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I’m saying so long again for a brief stretch.

It’s been a year since I’ve seen the Caribbean, and the water is calling me back. I’m going on a seven-day cruise.

If I do in fact return, there will be something new in this slot on Nov. 23.

I’m trying really hard not to gloat.

See ya in a week.

Foghat plays Effingham’s Rosebud Theatre on Saturday.

The band is on a double bill with Ides of March.

There was a time in my life when Foghat was the coolest band in the world. I’d guess my pick for favorite Foghat album would be different from most of their fans, because by the time they got to “Fool For the City,” I thought they might have reached their sell-by date.

(There remains a theory about 1970s pop-metal bands that they had at best four good albums in them, and after that it was all downhill. KISS didn’t fit that, and neither did Lynyrd Skynyrd. But Molly Hatchet didn’t even make it that far, and Bachman-Turner Overdrive and Bad Company were the epitome of the argument.)

But I was crazy about “Energized,” which came out in early 1974.

Billboard doesn’t list their version of Buddy Holly’s “That’ll Be the Day” as a charting single, but I remember hearing it on the radio a lot. (Let’s blame a rogue DJ.) A funkified version with loud guitars, a horn section and female backing vocals, it was probably presented in a way Buddy Holly never heard in his head, but that’s part of what made it cool.

And the rest of the album was solid. Rock and roll. Solos, catchy arrangements, a nice combination of thievery from pop, rock, heavy metal and R&B, all strung together into a palatable chunk for a teenager with both metal and pop tastes.

And that neon-styled cover was just plain cool.

If I could be guaranteed that they would play plenty of cuts from “Energized,” I’d be there in a second.

I have a couple other Foghat stories I have to share. First, speaking of cool covers, the cover for 1977’s “Live” (their best-selling album) was really neat. The “Live” letters were cut out, so you could see the photos of the band members from the inner sleeve. They weren’t the first band to do that – I still treasure my original issue of The Who’s “Odds and Sods,” and I spent hours monkeying with the windows on Led Zeppelin’s “Physical Graffiti.” But “Foghat Live” was cool nevertheless.

A friend in high school called the band’s second album “Stone and Biscuit,” and since that’s what was on the cover, that’s what I called it as well. I have no idea how long it was before I realized they were giving a visual pun of “Rock and Roll.” It was a long time. I feel pretty foolish to this day. But I still call it “Stone and Biscuit.” I think that’s more clever.

And finally, in college, a friend was entering a photography contest. The theme was “The Environment.” My friend was convinced he was going to win. He had me pose. We went to a dead-end street in Rochester, Minn., lifted the manhole cover off a sewer grate, and he shot dozens of photos of me recreating the album cover of “Fool for the City.”

He didn’t win. It was still pretty funny.

I’m disappointed that my upcoming time out of state will preclude me from attending the Millikin-Decatur Symphony Orchestra’s Symphony Holiday Ball, which is Nov. 20 at the Decatur Club.

I attended my first one last year, thanks to my pals at Neuhoff Radio, specifically Brian Byers. It’s a black tie optional event, but I decided to go the whole route and rented a tux. I looked pretty dashing, according to one friend, although my size pretty much overwhelmed any style I might have had.

The event features an exceptional silent auction, great music, the chance to see MDSO director and conductor Michael Luxner – one of my favorite people on this beat – in a tux AND working the room, which is worth quite a bit by itself. There’s a great meal, and a breathtaking live auction.

Tickets for the event are $100, $55 of which is tax-deductible. I know money is tight for a lot of people, but if this is something you’d even consider, you owe it to yourself to jump in and attend.

For reservations or more information call 217-429-1234

It’s been more than a decade since they put out an album I even LIKED, and it’s been 20 years since their career hit what I think was its pinnacle with “Pump.”

Yet I continue to keep an eye on Aerosmith and be somewhat entertained and amused.

Here’s a band that’s wandered out on the road every two or three years, continuing to act half their age and entertaining an audience that includes those the age of their peers, children and grandchildren.

They’ve beat the odds in a number of improbable ways. But it sure seems like they’re facing their longest ones now.

