SO where are all of the naysayers? If you’re a viewer of the watch shows on ShopNBC, it’s clear that something is going on with the hosts.

As I’ve stated in previous blogs, I believe that all signs point to Jim Skelton being replaced by Tim Temple. Initially, I based this assumption on my observations, that include “>financial, conflicts of interest and liability. Mr. Skelton personally posted a response, which didn’t refute what my thoughts were, but were ambiguous enough to add more fuel to the fire. For this, I had a bunch of fucking idiots attack me who are loosely associated with Mr. Skelton through a website that he partially owns, watchgeeks.net.

I knew my hunch was right.

Mr.Skelton has stated that he has a new contract. I don’t doubt it. But I’m also knowledgable enough to understand that it doesn’t follow he’ll be appearing on TV. I think he’s gagged and this is to ease the transition back to Tim Temple. I’m not sure exactly when he’ll be transitioned of the air and on to some “special assignment” that he can’t discuss. Initially, I thought by the end of the year. But after the Internet jihad of Skelton’s JiHomos, I think that date is sometime in April of next year. The visceral, overwhelming response suggests that Skelton needs to ease his fanboys into the transition. And it’s not going to be so smooth since I appear to have blown the lid off of it.

This is where it gets interesting; as well as equal parts sad, pathetic and funny.

The blog that kicked of the hailstorm, Jim Skelton out at ShopNBC?, still gets a lot of traffic daily as people search for information on the troubled ship of trade. On November 1, 2009, I received a comment that was awaiting my approval.

“Wow, that’s rich. So you know so much that Jim will be canned by January (but luckily you gave yourself an out by saying they will stretch it out, now you can’t be wrong for at least 6 months), and your influence is so strong that because of your little blog, Tim Temple was forced to join Watch Geeks.

Wow.”

It was authored by In Cognito who didn’t even bother with a fake email address; the only identifiable information for this comment was the IP.

Research revealed that it originated from a Comcast line in Eden Prairie, Minnesota which also is the home of ShopNBC. I didn’t think much more of it – suspecting that it was the Man or an associate. I replied directly.

Hell, aren’t you proving that this thing does have legs and a reach if you’re coming back in ’stealth’ mode, Mr. In Cognito?

That was until today.

When I clicked on the IP of that comment accidentally, I was served up with both comments that originated from this IP. I’ll give you three guesses who the second author was and the first two don’t count.

I always took you as corny but amiable, with your love for chunky jewelry, giant cuff links, garish colors and faux hipster glasses – but you’re ‘that’ guy too? I mean, you could have sent me an email and discussed this; I know you’ve been on my Abaut page a million times. Honestly, if you would have just dropped me a line and asked me to chill, I probably would have. I don’t have a horse in your race with Tim Temple. Like I said, you’re both just guys that sell shit. But this greasy behavior suggests that your jihomo juggalo’s attacking in mass was not a fluke. I’m not saying that you were the fire starter, but I don’t think it’s a stretch to infer that you had knoweledge of it.

Next time, have the sense to do your posting from a different machine, dummy.

WORKING eight hours and making my way to Washington for another two or three hours a night; this has been a rough week so far.

On my commute home today, I could feel how cold it really was. The forecasts stated as much but fifty-four degrees is not really experienced until your elbow is rolling through it at sixty plus. After five minutes at home its back on the road to Washington. On my way through the door, I noticed Strangeways, Here We Come and I grabbed it, sticking it in my pocket. I leave as proud as a parent can be, my son olleing off of two planks of wood positioned between the curb and the driveway.

A rush and a push as my momentum backward stops and first gear drags me forward.

Fall and winter music. I have discussed seasonal music with other people that I would classify as having reached the point where they have forgotten more about music than you ever knew. They share the same concept. Some rap can be fall and winter music (Getto Boys) but there is not much hiphop that can fall into that classification. The Pixies and Billy Bragg – everything prior to The Great Leap Forward – The Housemartins; Tom Waits and Don Caballero specifically What Burns and Don Cab 2.

