What was it Willie Nelson sung? "Don't let your babies grow up to be cowboys"? Well, mommas, how strange on the cusp of 2007 a young college grad might find more fortune ropin' dogies on the open range than picking up a pen and paper as a telelvision writer. Not sure where this rant is going, but the spark of the flame has at its root William Shatner's latest piece of resume padding, next to "Boston Legal" and Priceline.com. He'll debut this week as the host of some sort of televised genetic splicing of a game show, variety dance party and a long-tired catch phrase called "Show Me the Money." I know Shat's gotta pay the mortgage, but when will the nets stop with the mind-numbing reality programming? The answer: never because it's cheap and like lummoxes, we'll watch anything they put on the box. And yes, that's the Royal We. The We which does not include Me.

Here I am giving network TV a chance after taking a couple seasons off from embracing any new programming. The first show I take for a spin? Ray Liotta's "Smith." (And that doesn't count the time invested in NBC's similar take "Heist" which went six eps and out.) That show - gone ... the first axed from the fall slate. I cling desperately to "Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip" and "30 Rock," both eroding in their timeslots (although, the Peacock seems to be giving Tina Fey a shot of adrenaline with a move to Thursdays).
Ah yes, there is "Heroes" as well, which despite my loyalty is actually doing well.

So that's me ... frustrated when smart scripted TV yields to songs and dances and cash giveaways. I just had to write it down.

Scott