Singer Steven Tyler apparently is leaving the band for a solo career. The band apparently will continue on with a new singer.

Things have been strange and strained in the Aerosmith camp since Tyler tumbled from a stage in August and broke his shoulder, forcing the end of the band’s tour.

As much as I like Tyler’s work – even when it’s not great, I still listen – I’ve got to wonder what his first solo album might sound like. And what does guitar player Joe Perry – Tyler’s longtime musical partner – mean when he says a replacement singer will “move the Aerosmith up a notch, move the vibe up a notch”?

Aerosmith has done a lot of things, including convince me acts past age 40 can still put out relevant music. Maybe they’ll prove something else this time around.

I had a fascinating, enlightening and frightening experience a couple of weeks ago.

I officiated (or moderated – heck, I don’t even know the proper terms) a Scholastic Bowl competition. St. Teresa was playing host to Eisenhower and Sangamon Valley. I know St. Teresa’s coach, who asked me to assume the role.

Like most folks who don’t have children, I had a vague idea of what this was about, but wondered exactly how it worked.

Here’s the deal: The competition consists of 24 tossup questions. Get a tossup right, and you earn the opportunity to answer additional bonus questions. The team with the most points wins, and I didn’t even have to keep score – they appointed someone to do that for me.

For the most part, my job was easy. I know how to pronounce most artists’ and composers’ names – even the French and Russian ones – so when literature, art and music came up, I didn’t blink.

Now mathematics, on the other hand …

My math education stopped after simple algebra. Advanced algebra was difficult for me, but somehow I escaped. I suspect a gift from the instructor. Geometry might as well have been college-level Chinese for all I understood of what was being said.

So during the competition, I found myself reduced to asking the students how to pronounce some of the questions, and in one case, give the correct answer, because I didn’t understand what was printed in the guide.

What was even more humbling was these students’ ability to rapidly fire off the math answers. They only have 30 seconds to complete computations. I swear reading some of the questions took me more than 30 seconds.

So, the fascinating? The experience. I didn’t have anything like this when I was in high school. It would have been fun. It might have kept me out of a little trouble.

The enlightening and frightening? There are high school juniors and seniors who know considerably more than I about certain things, and they’re extremely patient in dealing with those who know less.

THAT’S definitely changed from when I was their age, and I knew everything. You could ask my parents.

If there weren’t a bunch of quotes and if the story didn’t take a pretty serious tone, I’d think this story about suicide prevention groups being upset about a fake suicide by hanging in the Halloween episode of “The Office” came out of The Onion and not from The Associated Press.

The AP reports “The American Foundation for Suicide Prevention and other mental health organizations” were troubled by the image of Steve Carell’s character Michael Scott pretending to hang himself in the show’s haunted house for children.

To take a look at the opening of the episode, go here. The entire episode is here. The link expires on Dec. 4.

Now, if you watch “The Office” on a regular basis, you know Michael Scott is the master of the faux paus. He is, to put it as indelicately as possible, an idiot.

You don’t even need to watch the show, though, to understand that after watching this clip. Which concludes with a character asking Carell/Scott, “What the hell is wrong with you?”

There’s no question that suicide prevention is an important and serious subject. Don’t, however, mix up anything to do with “serious” with “The Office.”

The story about Colbert Nation adopting the U.S. Olympic speed skating team makes me feel all kinds of good. I especially love the last quote in this story. Seems like everybody might get what they want out of this.

***

Sometimes I wonder if Christopher Walken realizes how funny he is. (I’m not big on everybody “doing” Walken, but when Walken himself does something like this, it’s worth passing along.)

***

This is an entertaining list of 10 infamous “Saturday Night Live” moments, but how they leave out the Paul Shaffer and Charles Rocket f-bombs (especially Rocket’s) is beyond me.

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This is actually kind of funny. A list of Hollywood’s most generic-looking actresses.

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A list of 42 third-act twists.

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How can it get any better than this? An invitation from Billy Mays’ family to send in photos of people dressed as Mays for Halloween. There are prizes.

***

Here’s a crazy ongoing project. The first “Star Wars” film (“A New Hope”) is cut into 15-second pieces and recreated by amateur filmmakers. Then the whole thing is put back together for our viewing pleasure.