DC is great in the spring too. Cold cobalt days that never get above 50 and sting from rain. Early spring in Pittsburgh.

MAKING my way to the huge hill between the Canonsburg and Medowlands exits on 19N, I reached for a CD in the passenger door pocket. Inserting I load This Is Our Music into the cd player, I begin the decent past Meadow Brook(?)*and I travel back, to a feeling in a moment.. where I was ten years ago.

And I remember what I was thinking about and almost every detail of memorable moments of that day. I have been through so many life changes in the interval between this current moment and ten whole years. I can barley remember that person. What I do remember plays like a movie that I am watching. I don’t remember that guy personally, but I can describe what he did. Went to school part-time and worked in a local Pittsburgh Plant and Flower store chain that went belly up because of the lack of book keeping; from shelve stacker to greenhouse keeper. Even having done the worst flower arrangement ever because the flower arranger had a customer that she didn’t like so she wanted to ensure a shitty bouquet for the woman.

The best part of that job was the final Christmas season that I was there. The manager of the store completely hated me so she would get these calls for wreath deliveries to places like Gibsonia and Robinson Washington County and ask me, “Do you feel like driving to [insert locality] ?

She was a complete and total cunt. She would treat me like the biggest piece of shit ever, always nasty and pretentious. Her husband had died a few years before I started working there and I think thisis what made her so bitter. I used to tell my co-workers that she killed him for insurance money. This is the first good example of me then and now, I would never do something like that today… well I still might but I would definitely limit my audience.

One Sunday really sticks out in my mind. I drove about 300 miles that day in a 10 hour shift; about 24 local deliveries alone. This Is Our Music was the soundtrack for the entire day. I was so high that day that I left twice without the deliveries. I remember the smell of the snow in the air – the taste of the cold on my tongue and the store with Christmas trees fully lit, lining the walls. I remember the putrid stench of the Poinsettias gassing off because they were bagged to long.

I quit that job soon after, I walked out and never went back on Christmas Eve. Karen the Plant and Flower Warehouse manager proved to be a maniacal bitch. She hired a highschool kid who started on Christmas Eve and gave him all of the deliveries, religating me to sweeping. I worked about half of my shift and told her, “Give me some of those deliveries…please?”
She smiled and told me, in front of people to shut up and sweep the floor. I dropped the broom and left. I never went back. The only person that I worked with that I considered a friend, the assistant manager, called to let me know that I was “no longer needed.” She wanted to know if I wanted to come back because she could talk to Karen and smooth everything out. I told her thanks but not to bother. I had a job two weeks later at UPMC in the Center for Continuing Education in the Health Sciences; what would eventually become my first I.T. job.

IN that aforementioned moment, I somehow took that whole day in and felt it in the span of a minute, two, five, I’m not too sure how long it lasted. Looking to my right, I realized that I had reached my destination.

Karen was fired for stealing and customer complaints a year later.

(Originally published October, 2006)

I only caught tonight’s block of “Turning Time with Invicta” after midnight, and for the first half hour Tim Temple talked all over Jill Sommerstein. She seemed to be visably annoyed; at one point slaming her forearms on the table.

He did get more comfortable in the second half hour and Ms. Sommerstein was able to make points.

The second half of the show was much more smooth, but there seems to be something going on between the two. Did anyone else noticed that Temple seemed to keep pointing out that Jill was a sales rep? When she’s on with Skelton, he introduces her, as well as Michael, as “from Invicta”.

One can only imagine what the scene will be like Temple and Laylo finally present together again.

For the coming 5 days:
Tim Temple is scheduled for 13 hours
Jim Skelton is scheduled for 14 hours

TUFF guys are all around us. Some are legit and they will kick the shit out of most comers. but what’s the deal when the tuff guy is partially handicapped? Today I witnessed a potential altercation at the gas station between two individuals and one party was visibly deformed.

