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You become a sports fan, and you pick a team. You watch the team win and lose- mostly lose, with some periods of winning- over the years, and there are seasons when it's pretty painful. But then there are moments when the team just plain gives up, and you want to reach through the TV screen and strangle someone.

That was the case in the Super Bowl, when the Eagles decided to run the six minute offense with three minutes left, and it was the case today, as the Sixers decided that, by God, they'd stick to the game plan of conceding the outside shot and Donyell Marshall of Toronto could not miss. He went 12 for 19 from three point range and the Raptors were 21 for 34, and the Sixers just watched them do it. The entire building knew the Sixers were giving up, and the Raptors took advantage. And no amount of screaming at the TV could stop it.

I've often wondered about the people who are into fantasy leagues, how odd it must be not to have a favorite team but instead to root for individuals. I have a friend who is a fantasy sports expert, and I'd love to be able to join him in the whole fantasy thing, except that I'm not built that way. I like teams, winning and losing... OK, winning, and rooting for the guys who play for your city, or at least the city where you used to live (I will never become an L.A. sports fan, not after decades of "Beat L.A." Will. Not. Happen.), and celebrating because they won and wallowing in the civic depression because they lost. It's all about talking sports with my friendly local Boston fan to dissect what's wrong or right with the Celtics or with my fellow Philadelphia fan to share the optimism of the pre-season and the disappointment at the end of the season. That's part of the essence of being a sports fan. You identify with the team, with the city.

And then your team just deflates, gives up. Do you look for another team? How do you get out of an abusive relationship? You can just walk away, but there are the memories, the happy days when things seemed good and you thought it would be fo-fi-fo forever. Maybe it'll get better. Maybe they'll sober up and get themselves back on track. Or maybe they won't, and you'll leave, go flirt with the guys in purple and gold- horrors!- or maybe some other team picked at random, the Heat (Fran and my dad lived down there, and they win) or someone like that. And then you think, well, the moment I bolt, they'll win a championship, and THEN how will I feel?

So you stay. You stay, and you grit your teeth and you promise you won't watch the rest of the season to save yourself the disappointment but you know you'll be checking anyway. And they could still make the playoffs and... and... ah, forget it, it's not worth thinking about. Unless your team is dominant, you know they're destined to break your heart again and again and again, and you'll stay, because of the way it feels when, somehow, some way, they forget to break your heart and they win everything. I just wish it would happen more often. 22 years and counting, and if they let journeymen light them up from beyond the arc all night long, it'll be longer still.

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In lieu of an actual column today, here's a Handy Household Tip: when confronted with an invasion of ants, using bug spray gives the whole house a sickly chemical scent, so try this alternative... Clorox household wipes. Any knockoff brand (Kirkland at Costco, for example) will work, too. Just wipe the ant swarm off the kitchen counter with the wipes, and it'll halt their march. A tiny zap of Raid at the entry point, just enough to form an invisible Barrier of Death, and you're all set, with the pleasant citrus aroma of the wipes instead of the suffocating Raid smell.

And this is the level to which my life has been reduced- waxing lyrical about the joys of insect control using cleaning products. But then again, I'm all about the household hygiene.

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No, I haven't abandoned this thing. Missed a day because I ended up working late- the convention last week pushed everything back and I'm still not caught up yet. In addition, it's scrambled my thought processes so there's no single topic on which I can concentrate, just fragments, like these:

Blake walks, still suspect, don't much care. Peterson will die, good riddance, don't much care. Oil ridiculously expensive; apparently, nobody cares.

R.I.P., Dick Radatz. The Monster. An apt nickname- tall, threw fire. Heroes of childhood are getting older and dying- yes, that says much about us, too.

Thinking about finally springing for a flat panel HDTV. Suggestions welcome. So far, Joe the HD Expert has suggested the 42" Panasonic EDTV plasma. We're going to look at sets soon- feel free to weigh in. (We don't need to go really big- we have just a 27" analog at the moment)

Tonight's dinner: happy hour mini-fish tacos and other munchies at Baja Sharkees in Hermosa, surrounded by basketball on TVs mounted everywhere. In front of me, the Celtics edged Toronto after blowing a lead; to the left, the Nets pulled away from an Eddy Curry-less Chicago squad; off to the left, the Wizards and Hawks battled in front of a sea of empty seats at Philips, while the Cavs and Bucks played on a smaller set I could only see from an awkward angle. Ditto the Pacers on a big screen over Fran's shoulder; I'd rather look at Fran. So I did. But good food and drink in a tiki-hut-themed dive bar a half-block from the beach with hoops all around? Doesn't get much better than that.

See what I mean? Fragments. I'm going to go lay down now.

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Los Angeles now has a "Jack-FM." It's meant to be perceived as a daring and original move, with the slogan "We Play What We Want." It just so happens that "What We Want" is pretty much the same as "Jack-FM" stations in Denver, Vancouver and several other cities, or "Dave-FM" in Atlanta or "Bob-FM" in Ottawa or any number of "Guy's Name-FM" stations in any number of cities. And it also happens that "What We Want" is all from the same general category of music, essentially Classic Hits/Classic Rock of the 80's and 90's. The station calls itself "like your iPod on shuffle," but it's more like someone else's iPod on shuffle, someone with particularly unadventurous tastes. And that begs the question: if it's supposed to be an iPod on shuffle, doesn't it make a lot more sense to go out, buy your own iPod, put music YOU like on it, and set it to shuffle?