***

“The Informant!” was once touted as an Oscar hopeful. Even with the best picture field expanded to 10 movies, the Decatur-based effort isn’t getting much love from those predicting the nominees.

On the other hand, there’s this list.

***

Yep, it includes Skittlebrau. A list of 14 great fake products from “The Simpsons.”

Excuse me while I vent for a minute.

And if this hits a little too close to home for some of you, I’m sorry, but you have it coming.

I’ve taken phone calls and been watching the blog comments in Ashley Rueff’s DecaturAde regarding the cancellation of a scheduled appearance by the comedian Gallagher. The self-promoted show was called off due to limited advance ticket sales.

Posters and callers are complaining they didn’t know about the show.

Folks, we had it in the newspaper. It was listed on the front page of the D section last Friday. Two full paragraphs, along with five other events within an hour’s drive of Decatur (Christian band NewSong – whose Decatur show we’ll advance this Friday – “Tap Dogs” at Springfield, Andrew Bird at Urbana’s Foellinger Auditorium, Larry Reed at Mason City Limits comedy club, “Miracle on 34th Street” at Effingham’s Rosebud Theatre and Disco Biscuits playing at Urbana’s Canopy Club). In addition, advertisements for the show appeared in the newspaper.

Daily, I hear complaints from people who say they had no advance notice of an event. Easily 90 percent of the time, we’ve had information about the event someplace in the paper. AND the Web site. These complainers generally get my half-mocking-but-still-serious response, “You actually have to pick up the paper and read it. We could go around door-to-door and read it to people, but we’ve found packaging it up and laying it on your doorstep is much more economical.”

Look, I know the printed version of the newspaper is an incredibly uncool thing for some people. But consider this: If the Internet were the accepted manner of news delivery, the newspaper would have been invented to make it more convenient for users. You don’t need a computer or a wireless connection to read the newspaper. It’s THERE ALREADY.

And this comes from a guy who played a significant role in creating the site you’re looking at now. I LOVE the Internet. Love it. But I love print, too. I see them as complementing each other, not being mutually exclusive. I use both every day.

I know there’s a cadre of folks who seemingly can’t wait for the death of newspapers, or “mainstream media,” or whatever they call this thing they appear to view as a mindless, thoughtless, uncaring monolith. (I answer and/or return almost every one of my phone calls and e-mails, I swear, and most of my co-workers, to my knowledge, do the same.)

All I can say to that group that wants to shovel dirt over our faces is be careful about getting what you wish for. If you think it’s difficult to find information now, it will get worse if your wishes come true.

That’s one prediction I hope I don’t live to see.

Pick up and read the paper once in a while, OK?

Thanks for letting me vent. I’ll be back with more silly crap tomorrow.

Let that be the end of that – until the DVD release, anyway.

If you live in the Herald & Review circulation area, Thursday will be your last chance to catch “The Informant!” in theaters. After a seven-week run at the Strand and Hickory Point (in addition to the five-week run at The Avon), the Matt Damon-ADM price-fixing tale is leaving town.

According to Yahoo’s box office gross tracker, the film has made close to $33 million in domestic box office. If online estimates of $20 to $25 million for the film’s budget are accurate, it’s already in profit.

Interestingly, Yahoo’s users really disliked the film. It earned a 76% “fresh” rating from critics at Rotten Tomatoes.

There’s no DVD release date set yet.

Raise your hand if you were actually gullible enough to believe “Michael Jackson: This Is It” would only be in theaters for two weeks.

Yeah, nobody’s raising their hands, are they? You’re very wise people.

If you want a full taste of how ridiculous some of the hyperbole about the film is, take a look at this press release masked as a news story. I know publicists who would be ashamed to engage in this kind of hyperbole.

I’ve found the coverage of the “This Is It” box office results interesting. All box office predictions I read last week had the film making considerably more than the $32.5 million it’s made so far. That’s barely ahead of the Miley Cyrus concert film from last year, and Jackson’s movie has almost five times the number of prints in circulation.