AS gas fluctuates wildly in south suburban Pittsburgh, the gas stations are teaming with activity as people expect a jump any day. Gas was cheaper today than it has been in a long time at my local station where I always fill up. My filler pipe is on the passenger side, so I really don’t have to finagle my way around the pumps and jockey for position, I just rolled right the fuck up, hopped out, and began filling up. In the lane opposite me, an H2 was waiting to fill up so it was pointed in the opposite direction waiting for a rude fuck who left their windowless delivery van at the pump and went into the store.

A car rolls up in the opposite end of the same lane as the waiting H2 and the van. It was an older Cavalier, and the reason I noticed it was because the driver was complete shit – he/she was slamming on the breaks every few feet and it had the worst accessories ever – plastic Wal*Mart spinning rims; the right rear spinner broke so it kinda just hung there.

The driver of the van finally emerged from the store. He jumped in and pulled forward and slowly began making his way around the purple Crapalier. Simultaneously the H2 pulled into the once occupied spot. The driver emerged chattering away on the cell phone connected to ear. As the back of the van cleared the front of the purple beast, the driver jerked his way toward the location now occupied by the Hummer.

AS I stand there looking on and thinking to myself, “This fucker has to be drunk”, the door of the Cav flings open and the driver struggles to get outfinally making his way out of the car, it is all that I can do to not laugh out loud. A white dude, about 26 years old in a FUBU matching basketball uniform stands up and sorta limps and drags his left leg along to occupy a position in front of the Hummer.

“Wut the fuck!” he slurs, his left eye droopy and his left arm much smaller than the right; atrophied and thin like a branch twisted up into his chest.

“That was my fucking spot in the line that you took mutha fucka!” His slurring more pronounced and spit dripping from the side of his droopy left lip.

The Hummer pilot looks in horror – not out of fear of confrontation, but of the fear that other people would think that he took advantage of someone who was obviously a loser in the game of life in more ways than one.

“Sup mutha fucka! You wanna fuck with me?!”

At this, Capt. Hummer steps forward and Rocky Denis is surprised that his attempt of intimidation did not work Capt. Hummer calmly says,

“I saw you pull up, hell, everyone saw you pull up because you almost hit a few cars as you did! Why don’t you just get back in your car and I’ll make sure that you get this pump as soon as I’m done?!”

I quickly surveyed the crowd and it is obvious that the majority opinion is that Gimp MC needed to shut the fuck up and get in his car.

I kind of snickered and he looked at me as he was dragging the left side of his body back to his car.

He turned to me – his right eye narrowing, the other just droopy and not changing, “What the fuck are you looking at?!” in his semi slur.

“What – You Want SOME OF ME!?” I replied in the most retarded, slurring manner that I could. And with that, he turned away, struggled back into his car, turned up his stereo and sat there looking straight ahead.

IN retrospect, I might have been a heartless dick, but I did illicit laughs and in all honesty, this fucking specimen deserved it. The plastic, broken spinner; the fact that he was a white guy rocking a FUBU coordinated basketball suit and that he was seriously handicapped and probably unable to even play basketball in the context of a video game and the fucking attitude! It’s not my fault that someone pissed in your gene pool, so don’t get in my ass. I realize that this cat probably never gets laid, but I’m sure he is not trying hard enough – there are group homes with retarded chicks all over south western PA that he could pull. He also needs to look at the few positives: he gets the best parking with the handicap hang tag and he gets a free scooter at most retail locations.

Handicapped tuff guys. I really have seen everything.

(Originally published 5/31/2006)

DEVIL’S Night probably had more appeal to me than actually Trick-or-Treating when I was a kid. I’ve always had this component in my personality; call it a flaw, but disorder and chaos has a strange appeal to me. Not necessarily destruction and damage, more so misdirection. I always got a kick when things were not as they initially appeared or when reactions don’t quite fit the circumstance.

