So many weeks of will-they-or-won’t-they tension, and when the two opposing forces finally come together … the magic quickly fizzles. I’m not talking about Sam and Diane or David and Maddie. (Woah! When did I get so old that I casually reference sitcoms from two freakin’ decades ago?!)

No, I’m talking about the Writers’ Guild of America and the 2008 Academy Awards. If you follow entertainment “news,” the big question leading up to last weekend was whether the writers’ strike would be settled in time to roll out the red carpet for ol' Oscar.

Fortunately, the strike was settled and writers got busy penning awkward quips for overprocessed presenters.

Unfortunately, not too many folks seemed to care. The awards show nabbed its lowest ratings ever, with about 20 percent fewer viewers than last year. In fact, in many markets that week more people followed “American Idol” than “the biggest night in show business.”

Which brings me to an observation …. Have you noticed the way “American Idol” has become a barometer of sorts to gauge the interest in or importance of a show or event? I have heard “More people voted for the next American Idol than they did for U.S. president!” and “More people tuned in to ‘American Idol’ than the State of the Union address!” and “More people watched ‘American Idol’ than washed their hands after using the restroom!” and so forth. (Google “more people watched American Idol than” and you’ll see what I mean!)

My point in all this is … well, I don’t really have one. But if I were to wager a guess, I’d say We the People are generally more entertained by optimistic novices on the rise than by self-congratulatory “super”stars.* Just a hunch ....

*George Clooney not included. (That one's for you, Karen!)

I'm unstruck!

Yikes! I knew it had been awhile since I updated my blog, but I didn't realize I'd let so many sands sift through the hourglass ...

I've been telling myself these past weeks (months) that as long as the Writers Guild of America continued its strike, I would cast my vote of solidarity by going on strike from the blogosphere. And what an absolute UPROAR my absence caused! (pause for tumbleweed to waft across keyboard ...)

By the way, doesn't it seem cool to belong to a "guild"? And what do you call someone who was on strike but now is not? Unstruck?

I'm glad my writing brethren are back at their laptops, for two reasons. One, so they can receive their fair share of revenues. And two, so we can get fresh 'n' meaty eps of "The Office" and "Lost" before the summer dry spell begins. Though I do hope new scripted programming won't displace the "Moment of Truth" (for a description, look up "guity pleasure" in Webster's) or "American Gladiators." (Quick question regarding Wolf: Is he a man, or is he a beast? He terrifies me, yet I can't look away.)

Anyway, I'll close this post with a salute to Hollywood's best for getting ... unstruck.

I may not be invisible after all ...

There’s a great line in “The Princess Diaries” where the main character, in all her bad-hair, bespectacled blandness, laments to her friend, “Somebody sat on me again.” (It happens early on, before she gets a makeover and turns into beautiful Anne Hathaway.)

While I’ve never been sat upon by a stranger, I have had enough similar experiences to make me feel invisible at best, not worth remembering at worst.

Two recent examples:

1. A woman at the YMCA, with whom I shared a 40-minute conversation, looked at me with ZERO recognition the very next week — and even stuck out her hand to introduce herself to me. I could recall her name (first and last), her kids’ names and ages and how she met her husband, but she didn’t remember speaking to me face to face for 40 minutes!


2. The chick in a small-group meeting, who, after sitting across from me every week for 18 consecutive months, asked if I was joining the group for the first time.

Is it me? If I were more dynamic in conversation or more striking, or spoke with a cool accent, I’d register enough impact so people would at least remember my name, even incorrectly. Right?!

But now there’s some relief for me — and you, if you’re a fellow invisible — in the form of an actual medical condition called prosopagnosia. People who don’t like words with more than two syllables call it “face blindness.”

Essentially, the condition impairs a person’s ability to recognize faces. Prosopag…, er, face blindness can render the afflicted unable to identify even people they’ve known for years. According to a study published by The American Journal of Medical Genetics, as many as one in 50 people have some degree of face blindness. (And it so happens many of them are clustered in my township.)

Sadly, there’s no medical treatment. Those who have it rely on cues like hairstyle, voice or context to recognize family, friends and neighbors (or perhaps fellow YMCA or small-group members).

So the next time an acquaintance flashes you that offensively blank look of non-recognition, you can chalk it up to prosopag …, uh, face blindness.