Yet news stories consistently repeat a figure of $100 million worldwide. Someone at Sony – the company that paid dearly for the “This Is It” footage – is working overtime. Worldwide grosses are rarely a big part of any movie story – unless publicists insist on it.

Last week’s new “South Park” episode – “Whale Whores” – showed me again how improbably creative the show’s writing staff can be.

Understand before you go forward reading this – I know “South Park” is not everyone’s cup of soup. However, I have two hours of appointment television per week: “Heroes,” “South Park” and “The Office.” That’s just me. Believe me, I get it if you feel otherwise – especially if you have pre-teen children.

By my count, the show has done 194 episodes, and I’ve only been disappointed in a handful. The prime key in the success of “South Park” is they deliver on the ideas.

The plot for “Whale Whores,” while not giving away any key elements, focuses on angry Japanese (portrayed in cruel racial stereotypes, as are almost every minority depicted on the show) killing dolphins. Somehow, the writers turn this into comedy, comedy that works.

I was and remain a huge fan of early “SCTV” comedy shows, but when the program moved to NBC, the demands of filling a 90-minute weekly slot overwhelmed the small writing team. The ideas were still there, but unfortunately, too often the pieces ultimately looked like barely sketched-out versions of decent ideas. (“What if we did a Bowery Boys spoof and put Robin Williams in it?”)

This “South Park” episode reeked of one of those kind of table discussions. (“The Japanese are the only country that refuses to not kill dolphins while harvesting from the sea.” “Wow, they must hate dolphins.”)

The episode even used stock film footage of the aftermath of World War II atomic bombs being dropped on Japan.

And yet the writers pulled off a funny episode, one of the best of this season.

How do they do it? I don’t know. But it’s amazing to me.

A friend of mine used to be fond of saying, “Face your fears and they’ll disappear.”

Unfortunately, her peer group discovered her fear of snakes. We were all amused by her inability to face down even fake rubber snakes. Ones that didn’t even appear real.

However, in honor of that friend (and this weekend being Halloween), let’s share what scares us. If we face our fears, they will disappear.

You first.

Seriously, though.

I’ve overcome some fears that were simply silly (thunderstorms with extra added bonus wind!) and others that were more real and maybe even remain around in a small way (heights). My biggest fear remains water.

“Cold or deep?” a friend used to ask. My response was “Cold AND deep AND wet.” Maybe if I’d spent more time swimming and less time listening to Top 40 radio in my teens, I’d have already faced down this fear. But it’s there.

(Although to a reduced degree from years ago. For example, I’m going on a Caribbean cruise – my third in five years – next month.)

That’s my big one. Your turn. Be brave.

There’s a lot to say about “Michael Jackson: This Is It,” and I try to address some of that Friday in my column in the print edition of the Herald & Review.

(Don’t worry – I’m not spilling as much ink about Jackson as I did with Brian Wilson earlier this week.)

The first thing most of you are going to be wondering is how it is and whether it’s worth it. And the short answer is: That all depends.

First, be aware that it’s a “premium” ticket, which for me meant dropping $11 to see the 11 p.m. Tuesday debut at the Strand. A friend spent less at the concession stand.

Second, be aware you’re not seeing a concert film. You’re essentially watching footage of rehearsals, something I doubt Jackson ever wanted us to see.

If you want a look behind the scenes at preparations for a huge stage show, this gives you a small idea of what it takes. But if you’re looking for evidence that these concerts would have provided a creative rebirth for Michael Jackson, that’s nowhere in evidence.

Neither, though, is there evidence that Jackson was a walking cadaver. He looks paper-thin from a couple of angles, sure, and his facial reconstruction should have stopped before he started resembling a “Batman” Jack Nicholson when he smiled.

Based on what we see here, had Jackson decided to release a DVD of the “This Is It” concert, something like the film in theaters now would have served as an excellent and worthwhile extra on that DVD.

I didn’t have any trouble getting to sleep.

Then again, I have a low tolerance for the cut-rate spooky stuff (like “The Blair Witch Project”), and am more likely to be disturbed by things that make others laugh out loud. (Like “Funny Games.”)

And maybe had there been more people around when I saw the film “Paranormal Activity,” I might have been more spooked just picking up the vibes of the crowd.

