Growing up the son of an English professor, I was immersed in the classics from a very early age. No, I'm not talking about the early Jackie Collins or Robert Ludlum. Jonathan Swift, Chaucer, Shakespeare, John Donne and a host of others took the place of The Hardy Boys on my bookshelf by age 10.

Thanks to that, I grew up with a good grasp of what made for good literature. I also got beat up on the playground a lot.

I also learned the fine art of letter-writing.

Yes, children of the new millennium, once upon a time, we, your elders, actually corresponded with one another by "writing" on "paper" and "mailing" the papers back and forth.

Recently, I came into possession of a large box of old papers and letters from my paternal grandmother and documents that go back well into the 1800s. There are newspapers, wads of correspondence, and such choice bits as the notice of forfeiture of some land in Georgia. Apparently, my family got to Texas via desertion from the Civil War, and the folks back home in the Peachtree State didn't take kindly to that.

The one thing all the written bits have in common is their formality and general correctness. Punctuation is used properly, spelling is attended to and finer bits of style such as metaphor are used with mellifluous skill.

And most amazingly ... there's not an emoticon to be seen!

There's just ONE problem with all this highfalutin' writing, though: I'm a busy man! I don't have TIME to wade through a bunch of flowery prose. Boil it down, give me the bullet points, and let's move on.

There's a reason why USA Today, known as McPaper to some, is so successful: it gives you all the news that's fit to print in three paragraphs or less. We of the Pac-Man generation have neither the time nor the attention span to stay focused on long-winded discourse.

Why read 10 sentences about how happy someone is when a simple :) will convey the same information without all that troubling factual content? Facts just get in the way of my opinions.

If it's too long to fit in a single instant message, it's too long for me to deal with.

And don't get me started on Shakespeare. If Romeo and Juliet had been on "The O.C.," that whole death thing would have been done in time for me to catch the dinner specials at Denny's.

But I guess literature has its place. It gives the educated types something to talk about and feel superior for being familiar with. As long as it keeps them from getting in front of me in the line to see "Walking Tall," I'm all for higher lit.

Now, let's see what sort of literate mischief the rest of the world has been up to while we've been having our little symposium here.

I'm Not Quite Dead Yet!

Rare indeed is the person who hasn't contemplated their own mortality. Heck, most of my friends love to contemplate my eventual demise. It's mostly in terms of how they'll divvy up my stuff, but I know they're just saying that to camouflage their true, deep affection for me.

Famous musicians no longer need to spend hours contemplating their eventual conversion to worm chow, however. They've got Blender magazine to do it for them. Blender hired a gerontologist to analyze the lives of everyone from "American Idol" runner-up Clay Aiken to noted rock corpse Keith Richards.

I have to disagree with the results, though. Based on his squeaky-clean lifestyle, Clay's predicted to live to the ripe old age of 82. That doesn't factor in me getting sick of him and all the shrieking that goes on around him and whacking him with a ball-peen hammer. Not that I'd kill him or anything, just maybe knock his voice into a lower register.

As for Keith ... OK, so the gerontologist says he SHOULD have died in 1995. Obviously, Mick's been packing his bong with zombie cucumber and hiring a bokor as a roadie. Keith will be playing to the roaches while they eat Twinkies after the nuclear holocaust. When we finally let loose that Stephen King plague, it'll take one look at Keith's addled metabolism and decide he's just flat a different species and leave him alive.

What's The Secret Ingredient?

"Iron Chef" fans, rejoice! Word has come down that Food Network is picking up the Kitchen Stadium mantle in America. According to the story, my very own culinary idol, Alton Brown, will be filling the role of Dr. Hatori, wise in all manners culinary. Original Iron Chefs Masaharu Morimoto and Hiroyuki Sakai will be part of the show, and challengers are said to include Bobby Flay, Wolfgang Puck and many others.

If Flay pulls that "standing on the cutting board" trick again, I say they let Morimoto drop-kick him into the audience.

And the BEST part? William Shatner is not involved in the production in any way, shape or form!

I think I should hire on as the chairman. I'd look smashing in one of those heavily sequined matador jackets, don't you think?

Mmmm ... Columnists

To say that "The Simpsons" have touched every facet of modern culture is not too far a reach. There are pseudo-religious tomes touting the wisdom of Homer, and Bartspeak is heard from the mouths of everyone from CEOs to parish priests.

Thus, it was without too much surprise I noted that "Dear Abby" had been forced to pull a planned column after a sharp-eyed assistant noticed that one of the letters in it looked suspiciously like the plot of a "Simpsons" episode.

In the episode "Life In The Fast Lane," Homer gives Marge a bowling ball with his name on it for her birthday. Determined to get some enjoyment out of the thoughtless gift, she learns to bowl and meets a new man while doing so.

Surprise! That's exactly what the writer said happened after her husband, "Gene," gave her a bowling ball.

Back to our literary theme ... just imagine some of the letters that could come from the great tragedies!

"Dear Abby, I've finally found the perfect woman! I love her, but if her husband finds out, there'll be big trouble. We've been close for years. Well, since I was born, actually.

"Please tell me how I can have her for myself before I go blind from worry! --O. Rex"

"Dear Abby, I'm a sensitive musician in search of a girlfriend. However, every time I bring a girl back to my place to hear me play, it goes badly. Very badly. How can I get them to see past my outer appearance to the inner me? --Q. Z. Modo"

I welcome your comments, complaints, stories and professions of undying love. Large cash grants are also accepted. Just click here, type and send.

Previous Stories:

• March 5, 2004: The Sporting Way
• Feb. 27, 2004: It's A Cat's Life
• Feb. 13, 2003: For Love Of Munchies
• Feb. 6, 2004: Fallen Idols And Flying Wings
• Jan. 30, 2004: Surviving The (NFL) Experience
• Jan. 23, 2004: I'm Eating, Here!
• Jan 16, 2004: Disturbing The Peace
• Dec. 27, 2003: The Weird Year In Review
• Dec. 12, 2003: Time's Running Out!