horse, a bunch of cockney thugs talking about horse semen, a woman complaining about having to get the horse aroused, lots of fast edits. Let's agree for the sake of argument that this is indecent.

So what?

Can someone please explain what harm will befall said child? Will someone please explain how this "indecent" content creates, well, anything? Let's go even further- that WKRK bit about Dirty Sanchez and Cleveland Steamers will cause a kid to do what? What will happen when an innocent child is exposed to coarse, crude humor?

I have the answer.

Nothing.

Nothing will happen. The kid won't grow up into a pervert or molester or sexual deviant, not unless he or she was going to do that anyway. No harm.

How do I know that?

I was that kid.

OK, we didn't have Howard Stern or Maxim or Skinemax back then. But I remember when I was 7, wandering around a magazine stand in Montreal and seeing a stack of Playboys, popping it open to gawk at the centerfold before Dad caught me in the corner of his eye while buying a paper. He grabbed my arm and led me away, but he was laughing. And after that, during my childhood, I sneaked more peeks at porn, saw movies rated R (and, before that, SMA- remember that?), and, most importantly, learned all about sex and dirty words and stuff from conversations with my fellow indecency-addled classmates at Lafayette Elementary School. I learned the F-word, the C-S-word, the C-word, the mechanics ("oh, so it goes in THERE?"), variations ("yeah, but where does he put it if the other guy doesn't have a... OOOOOOhhhhhh."), everything. By the time I got around to the real thing, I knew all about it. Nothing my parents could have done would have prevented it. And since then, I have listened to Howard Stern, watched films of no apparent artistic merit filmed in the San Fernando Valley, watched that very episode of "Keen Eddie" and read the transcript of that fateful WKRK broadcast, performed by friends of mine with whom I am proud to have worked. In short, I have been exposed to the harmful rays.

And despite all this, I am a married, faithful, monogamous suburban adult. I vote, I pay taxes, I pay my mortgage. I am kind to children and animals. I do not care for porn all that much, I don't partake in drugs, I drink more water and iced tea than beer (and never drink harder stuff). I'm a freakin' angel, I am.

I suspect that I'm not alone. There are people of majority age that grew up with Howard Stern on the radio who have become fine, well-adjusted adults. There are people who grew up with HBO, Penthouse, the devil MTV, who are the same. Moreover, there's another element the politicians forget- most kids, presented with "indecent" material, yawn and change the channel. Kids generally DON'T listen to Howard, wouldn't bother watching "Keen Eddie," pay no attention to "adult" content, except for the sneak peeks at sex, which only has the effect of previewing the future (they hope). And look at other nations who some hold up as better-than-us paragons of virtue- the soft-core we hide on pay cable is there on broadcast TV in Canada, and nudity and swearing and sex are routine on British TV (more "indecency" in a single "Bo' Selecta!" episode on the UK's Channel 4 than airs on any US station in a month). And don't even ask about French, German, and Italian TV.

So, do we just eliminate all indecency rules? I don't know, but I suspect that if we did, stations STILL wouldn't air much of it. Advertisers shun it, the ratings aren't better (when has Cinemax outrated anything in late nights?), the market would push it aside the same way it multiplies channels for children and families. It's better for business. But "dirty" stuff will survive, too. Face it- many adults want adult entertainment. They want it on TV and radio. They want it whenever they choose. Regulating it into oblivion isn't only unnecessary, it's antithetical to the true (not stated for polls, but real) desires of most of the public.

In short, you want it. You should have it. And to the Michael Coppses and L. Brent Bozos of the nation, geez, if you don't like it, change the damn channel, but leave my indecency alone.

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I peeked.

Yeah, I did. So did you. You said you didn't want to look, but when push came to shove, you did. We all did.

I'm talking about the Junior Husseins, of course, and I'm guessing everyone did what I did when the pictures were finally available:

1. See the link on CNN or Fox' websites.

2. Think, no, not gonna go there. Don't need to.

3. Start to read another headline.

4. Think, well, I can look realquicklike and click away if it's too gruesome.

5. Click the link.

I was...

...disappointed.

Is that wrong?

Maybe it's more a case of expectations. I expected something more graphic, like heads on a stick or bloody piles of Hussein arranged artfully on a canvas. I guess you could tell it was them, and that's all that mattered- the idea was to prove to the Iraqis that the wicked witch was dead, and the pictures show that, more or less. But I was looking for something... I don't know. Something more colorful, maybe. Something that looked like what Tony Soprano did to Ralphie, or maybe like Warren Beatty and Faye Dunaway as they fell in a blaze of gunfire in "Bonnie and Clyde." Something more entertaining.