As it turned out, though, the people (whose opinions I respect) who called the low-budget one-camera film one of the scariest films they’d ever seen probably just built me up for something no movie could match.

The acting is great, and there were a couple of scenes that raised the hair on my arms a little bit. But “The Blair Witch Project” had that too.

I consider both to be wild marketing successes, and at best mediocre movies.

I’ve also been reading that some younger couples are finding themselves walking out of the movie pretty shaken by what they’ve seen. Maybe it’s an age thing, or maybe it’s just knowing how hard it is to wake me out of a loud, snore-dominated sleep.

This is a continuation of yesterday’s blog about last week’s Brian Wilson concert at Springfield’s Sangamon Auditorium last week. I understand if you’re not interested in 1,300 words about Brian Wilson. Come on back Wednesday.

***

Upon entering the auditorium, I was immediately smiling. The music playing was songs clearly influenced by Wilson’s Beach Boys work. I love that stuff. (First Class’ “Beach Baby” is easily one of my five favorite songs from the 1970s, and always reminds me of tubing down the Apple River in Wisconsin.)

(Other songs included “I Live For the Sun” and Eric Carmen’s delightful but obscure “My Girl.”)

Wilson brought close to a dozen performers onstage with him, and while he didn’t play (except for a token strapping on of his bass guitar near the end of the show), he sat center stage and was clearly the focus of attention.

The band was an amazing recreation of The Beach Boys’ sound. And to show how amazing that group’s harmonies were, at times there were eight people onstage replicating the sound of the original five (or sometimes even three or four) singers.

And if you’re a fan of this music, it just makes you feel good. So I couldn’t keep from smiling.

But then I started noticing things. The musicians weren’t interacting much with one another. That may have been a tribute to the difficulty of the music (it’s complex, as simple as it sounds). It may have been because of exacting standards.

Or it may have been the influence of Wilson. He sat on a stool centerstage, in front of a keyboard he rarely touched. A computer screen was mounted ahead of the keyboard, and I assume it projected lyrics, although it may have even included Wilson’s wooden stage patter. He was strangely unconnected as the band behind him laughed at a couple of sloppy starts or tried to engage in their own stage patter.

Wilson seemed more engaged as the setlist moved to a couple of songs from “That Lucky Old Sun,” but otherwise seemed untouched by what was going on around him.

Maybe I was just too sensitive and feeling defensive for him. As I’ve written before, there was a time when all many of Wilson’s true fans wanted was for him to simply live his life and enjoy it. He’s living it now. I wish there was more evidence he was enjoying it, but maybe that’s impossible.

Wilson doesn’t have any of his falsetto any more, and I was actually relieved his voice wasn’t as gruff as that show four years ago in St. Louis. However, his vocal efforts were sometimes boosted by others on the stage.

And there are singalongs.

I HATE singalongs.

At one point during the second half of the show, someone was horribly out of tune. As I scanned the stage and tried to pin down the culprit, I slowly realized it was a woman a row behind me and a few seats to my left.

This was NOT during a singalong, by the way.

This group did exacting rehearsal to perfect these harmonies, and some dope in the audience wants to join in? Save it for karaoke night.

So at what point does a show like this become a tribute act with the tributee present, centerstage, headlining? I don’t know. That’s a good question. I take comfort in realizing Wilson hand-selected this band, and I’ve seen video evidence of his interactions with Darian Sahanaja, who played a key role in pulling together “SMiLE.”

And if this is a pension tour for Wilson, so be it. Plenty of people have made plenty of money off his creativity for the last 50 years. If he wants his, I’m good with that, and I’d rather see my money going to him than Mike Love.

Now, that’s assuming you can tolerate some things. It was an old audience. It’s going to be. Hey, I’m old, too. I’m accustomed to being the oldest person in the room at a show. Not since seeing Tony Bennett a couple of times in the 1990s, though, have I been in contention for being among the youngest.

The funny thing is, things can change in a moment. During the second set, Wilson introduced what he called the greatest song he’d ever written. As I went down a short checklist in my head (“Good Vibrations”? “ ‘Til I Die”? “Caroline, No”?), I was embarrassed at my mental omission as the band launched into “God Only Knows.”

