Okay, yes, well, I am working on a what-is-geek-culture story and I am getting a bit slappy, but this is still to me a terribly funny read in the not-under-my-byline-thank-heavens sense.

I don’t know which I enjoy more: The frothiness of the latest girl singers, or the consternation of the boy reporters when they “discover” such frothiness. What I enjoy most, of course, is not listening to any of this stuff.

The Times is at it again: Today’s new-liberal-radio story has a honking big error right in the middle. (And because this is the Times, not only do they give the error >100 words to breathe, they repeat it a couple of times.) Jim Hightower, rumors of whose show’s demise are highly exaggerated, got a bitter laugh out of it, but it really leaves you wondering what the hell they’re on over there. (At least Time Out NY generally restricts itself to screwing up names!)

From my inbox, an urgent request:

HI I WAS WONDERING IF GOLDFISH CAN EAT EACH OTHER?

PLEASE REPLY ASAP AS I AM CONCERNED ABOUT ONE OF MY FISH. IT SOUNDS REALLY STRANGE, BUT HE APPEARS TO BE MISSING?

PLEASE LET ME KNOW ASAP

THANKS ALOT

Oh dear. I’m afraid this is all my fault — I finally decided to pay for a Salon subscription (the one I’d been putting off for years ’cause I didn’t think the site would survive), and quite predictably I’ve gone and killed the poor thing. Or probably have. Doesn’t look good.

For everyone I know who’s crazed and miserable and scared this week (and I think that covers almost all of you), Anne Lamott’s got a really good essay up at Salon that includes the best working definition of salvation I’ve ever heard: that we are not all crazy at the same time. And she quotes Warren Zevon, which of course makes me happy too. Everybody quote Warren. He’s onto something I think.

Oh look! That heightened terrorism warning was a complete fabrication. What were the odds, especially with the city on the brink of a huge anti-war rally, that the story would be released anyway by a morally bankrupt administration and propagated anyway by my brain-dead media brethern? After all, a fearful populace is a docile populace, and a docile populace doesn’t attempt to demonstrate Saturday noon near the United Nations. (See you there.)