I wish them well; I'll listen to something else.

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I watched a streaming video advance version of the second episode of NBC's remake of "The Office," and I don't want to prejudge the entire series before it even airs, but I think I know what's bothering me about it, besides the obvious (they're REMAKING A CLASSIC that DIDN'T NEED TO BE REMADE). There's a significant difference in the central character, and, at least in the one episode, it's close to fatal.

In the BBC original, David Brent is ridiculous, buffoonish, but he's not a bad person. He's oblivious to his own shortcomings, he's a slacker who really would rather hang out with the staff (the closest thing he has to friends), and he's ignorant on several levels, but he's well-meaning. By the end of the series, when something actually goes right for him, you're happy- there's a future for him, and with all of his deficiencies, you're glad that's so.

In the NBC remake, Michael Scott- the Brent equivalent- is ridiculous, buffoonish, and there's no real inkling whether he's bad or good. He's just stupid, just like every other character Steve Carell plays. And there's the problem- you know Steve Carell, you know he's going to be the moron like in his "Daily Show" bits and in "Anchorman" and whenever else you've seen him. In "The Office," he's trying to underplay it, but he's too slick and hardened- a cross between "Office Space"'s unctious Bill Lumbergh and David Brent- and it doesn't work as well for me. With Ricky Gervais, you got a complex portrayal, a dumb guy struggling to be smart, a supremely untalented guy deluding himself into thinking he's the consummate entertainer, someone who deep down knows he's friendless yet persists on behaving like the life of the party- the sad clown. The Carell version flattens that out, takes the hard edges of the Gervais characterization without the pathos. It's not as good.

But you can check it out yourself here. And I'll note that if I'd never seen the BBC original, I might not be as harsh- there are funny moments, and its pacing- not dissimilar to the original- is unique on American TV, and an improvement compared to the typical sitcom. Naturally, it has no chance.

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It was drizzling and threatening to pour this morning, and the weather report for the desert was cool and rainy, so, naturally, we decided to drive out there anyway, since this is the weekend for the annual La Quinta Arts Festival and we like to go and browse and soak in the desert atmosphere. And it was pouring all along the 91 freeway, drizzling in Moreno Valley, pouring again in Banning and Cabazon.

But it was sunny in La Quinta. For an hour or so, anyway.

This year, they moved the festival from its home of the last few years, a large open lot on Jefferson, to the park behind the new City Hall. The new digs are nice- not as funky and home(l)y as the park in Old Town where it used to be, but much nicer than the dusty hillside and tent farm of recent times. Here's a bad camera phone shot- you can see the lake in the middle of the grounds off in the distance.

But this year, there seemed to be fewer vendors, fewer attendees (the weather couldn't have helped), lower quality. There used to be tons of cool furniture and unusual art; this year, there were only a couple of furniture booths and the art, with a handful of exceptions, was pedestrian, stuff you wouldn't likely put in your house, especially not at $2,500. a throw. But that's a different world out there; we overheard a 10 year old girl pricing out artwork and seriously considering buying a $500. piece. At 10, if someone gave me $500., I don't know what I would have bought- lots of baseball cards and yearbooks, probably- but I know it wouldn't have been artwork.

The clouds rolled in around 2:30, and we'd finished our rounds, so we went off to visit the Future of Retailing, better known as the Wal-Mart Supercenter on Highway 111. The grocery chains in Southern California are terrified enough of the Wal-Mart Supercenters that they ended up with scab workers for months last year. We go to Wal-Mart all the time, but this was the first one we'd been to with the full grocery.

The verdict? It's... okay. The regular Wal-Mart part's pretty much like every other Wal-Mart, maybe a little newer and cleaner and with wider aisles, but the same stuff at the same prices. The food section? It's decent- okay selection, better on the Mexican goods but just average on the rest, meats are pre-packaged from some central butcher, prices are good, produce is okay. Lines at the checkout were longish.

But would we go out of our way for it? Not really. If there was a Supercenter within a 10 mile drive, yes, we'd shop for food there- the prices are lower. But they're not so much lower that we'd do our regular or even weekly shopping there- we have Ralphs 4 minutes away, Albertsons and Pavilions about 7, Vons and Bristol Farms about 8. Costco for the bulk items is about 15 minutes away. The nearest likely Wal-Mart Supercenter will be up near the 405, a 20 minute drive, if they ever get around to building on that lot and get approval- that's too far. And the check-outs are long, a lot longer than you get at Ralphs (unless you use the self-checkouts, which are a pain in the ass and which seem to screw up on every third item). We'd go there for the usual Wal-Mart stuff- soap, underwear, toothpaste, odds and ends. Regular food shopping? Nah.

And I suspect that's what the pattern will be. They'll hammer the other chains at the stores within a 3 mile radius, but beyond that, frankly, I'd stick with Ralphs and Albertsons. Those stores have better meat, decent produce, and, you know, the difference in prices wouldn't be worth my time, effort, and gas. Do the other chains have something to worry about? Yeah. Is it likely to be as devastating as they say? Doubt it.

But I did get a really good price on shaving cream.

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