Most people play right into this type of behavior. Take the typical response of someone whose house we might corn. They come to the door and yell, usually something to the extent of “Whose there?!” Of course we are going to keep doing it – you answered the door! Of course we’re going to continue! Come out and yell louder and show how pissed you are with every subsequent incident – yeah, we’ll stop.

I was never much into toilet papering trees. But one time we did find some raw material in the bathroom for a prank supreme. We got into my aunt’s tampons and got some red food coloring. If you’ve never played with red food coloring than you wouldn’t know that it seriously looks like blood – and not that bright red blood from a superficial cut, but the dark bluish purple blood indicative of a deep wound. We sogged these things up and they looked nasty to us as kids. I can’t remember exactly what year it was, but I do remember that it was warm, so warm that people had their car windows down and so we hung them on rear view mirrors. The next day the street was full of tampons; napkins, paper towels and what ever else was used to extract them.

I had this huge fur suit with a wolf looking mask and one year, a few blocks from where I lived, I put it on and ran through peoples yards and knocked their garbage cans over, lingering long enough for them to hear the ruckus and investigate. We picked old people to do this to with the expectation that we would actually be able to trick them into believing that some sort of Big Foot was loose in the neighborhood. No one bought it. One old lady stands out in my mind. She screamed – “You Goddamned Retards – get the hell out of my garbage cans.”

THE jumping can was one of my all time favorite pranks. My uncle turned me onto this one. There was a small thicket of woods near my grandparent’s house. Immediately across the street was a telephone pole. Here’s the trick, you get a can and fill I half full with rocks. You put two holes on either side of the can and string it with heavy fishing line, tying one end to the pole and placing the can in the center of the lane. Take the other end and hide in the thicket. When an approaching car is within about a car length, you pull the line and cause the can to mysteriously ‘jump’ into the air. This worked to great affect on this particular stretch of road as people nearly doubled the 25 MPH speed limit and so when the can jumped – they slammed on the breaks and made one hell of a racket which usually resulted in porch lights illuminating the nosey neighbors as they filled the street.

AS I got older, there wasn’t so much a focus on Devils Night as turning the entire month of October into thirty one days of cranks – a Devils Month.

While it would be a correct statement to say that we turfed yards year round, I seem to remember an increase in the incidents in October. I also recall getting busted for spreading bags of leaves back onto a lawn that they were raked off of. And then there was egging. I was never much into phitting cars and houses with eggs, but I remember more than once actually pelting people.

A particular jaunt comes to mind where we did quite a few ‘drive-bys’. Entet Balta. He was a helter skelter of body parts; a sort of organic, womb grown Frankenstein. Physically he was short but stout, “Built like a Barrel” as Dave from Gorillaface used to say. He had these strangely short legs that were nearly twice as short as his torso( usually accentuated by his wearing of tight, red Levi’s and old school aerobic style Reebok black high-tops. He had one pair of these jeans and he wore them nearly every day. He also wore a Polo, hand knit hoodie that contrasted nicely with the pants with its bold, orange stripes. So Balta shows up with this homely girl that he was dating at the time, but for him, she was a real catch. You could tell that she was trying to juice him. Balta’s dad was a doctor and he always broke Balta off. He’d have access to a full size Range Rover or his usual wip, a huge, four door Mercedes sedan. Balta always managed to find the love that he was looking for in all the wrong places, trying to impress chicks with dinners and gifts.

One crisp October evening, he wanted some time alone with his newest squeeze, Lisa. So to ditch the assembled crew, he tossed Jamie the keys to the Benz. We all looked at each other and smiled. “Later Balta!” We tore around Oakland and made our way to the Giant Eagle that used to be there. We loaded up on several dozen eggs. The nice thing about a Benz 300 is the sheer size of the back seats and the huge sunroof. You could seriously fit two to three people in the sunroof at a time. We broodied around and lit people up for over and hour – mostly frat boys and lame ads hipsters. The funniest was when Jamie lit up the kissing couple. He managed to get them right in the lips. We were so close that we got blow back.

