tv I enjoyed a Brooklyn Brown Ale and a Sierra Nevada Celebration at the local pool hall last night. Yeah, I've come a long way since my Coors Light college days. While sipping my tasty microbrews, I had to repeatedly turn my slack-jawed head away from the television above the bar, with great effort. This is what happens when you don't ever watch TV: You grow weak. Your resistance is lowered. A hip, engaging show with a good script and an attractive cast, like, say, Boston Public, will suck you right in if you are exposed to it. This is not normally a problem at a noisy bar -- unless said bar features convenient close-captioning, so that even patrons across the room can follow the dialogue.

I openly confess a weakness for teen movies and even teen TV dramas, so I wasn't too embarrassed about getting glassy eyed over Boston Public. But when Ally McBeal came on and I was still trailing off midsentence, that was a different story. I hate her on principle, but I can't deny watching last night. Of course, Jon Bon Jovi was guest starring . . .