(This – from July of this year in Germany – is a decidedly inferior version compared with what I heard at last week’s show.)

Wilson was no longer singing clipped syllables. He was holding the notes as long as they should have been held. His voice was beautiful. I’m not ashamed to admit I cried a couple of times during the “SMiLE” show, and “God Only Knows” almost had me in tears in Springfield.

It’s amazing to me what Wilson does just as I’m ready to count him out. Which is why I’ll probably never be able to.

I wasn’t expecting to write this much, so I’m going to split this discussion about last week’s Brian Wilson concert at Springfield’s Sangamon Auditorium last week. I understand if you’re not interested in 1,300 words about Brian Wilson. Come on back Wednesday.

***

I can’t believe I almost gave up my ticket for this show.

I saw Brian Wilson perform four years ago in St. Louis, a performance I called going “to church.” Wilson’s live performance of the legendary “SMiLE” album left me in tears at a couple of points. It was exactly what I wanted out of a Brian Wilson show – a showcase for his ambition.

Before the “SMiLE” tour, Wilson had performed the entirety of The Beach Boys’ luscious “Pet Sounds” album at shows, and last year, he toured and performed the entirety of “That Lucky Old Sun,” a new concept piece.

So when I saw Wilson had been booked for Springfield’s Sangamon Auditorium, kicking off a new tour, I anxiously landed my ticket as soon as individual sales began. I wound up with a sixth-row center seat, and assumed “That Lucky Old Sun” would be the centerpiece of the performance.

Then a couple of things happened.

I began reading that Wilson had changed the scope of his shows to focus on his hits. That’s a great idea from a financial point of view – certainly more people are familiar with “Good Vibrations” than “SMiLE,” and would be more inclined to pay to see that. Wilson could play in larger venues.

But I’m less interested in that. I’m not big on nostalgia shows, as I wrote in my column a couple of weeks back.

Then, a couple of weeks before the show, I interviewed Wilson. Or maybe I should say we spoke over the phone.

It was unquestionably one of the worst interviews I’ve ever experienced. And usually, I’m willing to blame myself when things go wrong. In this case, though, no. I’d probably only be better prepared to interview Elvis Costello or Paul McCartney. I KNOW my Brian Wilson.

But he was on auto-pilot. For all I know, he’d been doing interviews all day and was sick of talking to reporters. Or maybe this was his first of the day. Or maybe he’s mentally damaged enough to not be good with social-business interaction.

At any rate, it all left a bad taste in my mouth, and I looked to dump my ticket.

I was unable to find anyone. I figured the worst that would come out of the deal was I’d listen to live Beach Boys music for a couple of hours, and there are lots of punishments in life worse than that.

One of my favorite moments in the Monty Python documentary series on IFC was when the commentators all were shown hesitating after being asked to name their favorite Python sketch.

(My very favorite moment from what I’ve seen? Steve Coogan’s recreation of a piece of the “Pirhana Brothers” sketch intercut with Michael Palin’s performance. Clearly, Coogan had become one with Palin’s performance thanks to love of it, and repeated viewings.)

The discussion among some Herald & Review Python fans result in the same hemming and hawing. As we threw out different bits (semaphore “Wuthering Heights,” Albatross,” “The Bishop”), we started laughing, and those around us unfamiliar with the Pythons were reduced to uncomfortable smiles and hoping we’d change the subject soon.

The fact is, either Python is a part of your life or it isn’t. In Chicago last weekend, some co-workers and I shared a Python-based joke referencing the Spanish Inquisition. I think the Pythons would have been proud of us.

But after watching Wednesday’s episode of the documentary, I stayed up and left the TV tuned to IFC and watched an original episode of the show.

“Oh!” I thought a couple of minutes in. “This one has Crunchy Frog.”

How did I forget that one when I was listing some of my favorite bits?

I feel a top 10 list in my future …

I’m amused to see KISS (why all caps? Who knows?) is playing Chicago’s United Center early next month.

