In our work here at Taylor, we do a fair amount of TV program pilot testing. And a fair number of those pilots are reality shows -- or "real-life shows," as some of our clients call them. "Real-life shows" seems to have a much nicer ring to it. Since the barrage of reality TV shows began sometime in the late 90s, I think it can be safely argued that they've gotten steadily . . . well, trashier. (Anyone remember "The Littlest Groom" or "Temptation Island"?) "Reality show" has a certain connotation -- and it's not a good one. "Real-life," on the other hand . . .

We recently conducted focus groups on some raw footage that our client may turn into a series, a documentary, or a TV special -- based on real people. And prior to the groups, we watched and discussed the footage internally. We reached a consensus that our focus group participants later mirrored: that real people on TV are interesting only to the extent that they feel like real people.

I'm not into the shows that follow B-list celebrities trying to boost their careers. I could care less about "Living Lohan," "House of Carters," "Keeping Up With the Kardashians," or -- especially -- "Denise Richards: It's Complicated." (Thanks for spelling it out for us, Denise.) These celebrities are already known -- and I know their lives are not like mine. They're so far removed from my world that watching them is just a little piece of fluff, cotton candy.

Then there are the shows that, for me, cut to the bone of "real life." These shows are different from those listed above because they involve people who could be me -- or could be my neighbors, my friends, my coworkers. They are regular people made famous by an extraordinary quirk or quality.

I see three categories under this umbrella:

1) Shows featuring an extraordinary family:
"Jon and Kate Plus Eight" -- a couple with eight children: twins and sextuplets.
"Little People, Big World" -- a couple who are little people and their four children -- three of whom are of average height, one of whom is little.

2) Shows featuring people with extraordinary jobs:
"Ice Road Truckers" -- drivers of big rigs over the Arctic ice.
"Deadliest Catch" -- crab fishermen in the treacherous Pacific waters off Alaska.

3) Shows featuring people facing an extraordinary obstacle:
"Intervention" -- people dealing with various addictions whose families attempt to stage an intervention.

To me, these shows all have one thing in common -- people who are willing to expose their flaws, even it makes them look overbearing, strung out, scared, gritty, or ugly. Kate Gosselin is no Denise Richards -- and she certainly isn't always wearing make up. Then again, if she was, we wouldn't buy that she was successfully parenting eight children without a full-time staff.

"Intervention" is so emotionally raw that I often can't even watch it. I once saw an episode about a woman battling anorexia (her addiction was control), and I couldn't stop thinking about it for days afterwards. I even searched for information about her online -- was she okay? Did she recover? Did she die? The harshness of this reality is what draws us to these shows -- and what creates a successful connection with a viewer.

Do you agree? Do you wonder how the crab season will go on "Deadliest Catch," or are "The Girls Next Door" your guilty pleasure?

What makes you connect with reality shows -- and do you believe any of them actually portray reality?

It was nine minutes past nine o'clock in London yesterday evening when, deep into the fifth set of the Wimbledon gentlemen's final, Roger Federer eyed a short ball and prepared to hit his forehand, the sport's most dominant shot.

Instead of drilling it into the corner for a winner, as he's done countless times before, he went straight up the middle, directly at Rafael Nadal, his shot landing six inches beyond the baseline. Out. Nadal had secured a break and would hold his serve the next game to win the title, 6-4, 6-4, 6-7, 6-7, 9-7, in four hours and forty-eight minutes of spectacular tennis.

It was Federer's first loss at Wimbledon since 2002, and many have claimed this match marks a permanent change atop men's tennis. Personally, I'm not so sure: Nadal has yet to prove his body can take the pounding of a full year of tennis, and he normally breaks down at some point during the summer hardcourt or fall indoor seasons. I expect Federer to remain No. 1 for the rest of this year.

Nevertheless, the match was fascinating, suspenseful, exhilarating. It was so engaging to watch that, as a tennis fan, I was surprised when I had an odd feeling early in the fifth set, as night began to fall on London and clouds crept toward Centre Court.

I wanted it to rain, and I wanted the completion of the match to be pushed to Monday.

You should know that Monday finals are a disaster for everybody associated with tennis tournaments: the tournaments, the sponsors, the fans, the television partners. Nobody likes them. The last Monday Wimbledon final was broadcast on MSNBC, apparently because they couldn't possibly find a lower-rated news network on which to show the finals of an elite sporting event.

