- Right now I'd have to say that the second season of Lost is superior to the first half of the premier season; the OC -esque musical montages are almost ludicrous (considering The OC flirts with ludicrousness with said musical montages), and it hasn't been weird in a while- whereas this season it is crazy dense with "huh?" moments from the get go. Apparently it picks up tremendously eventually, we shall see...

- NBC deserves a big raspberry for not covering those people getting clocked by that streetlight at the Macy's Parade- that footage is priceless quite frankly, and it's not like their broadcast brimmed with excitment anyway. How could they pass up "TERROR AT THE MACY'S PARADE?" It's not like anybody was killed and like I said, that footage is magnificent.

- I can't believe I didn't catch glimpse of Mischa Barton's nipple on The OC last week, and I profoundly regret that I'd deleted it off the Tivo before reading that they joked about it on SNL in EW (like many Americans, my Saturday BM read). Even though she looks good this season (I love healthy eaters), I must have been engrossed (the Chino Kid and the Tragic Surfer battle the skinhead evil surfer! Sandy the bleeding heart Zen Jedi Master liberal trying to run his father in-law's company!). If you have it saved e-mail me and we'll talk.

- The Bills game was awesome loss notwithstanding. The people in Section 201, in the Rockpile, are the greatest: Bluto, our cheerleader and public flasher- with a crazy glint in his eyes, the surly drunk chick who called everybody "retard!", the crazy old dudes booted out and the families who enjoy the unique atmosphere- football fandom at it's purest, and the cool dudes everywhere to chat with chatted amiably. I will also say that everybody was profoundly courteous (except for the surly drunken chick). It was great. And the smell of burning stuff, animal flesh or otherwise is intoxicating on a cold, damp morning before battle... "to fight the horde, singing and crying: Valhalla, I am coming! On we sweep with threshing oar, Our only goal will be the western shore"... oh yes, it was like the visigoth camp that you can imagine but didn't see before the big battle at the beginning of Gladiator.

Football is America. America loves football. I love football. Therefore I love America.

But if we were buzzing Sunday vikings the security dudes were frigging Stormtroopers as everybody got weary, tightened up, and leaned away when they passed by. Between that and going to shows at Darien Lake I have to say- WTF? But like I said, the loss being a late buzzkill, on balance all was good. And then I went to Casa Parks for Thanksgiving left overs, AND ANOTHER BIRD! 13 lbs I believe, and again, perfectly cooked. My mother is the best turkey cooker in the Northeast, if not north of the Mason Dixon line, and I defy anybody to prove me otherwise.

- I must confess that I am intrigued by the mulligan apparently taken by the Wachowski Brothers for the ending they've put at the end of the new Matrix videogame to replace the total letdown that was the third movie's trilogy deflating conclusion. I think I'll rent that after I've burnt myself out with SW:BF2, which won't be for for a while. I'm a Stormtrooper General for God's sake!

- This week's Simpsons was one of their occasional classics, the ones that keep it fresh: hey, there's Diamond Joe Quimby's long suffering wife in a pillbox hat! A depressed Marge walking down Main St. to R.E.M.'s "Everybody Hurts!" That image of Milhouse's Italian Grandmother chasing him across a Tuscan hillside yelling "idiota!" And the frantic and sad Homer (and Homer in those pajamas curled up on the floor waiting for Marge, who's been out with her new friends from a social anarchist tea and social society), sad because Marge was sad... it was all sweet, hilarious, and all good.