"Something more entertaining." How sick is that?

Pretty sick. But pretty common. I'm betting that most people outside Iraq expected something more spectacular. But the Pentagon's no HBO, and Donald Rumsfeld no Sam Peckinpaugh (or Herschell Gordon Lewis, for that matter). And that's a shame for gore fans. "28 Days Later" costs nine bucks to see. This was free. You get what you pay for.

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A press release showed up in my e-mail today. It read like this:

GUY WHO FIRED PERRY PROMOTED TO BIG JOB

A guy who fired Perry Michael Simon from a radio job several years ago has been given a new title, probably accompanied by more money. He will report to another guy who fired Perry Michael Simon; this guy has an even bigger and more lucrative job.

I've gotten fairly good at keeping myself sane when stuff like this happens, but, man, it happens, it happens a LOT. Let's check the record:

-First guy who fired me: Retired, living well by the sea. -Second guy who fired me: Got more responsibilities and more money. -Guy who secretly plotted to get me fired by second guy, and whose memo to that effect accidentally landed on my desk: Promoted. -Guy whose desire to get my job facilitated my firing: High-salary position of importance at large company. -Guy who helped third guy get rid of me: New job, lucrative position. -Third guy who fired me: See above.

I don't have a lot of enemies. Somehow, I've managed to maintain a good relationship with most of the people in the radio industry, including at least one of the above and, weirdly enough, several situations where I'm friendly with both sides of a bitter rivalry. And I shouldn't- CAN'T- let this get to me. Frankly, it doesn't matter what these people are up to. It has no bearing on my life. Plus, I'm doing well. I work out of my house and live by the ocean. That's good, and I appreciate it. Plus, I have a wonderful marriage to the Best. Wife. Ever. and all the love and support I need, and I work for great guys and companies of which I'm proud. In short, I should let this stuff go.

And I will. But first, I had to vent. Okay, I'm fine now. Let's move on.

No, really, I'm okay. Doesn't bother me.

Already forgotten. Done.

Finished.

OK.

DAMN, how can people like that get...

(exhale)

Where were we?

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We're not having kids, not by choice, necessarily, and, sometimes, we both get a little melancholy about it. Then, it all goes away in an instant.

That's because we see other people's kids in public.

At dinner this evening- in a bar, no less- a guy walks in with two sons, maybe 2 and 3 years old. He has no control over them- they scream, turn over chairs at other people's tables, climb in and out of the window (street level), and even throw the metal menu stands. And the guy's wife shows up with a third son- I'm guessing he's 5 or so, in an unnecessarily ironic Angels cap- and he's as bad as the others. I won't bore you with details, other than to bore you with the mother scolding the 5 year old for announcing that, wherever the family went for their outing, he was not having fun and wanted to go home.

I couldn't blame him.

Now, when I was a kid, we behaved like little angels, and always did what our parents told us to do, because we feared corporal punishment. (Actually, my dad and mon never once hit me, and I like to think it's because I didn't do anything to deserve a smack, not that I can remember) And, besides, screaming in public got kinda old after the first hundred times.

Don't ask me how to handle a screaming kid. I guess I should be sympathetic to the parents- you try to be a good parent, but your Deadly Spawn run around like Uday and Qusay turning over tables. Whaddyagonnado? Dunno, but the interference with my Chicken Pesto sandwich was getting to me, and I had the urge to pull the kids aside and teach them something new. "Hey, kids, wanna learn a new word? You know the word 'mother,' right? Well this one STARTS with 'mother'... remember only to use it when you're supposed to be on your best behavior- mommy and daddy will give you a special treat if you do..." But I shouldn't have to do that. When I was about 6, the kids on the playground knew ALL those words, leading to the apogee of children's comedy, the version of "The Name Game" in which you performed said lyrics using the starting name "Chuck." All together now, "Chuck, chuck, bo buck, banana nana bo buck, fee fi fo..." That was enough to send us into milk-streaming-from-nostrils laughter. That and "Rich." Kids today don't know from "The Name Game"- they go from Barney to 50 Cent at warp speed.

So I miss BEING a kid, but when push comes to shove, I guess I don't regret not HAVING them. It's better for society that way. Bad enough that kids are into gangsta rap at 13- it'd be worse if my kids were out there teaching their 6 year old schoolmates "Chuck, chuck, bo buck..." You wouldn't want that.

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