And yet, with the match moving toward conclusion, I started rooting for anything to stand in the way of that happening. And as the match reached 7-7 in the fifth set, I had a real chance: darkness wasn't far away, and just a couple more service holds (there hadn't been a break since the second set) would get us to Monday. Come on!

I should explain myself: We do work for the United States Tennis Association, and I'm always especially excited when we land a new USTA project. I've played tennis almost my entire life and have always loved the game.

You may have heard that tennis in America has seen better days: not only have other countries caught up (and in some cases passed) the U.S. on the court, but overall tennis interest isn't what it could be. While there are some positive signs, the conventional wisdom that is parroted so often in the media is that ratings are bad, the game has become too fast, and there are no compelling rivalries.

Even ESPN.com's Bill Simmons recently stopped writing about himself long enough to critique tennis, making a series of suggestions for improvement that ranged from the thoughtful (shorter sets, but more of them, thus increasing the number of important points) to the absurd (just about everything else in the column).

So here I was, watching one of the most exciting matches of my lifetime, hoping they'd stop playing and come back on Monday, when half of the country (including myself) would be at work. Why? Because I find myself constantly rooting for anything to make tennis more popular, to move it toward the front pages, to stand out among the entertainment options available to the average American. Once people are exposed to tennis, they'll love it, I reason.

I pictured Wimbledon being the No. 1 media story throughout Sunday evening and into Monday. And I thought of anxious coworkers huddling around the office TV early Monday morning, finding themselves caring about tennis for the first time in a long time. This, I thought, could be great for tennis.

But it wasn't to be. The greatest player of his generation couldn't find the court with his best shot, the sport's best shot, and the match ended with about 10 minutes of playable daylight remaining. And I'm left hoping that the overnight ratings were strong, so today's story isn't about how two great tennis players played an historic match but not enough people watched. Such is the life of a tennis fan.

Late last year about a dozen of us formed an office movie group. Every month we meet to discuss the current selection over pizza or sandwiches. (I suspect some joined just for the food, but that's not the point of this entry.)

Aside from a noted fondness for Patricia Clarkson (back-to-back months of "The Station Agent" and "Pieces of April"), the collection of movies we've discussed has been eclectic. And while most of them were made within the last decade, June's selection was "Dr. Strangelove or: How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Bomb," a 1964 black comedy directed by Stanley Kubrick.

The movie was met with very mixed reactions, with some ranking it toward the top of their all-time favorite movie list and others noting that it was hard to get through the entire 90 minutes. (Full disclosure: I found the film okay; I wouldn't recommend it to my friends.)

Like in much of our focus group research, reactions were divided mainly along demographic lines -- in this case, the split was based on age. Those old enough to have seen the film when it premiered liked it, while those of us who weren't expressed a more negative view. I may have forgotten, but I can't recall a single exception to this rule.

Someone wondered, aloud, whether movies with themes relevant to the day (in this case, the Cold War) could possibly be evaluated fairly by today's audiences. I don't think so. There's no substitute for being there. One group member recalled what it was like to duck and cover as a class in elementary school. I couldn't fully relate. I barely remember "The Day After." So in this respect, older period pieces definitely get short shrift.

But I'm convinced there's more at play here. At the risk of taking an immature view on the subject, I believe that entertainment today, for all its faults, is better than it has ever been -- that goes for movies, music, and even everyone's favorite punching bag: TV. I believe today's entertainment offers more selection and higher quality than at any time in the past -- that acting has evolved, writing is more creative, directing is sharper, and that there's more good entertainment out there if people are willing to search for it.

What do you think?

Has anyone noticed how often age comes up in these Praxis entries? Starting with Jason's "It's a Young Person's World" piece, we've had entries making the case that young professionals aren't taken seriously, entries on the different ways younger and older people consume media, and entries on the younger generation's difficulties with boredom. Vive le generation gap!

Oh, and for those of you who worry that the older people don't show you the respect you deserve, indulge me for just a moment while I place yourselves in my shoes.

Ahem . . .
- "Peter likes Radiohead?????" (Jessica, April 9, extra question marks added)
- "But then I thought to myself, 'Karma Police'????? . . . Radiohead????? . . . Peter? No way." (Scott, February 27, question marks untouched)

Nothing like putting yourself out there on a blog to find out how people really perceive you. Apparently, the key brand attributes for me are "old" and "unhip."

Remember that little exchange about projective exercises we had a while back? Well, now I'm really hesitant to use them.