I was one of the millions converted by the 1975 release “Kiss Alive!” (The current tour is billed as “Alive 35,” a celebration marking the 35th anniversary of the release of that breakthrough double album.) I continued to follow the group as a semi-fan, liking some stuff (“Destroyer” and “Love Gun”) while getting annoyed with others (the disco-fied “I Was Made For Loving You” was particularly disturbing).

Years after I first wanted to, I finally saw the band in concert in Rochester, Minn., in 1987. This was probably the best time to see them. Only two original members were present – same as now, Paul Stanley and Gene Simmons. And the crowd was a mere 2,000 – about 15 percent of what they’ll likely attract in Chicago.

There was no blood-spitting, no fire-eating, no makeup.

But it was 90 minutes of loud, thumping rock and roll, including exhortations from Simmons that women in the audience disrobe (sung as he forgot the lyrics to “Blue Suede Shoes”) and a hot (no pun intended) version of “Heaven’s On Fire” that made me permanently reconsider the song.

It cracks me up (in a good way) that they’re still satisfying audiences. Their soap opera of existence is one of the best in rock history, and on top of that – years after Gene Simmons said he was through recording new music because of thievery via the Web – they’ve got a new album out.

I’ll have to check that out. But I don’t need to see the Chicago show. I’ve already rock and rolled all night. Now I’m old, and I just want a nap.

Not that I want to rehash the discussion from last week about John Fogerty’s album of cover songs, but Phil Collins is off to do the same thing now.

Collins told a German newspaper he plans a new CD in 2010 that will feature covers of 30 songs from the Motown label.

“I want the songs to sound exactly like the originals,” the paper quoted him as saying.

You know what sounds even MORE like the originals? THE ORIGINALS.

One of the things I failed to point out in my Fogerty post was how even in his Creedence Clearwater Revival career, he produced great and mediocre covers. CCR’s first hit was a cover (“Suzie Q”), and their version of “I Heard It Through the Grapevine” is, to me, the definitive version. On the other hand, I could do without their “Hello Mary Lou” and the limp “Midnight Special.”

But even at their worst, CCR generally did different things with their cover versions. At his best, Phil Collins is a Xerox. He had a hit in 1982 with “You Can’t Hurry Love,” but if you’d rather hear that than Motown’s original version (by The Supremes), I truly feel sorry for you.

Reading about Collins’ plans made me think of the 1984 “Saturday Night Live” parody when Linda Ronstadt had released her “What’s New?” collection of 1940s big band standards. Julia Louis-Dreyfus appeared in the same garb Ronstadt wore on the album cover and sang a pointed tune about making money off others’ hits and not being able to come up with anything new.

Is there an “SNL” cast member who resembles Phil Collins?

When the “balloon boy” story was unfolding last Thursday, it was a hot topic of discussion between a handful of us in the newsroom.

I usually call these stories the “TV stories.” They’re driven by striking video (as was the case here) or some sordid or unbelievable details (Scott Peterson murdering his pregnant wife Laci), or by being part of a divisive issue on which everyone has an opinion (Terri Schiavo and end-of-life rights).

These cases are not necessarily news by themselves, except to a select few. They become national news because cable stations, needing to fill 24 hours a day, develop attachments to them. And many of us are glued to them.

When we went into our 4 p.m. news meeting Thursday afternoon, the balloon boy was a topic of discussion, including the possibility that the young boy had actually loosed the balloon himself and was hiding, thinking he’d be in trouble. None of us verbally expressed the belief in the possibility that the story was a hoax, but the story was dismissed as a front-page possibility because we had three strong local stories and thought another national story was more compelling and wide-reaching – one about a Louisiana judge declining to perform marriage ceremonies for interracial couples.

In reading follow-ups to the story on Friday, I began to second-guess my position, which was that the story DID NOT belong on our front page. Two networks led their news with it. Was my judgment that far off base on this one?

I was half-relieved as the hoax part of the story began to unravel. We ran the story, but didn’t play it up in a huge way.

This isn’t to excuse any of the media – or any of the public - for falling for a hoax. All I want to point out is at least here (and at other papers where I and my co-workers have been employed), these decisions aren’t made without thought. And however much you as readers might second-guess us, for the most part, you aren’t any harder on us than we already have been on ourselves.