12:11 p.m. Fiesta! We have a winner! It's the ultra-lucky MizBee aka Bonnie. She correctly guessed that the mysterious tubes in the picture were, indeed, air-conditioning ducts. Bravo! Fantissimo. Way to go.

Don't you just love guessing games? Remember that strange old show from the '50s called, I think, What in the World? With the deep-announcer-voice emphasis on "what"? And then the object would circle into focus and it would look shadowy and sinister and terrifying -- like something Sybil's mom would pick up at a garage sale? I often ran out of the room before they turned up the lights and told you what the object was, so subsequently things like giant air-conditioning hoses sticking out of a building's window really can really confound and amuse me for hours.

If you'll be so kind as to scroll down a bit, you'll see another picture of the tubes in context. All the paraphernalia you see in the picture, including the PA gal with cell phone and the fab car and the neato rolling strolling carts full of shiny stuff -- all that, plus many wonderful tables of food and doughnuts and the appropriate rent-a-security guys with walkie-talkies and attitude -- all that, for a one-day TV-show shoot for a new show that you are sure to want to sample when it comes to a TV near you this fall, called Snoops.

And guess who is starring in Snoops! None other than Gina Gershon, the small-breasted full-lipped member of the gigantic cast of small-breasted full-lipped ladies in that incredible classic for our times: Showgirls. What a movie, right? If you come upon it when you're flipping through the channels, you will probably remain for a few minutes, aghast. How can any one movie be so bad?

I woke up one night in a cold sweat after watching some of it, after dreaming, I kid you not, that they'd mounted an all-blow-up-doll production of it for dinner theaters in small-to-midsize towns.

Well, it's time for Gina Gershon to have another shot, and this time it's for all the money. David Kelly is producing; no expense has been spared, a full three busy streets were bought and cordoned off in the middle of the summer to shoot -- what hot stuff could have been going on behind that big black curtain up there to require such massive air-conditioning? Tune in this fall, and see.

I know I will.

Another new show that's due this fall is another remake of an old classic and personal favorite of mine: You Asked For It.

Story of our life, right? Poignant, cryptic, enigmatic phrase -- you asked for it. Be careful, be careful.

When I was a kid, I actually believed that the TV and I were in some form of direct communication. You know: do what they say ... eat your veggies, Princessummerfallwinterspring will take care of everything, that sort of thing. I also wrote exactly two letters in my youth to the TV. One was to Pinky Lee in response to his now-famous New Years' Day stunt when he advised his gullible audience to creep into mommy and daddy's room and go through their pants pockets and bedside drawers and send him what we found.

The second letter was to You Asked for It. Their response was a little postcard, which I was so happy to get and which I stupidly glued into my scrapbook salient side down. That was the important thing to me back then -- not the essense of the conversation, but the simple fact that they wrote back. I never forgave Pinky Lee for not responding, and I swear that when he died, I wasn't even a little bit sad.

But now, even though I've tried to pry that postcard off its glutenous, porous scrapbook-paper backing, I have failed. I have failed to uncover my past; I have failed to expose the truth. I will never, ever know what I asked for.

So how will I know when I'm getting it?

Tomorrow: I get it.