Hazy dissolve to . . .

PF: So, if this brand were a person, what kind of person would it be?
Respondent 1: Really old . . . like ancient.
Respondent 2: Yeah, drives an old station wagon . . .
Respondent 3: With wood on the sides!
Respondent 4: Plaid pants and striped shirt . . .
Respondent 5: Would NEVER listen to Radiohead . . . more like Journey . . . or Air Supply.
All: Yeah, sort of like . . . YOU!

So the next time an older person is looking askance at you, consider the indignity we suffer every day. How would you feel opening your mailbox to find yet another invitation to join AARP? Or when you're filing out of an airplane: "Thanks for flying, thanks a lot, have a great day, take care . . . thank you, SIR!"

On behalf of all mature Taylorites, I bid you . . . twenty-three skidoo.

And Jessica, after reading through your latest entry, I invite you to join our group. You may be in your late 20s, but you already sound a lot like us. :)

After reading Peter's last entry about how searching for a song led him into a philosophical thought process about prix fixe and a la carte, I was left with several questions:

1. Peter likes Radiohead?
2. Who is Thom Yorke?
3. Where can I buy Yaks Recipes Illustrated?

His entry led me to write about my own thoughts on music consumption and how our technologically advanced society has permanently altered the way we think and behave.

MY MUSIC CONSUMPTION BEHAVIOR SEEMS TO BELONG MORE TO PETER'S GENERATION THAN MY OWN.
First, I'm in my late 20's, and I'm guessing Peter is . . . well . . . older than that. I am certainly not an early adopter when it comes to new technology. Just a couple of years ago, I waited for my birthday month to roll around and asked for an MP3 player. I didn't want an iPod -- just something that had radio capabilities and held enough songs to distract me when I'm exercising. Two years later, I'm still amazed: It's so tiny and holds so many songs. The days of walking with a big, bulky Walkman are over.

I borrowed CDs and used my own to fill my MP3 player when I first got it, and I haven't added songs since. Sure, there are songs on new CDs I have bought since then that I would like to add, but it just hasn't been worth adding this task to my "to do" list. I do, however, see myself regularly adding new songs to it in the near future. When I say "regularly," I mean maybe twice a year.

What's more, unlike Peter, my unit of music will probably never change from a CD to an individual song. I recently celebrated a birthday and got a gift certificate to Amazon "to buy some songs." I immediately thought: Why would I do that? Why would I waste my money on 1) songs that I didn't like enough originally to buy on CD and 2) songs that are constantly on the radio? Which leads me to my second thought . . .

TODAY'S SOCIETY DOESN'T LET US EXPERIENCE THE UNKNOWN ANYMORE; FEW SURPRISES REMAIN.
Now follow me here. I'm guessing a lot of the songs people buy MP3s of are those they've heard on the radio. So, based on that assumption, are consumers really telling the music industry what they demand? I can see Peter's argument that consumers are now saying, "I know what's best for me, so you'd better adapt to it." But we can't rule out the influence of the music industry completely. They help determine what is played on the radio, on MTV, on shows like "Grey's Anatomy," etc. I think the music industry is still telling the consumers what to like, simply by having it available in these venues. It seems like consumers think they have all the power, but in fact the industry is still telling them that what they want is what they hear. It's still the horse before the cart.

So, what happens to all of the great songs off an album that few people get to hear because they never make it to the radio? It's as if popular radio is just one giant Greatest Hits Station. Part of the reason I don't think I will ever buy individual songs is that every singer/songwriter album tells the story of a point in time for the artist. Each album is an experience, and if you choose to listen only to part of that experience, then what's the point? And when a song hits you at the right time, you can relate to it; it speaks to a point in your life. Now, I don't necessarily see this being the case with many pop albums these days; it seems like every song is written by a different person. It just seems that no one is willing to take that journey anymore -- the journey with the artist. Few come along for the ride because they let the music industry decide what they'll hear on the radio instead. Consumers just seem satisfied with what they're handed over the radio, and I think they're missing out. Some of best songs are the ones that are never even released.

This leads me to my other point: There aren't any surprises anymore. People aren't (pleasantly or unpleasantly) surprised by the non-released songs on an album if they never buy them and hear them. How many people do you know pick up the phone without knowing who it is? Everyone has Caller ID now. I admit, it's handy for avoiding telemarketers, but really, would it be that bad if it were like the old days? Fewer and fewer people are willing to experience a drive without a device that tells them exactly where to go. Where's the spontaneity? Does anyone take the road less traveled anymore without a GPS? And finally . . .

TODAY'S TECHNOLOGICALLY ADVANCED SOCIETY DOESN'T KNOW HOW TO BE BORED ANYMORE.
Technology consumes so much of our daily thoughts now. As a result, our daily "to-do" lists have gotten astronomically long, and it seems like a lot of the daily frustrations we experience are direct results of having technology that is supposed to make our lives easier: searching everywhere for a song to download, having problems with HD channels on your TV, having a computer program crash while you're working . . . you see where I'm going. Technology has made us a completely multitasking society. This is an extreme example, but some people actually text or e-mail while they're at red lights, or while they drink their morning coffee, and treat the radio presets like they're a remote control. How many times have you been out with friends when their cellphone rings? Rather than ignoring the call and being fully engrossed in where they're at and who they're with, they will answer the phone or at least check to see who is calling. No one, young or old, knows how to focus on one thing anymore, or be bored anymore. And being bored, I think, is a very powerful tool.

I remember when I was a kid and my parents would drag my siblings and me to my great grandmother's house to sit for hours on end. We would whine the entire way there and the entire way back, but while we were there, we were the most pleasant, quiet, attentive little things you ever saw. We were bored out of our minds, but my parents made us sit there and just listen and talk. Today's parents don't demand that level of attentiveness from their kids because they don't demand it from themselves. A mother I know didn't bring her young teen kids to visit an old relative because "they would be bored and wouldn't sit there for long." Too damn bad. If it doesn't interest you, you know what? You're going to sit there anyways and pretend like it does. We were told that you accommodate for others, especially elders, not the other way around. At family get-togethers nowadays, kids bring their electronic games so that when the adult conversation bores them, they just whip them out and start playing. They sit there, by themselves, with limited or no interaction with anyone else.

Someone else I know brought their toddler camping, and each night by the campfire, the child watched a DVD. I remember thinking that campfires were the coolest things -- that was the entertainment. Now cars have TVs and DVD players in them. I thought the whole point of taking a road trip that was long enough to warrant watching a video was to get away from the kind of stuff that already occupies your house. Oh, but the kids would fight if they weren't able to watch video! Yes, but they would also learn how to sit there and be bored, or maybe talk to their family members. You know what we did as kids in the back of our station wagon? We fought like cats and dogs. But we also played car bingo, the most boring game in the world (by the way, my brother and sister are cheaters), and made up games.

I'll refrain from talking (in this entry) about my theory that the computer is Eli Whitney's cotton gin of the 20th century. But the technology that is supposed to be making our lives easier is, I think, actually hurting our future.

We've once again entered the time of year when I come out of a winter depression I didn't fully realize I had. The Seasonal Affective Disorder (can you really believe they call it "S.A.D."?) abates and I begin to fantasize about the days ahead when I can enjoy a cocktail on the waterfront decks in Portsmouth as the sun lazily sets around 8:30 p.m.

But before summer truly arrives, I have to deal with the teasing and tormenting of spring.

There are many things I love about spring in New Hampshire:
- The obscene amounts of snow we've had start to melt
- The anomalous 60-degree day
- I can run outside again
- Summer-time seafood restaurants and ice cream shops open for the season
- Daylight, daylight, daylight
- My weekend travel plans are no longer weather-dependent

However, there are several things that are not my preference about spring in New Hampshire:
- The obscene amounts of snow we've had start to melt -- and cause flooding, mud, and other mini-natural disasters
- The anomalous 60-degree day . . . that's followed by another 20-degree day
- I can run outside again . . . and should really start training for the Redhook 5K race that the Taylor team is doing in May
- The inevitable March or April snow storm
- Rising gas prices

Let me know when it's safe to ditch the winter coat and don the flip-flops. I know I have them in my closet under the gloves and scarves and coats, somewhere . . .

I do eat M&Ms in color order (but only when no one is looking). I place each 30-pack can of Budweiser in the refrigerator in careful alignment with the label facing forward. I count stairs. My books at home are organized alphabetically, by genre. My books in the office, however, are arranged by size of volume (within genre), rather than alphabetically. I don't want my colleagues or visitors to think I am anal-retentive.

I was appalled when I read Sarah Floyd's entry on thinking of the process of writing first drafts as "throwing up on paper." It's not the throwing-up part that bothered me. I have done my share over the years. And I agree with her point about the fear-inducing effect of a blank page when it's time to write. But the idea of just typing out my thoughts, whatever comes to mind, letting my mind go without worrying about spelling, grammar, or organization for the first draft--I couldn't bear it.

I am a one-draft writer. (I mean, to the extent that I write I am a one-draft writer. I'm hardly a "writer.") I write a sentence, and if I don't like it I rewrite it immediately. I finish a paragraph and fiddle with it before I go on. As I write subsequent sentences and paragraphs I find myself stopping and going back to previous ones to fiddle some more. I worry constantly about spelling, grammar, and organization--even formatting. I cannot go on if I realize I have misspelled a word. It's just too much for me to bear. My first draft is always my final draft.

Then I submit my perfect one-draft work to Jason and Sarah for editing -- and every time it comes back cleaner, clearer, more concise, more compelling.

Damn I find that frustrating.

For the record (because I know the way you people draw inferences and extend logic), I do not fold my dirty clothes before putting them in the hamper.

I don't do laundry.

I was sitting in the lobby at my local Volkswagen dealership while work was being done on my Jetta. An older woman was sitting about three feet directly across from me, and as we both waited, another older woman entered the waiting room and sat on the far side of the seating area. Within a few moments, the close-to-me woman turned toward the far-from-me woman and asked, "Have you been taking your car here long? I was wondering if you could tell me if you trust the people here."

One simple question popped into my mind as their conversation began: Why hadn't she asked me? I was sitting much closer, I had been there longer, and I'd been taking my car there for a while (which, of course, she wouldn't know unless she asked me. Which she didn't).

I'm sure there could be a plethora of reasons why the close-to-me woman decided to ask the far-from-me woman about her experience at our dealership, but I'm assuming it's because I am young. I was wearing typical business casual attire, and was reading the news on my Blackberry, but I was still somehow deemed ill-equipped to provide the kind of information this woman was looking for.

And it got me thinking: Are young professionals not being given a fair shake as long as they are considered, well, young? We all know experience is a valuable thing to have, in any industry, but is it the only valuable thing to have? Is there anything about youth that could be seen as advantageous, as well?

Now, this is not to say that experience and the cluster of things that could possibly come along with youth are mutually exclusive. In my experience (yes, I have experience!), that is often not the case. Many times, the most talented people are those who survive in a given profession, who go on to become experienced and knowledgeable in their field.

However, how does a "talent" come to be discovered, if inexperience is the more visible trait? For example, I eventually came to learn that the far-from-me woman at the dealership had only been taking her car there for a few weeks, and only because her car was under warranty. I have been taking my car there much longer, because I choose to, and was therefore much better prepared to offer feedback on the quality and trustworthiness of the service staff. But that fact was never unearthed.

Even in the world of politics, the debate of experience versus a fresh perspective is being fought as each state votes in its respective primary/caucus. Democratic candidate Hillary Clinton claims she is the better presidential candidate because the experience she has in the political universe far outweighs that of her rival, Barack Obama. But is experience the defining characteristic of a great candidate? (And, if it is, wouldn't McCain be the default winner?) Obama often counters that what he offers, and what this country needs, is change, not experience. Who is right?

And how can we know? As the popular adage goes: If a tree falls in the forest but no one hears it, does it make a sound? Similarly, if a remarkable skill dwells within someone, but he/she is inexperienced in the particular field that his/her skill would be used, does the skill really exist?

I think, to a lot of people, there is great comfort in experience. Someone who has been there, who has seen what there is to see, can make a client or consumer feel that he or she is inherently prepared for what is to come. But is there any value in having a knack for something? In an example that I recently read, in an old blog entry from "Acland Brierty . . . Explained," one can be trained to solve word puzzles, and can have done so for many years. But when a person has a talent for solving word puzzles, they will likely be able to solve even the most difficult of riddles, and produce better results. The blog reads, "Training and experience will only get you so far. You can't teach talent."

So, as a young professional, I wonder whether my future will allow for my talents to be revealed, or if, after time goes by, I will perhaps be seen as better qualified in a certain area because I look or sound older. While youth often does imply inexperience, how often does it imply something that is desirable? Not often enough, I'm afraid.

In the words of Oscar Wilde, "Experience is the name everyone gives to their mistakes." So, here's to all young professionals, making mistakes every day.

I loved Jason's last entry on Raymond Carter. I love the irony that that particular blog entry went through probably more drafts than any entry on this blog to date. And, being the literary nerd that I am, I love conversations about the writing process.

I had a high school English teacher who used to say that writing a first draft was like "throwing up on paper." I know the image is a little unpleasant, but I've always remembered that line--and repeated it to myself countless times since.

There's nothing scarier than a blank piece of paper in front of you (or blank Word document, which is worse--if you're typing on the computer, it just feels like your writing has to be that much more professional). And you've heard your English teachers say it, but it's true--an introduction and conclusion are always the hardest things to write. Now, granted, these days most of us aren't sitting down to write a paper that requires a real clincher of an opening line, but the principle remains--getting started is always the hardest part.

The first try doesn't even have to be good. I recently read that Tom Hanks had a horrible time trying to nail down Forrest Gump's accent, and finally mimicked the actor who played Forrest as a young boy. Can you picture Tom Hanks stumbling over, of all things, a Southern accent? And then he won an Oscar for the role.

So try typing out your thoughts--whatever comes to mind--and organizing them later. Sometimes you can get right to the meat of what you're saying when you just let your mind go--without worrying about spelling, grammar, or organization for a while.

Just don't do what my friend Tim did and go on a tirade against your professor (or client) for half a page--and then forget to delete it before sending in the report. Clean up your word vomit first!

"My friend Herb McGinnis, a cardiologist, was talking."

That was the opening line of the short story "Beginners" that Raymond Carver submitted to his editor, Gordon Lish, in 1980. If it seems familiar but not quite right, that's because when it was published in 1981 under the title, "What We Talk About When We Talk About Love," the text read like this:

"My friend Mel McGinnis was talking. Mel McGinnis is a cardiologist, and sometimes that gives him the right."

Recently The New Yorker published Carver's original version next to a piece on Carver's professional relationship with Lish. (You can compare the two versions here).

I found this fascinating. As a big Carver fan, as well as someone who is interested in the writing process, I was captivated by this look into the Carver-Lish relationship. When reading a novel, or watching a movie, or listening to a song, we too often never think to ask, "What did the first draft look like?" This gave us the answer.

Carver's widow, the poet Tess Gallagher, is hoping to republish a selection of Carver's work in its original, pre-edited form. I am less enthusiastic about this.

It's one thing to examine a draft in the context of a story on the editor-writer relationship, or for scholars to attempt to glean insight into an author's thought process. It's another thing to publish a selection of someone's first drafts after his death.

Lish was known to cut 30%-40% of Carver's drafts, contributing to the author's stripped-down style. For example, in "Beginners," Lish cut Carver's last page and a half and replaced it with a single paragraph:

"I could hear my heart beating. I could hear everyone's heart. I could hear the human noise we sat there making, not one of us moving, not even when the room went dark."

The first draft is just that: a first attempt. Few (if any) authors, journalists, or songwriters can whip out a masterpiece on the first try. The first draft often isn't very good at all. (The first draft of this blog entry was unreadable.) The real action takes place in the work-shopping, the rewriting of that original draft. That's where a piece of writing comes together.

People often think of the writer-editor relationship in black and white: the writer writes and the editor edits. But that's not the way it works. The writer edits too. The editor writes. It's a constant give-and-take, a thoughtful exchange between two people aiming for a common goal: better writing.

All of this is part of the process, and the author writes the first draft with that process in mind. He or she is not writing for publication, but rather as a starting point that will hopefully lead to something worth reading.

I hope no one finds the first draft of this blog entry and publishes it after I'm dead.

So as I was reading this "Karma Police" entry (and really enjoying it--from start to finish), I kept thinking to myself--who wrote this? It's terrific. I had three (and only three) guesses along the way:

- First Nikki Lavoie (music lover, member of the RIAA team and the College Media use team, the energy and enthusiasm of the piece);

- Then Sarah Floyd (music lover, member of the college media use team, excellent writer, ditto above on the piece's energy/enthusiasm, blog editor, one of the leading contributors to the company blog);

- Then Bob Carter (the very epitome of music lover, mention in the piece of needing to be "decades younger," the experience to connect the dots between personal experience and the full body of our work).

Then I clicked on the link and went directly to it on the website and saw--it was PETER!

Part of me said, Peter, of course. Makes perfect sense--for the writing, the energy, the professional insight (and certainly the "decades younger" line).

But then I thought to myself, "Karma Police"????? . . . Radiohead????? . . . Peter?

(No way.)