WE eventually made our way back to the pad and ended up passing out on the available couches and empty spaces of floor. We were woke up in the morning by a really jacked off Balta.

“Guys – what the hell happened last night? It looks like there is egg all over the inside of the car!”

Jamie chimes in with the exact response that was rolling around my head. “Yeah; dude, we got egged last night – friggin kids!” I Chimed in, “Yeah man, we took the car through the car wash. I thought we got it cleaned up.”

“But how did they get it in the car?! It’s all over my jacket.” Opps, we some how got egg all over Balta’s $500 Harley Davidson biker jacket. I’m thinking in my head, “…that’s what you get for wearing a biker jacket and driving a Benz.”

“Yeah,” Matt chimes in, “we had the sun roof open – I had to take a shower last night, they got me right in the head.”

Balta laughs at the thought and wanders off to the back bedroom to attend to Lisa, who spent the night.

We looked at each other and start to snicker. It was everything we could do to keep it down.

THERE was a period of time, before the accident, where the steady haunt was the fucking Italian Club. Western Pennsylvania is filed with clubs; all catering to a different set. Polish Falcons, American Legions, VFWs, the Moose, the Black Moose; all different but with an underlying similarity. A resignation born of desperation and lost hope. They all smell like stale cigarettes and dried beer mixed with a cheap industrial cleaning interpretation of fresh.

The barflys are all the same too. Your 8th grade English teacher might be there, retired to his usual spot at the end of the bar. There is usually a pool table with a top worn thin in spots and it takes three case quarters. And it’s surround by a gang of young men; one always brings his own stick, that screws apart into three sections and fits securely in it’s faux fur lined pleather case.

The Random House Unabridged Dictionary includes two definitions that describe 99 percent of the people that I have meet who have, at the high point of their life, called Happy Valley Pennsylvania home:

Definition 4: a group or sect bound together by veneration of the same thing, person, ideal, etc;
Definition 5: group having a sacred ideology and a set of rites centering around their sacred symbols;

Graduates and their parents always over represent the fact that they are affiliated with Penn State; from those Nittany Lion paw and HV magnets to their Penn State jackets and scarves.

I have a friend whose sister and brother-in-law are both Penn State graduates who meet while attending school. I can only imagine how romantic it was when he held her hair back as she threw up the cheap beer bonged at his frat party. They actually have their email addresses as penestategrad followed by their respective years of graduation. Give me a friggin break: who cares about your central Pennsylvania odyssey? I never bothered to probe these two that deeply about their Penn State pride as we were only together a few times socially; the longest period included good ole boy Dave (pennstategrad1994@) disappearing for several hours with black stripers during at Bachelor party at Bare Extremities in Atlantic City.

I worked with a Penn State graduate at my last job; He had been out of school for about twelve years. He tried to put on this professional image. He wore ties and slacks the type that are sold by Haband on the back page of Legionnaires magazine – along with a stupid ass, Penn State leather jacket nine months out of the year. He wore this thing if it was 20 degrees; he wore it if it was 80 degrees. I found it funny when he would come in on humid, early summer mornings wearing that jacket and complaining that it was already hot. I asked him about the jacket after I had worked with him for close to a year and noticed how much he wore it.

“Why do you only wear that Penn State jacket?”

“Because I went there.”

“Did you play football for them or another sport?”

He laughed and said “No”  -with a kind of guteral chuckle because it was obvious that I was not ‘illuminated’.

He then added, “You’ve never been to Happy Valley, have you?”

“No, the college is pretty much the town, right? There isnt much ther-”

He interrupted, “Dude, you don’t know what your talking about, you have never been in that stadium when it is filled with over 100,000 chanting fans, stomping their feet”

Another co-worker immediately added, “Yeah, it is an amazing feeling…”

This sets me up for a great response, “Well, I’ve seen the films of a few of the Nuremberg Rallies so I think I have a good idea…”

Dead silence. Come on, this was a great line and you people set it up for me. All I got was a dismissive look that a father usually reserves for the moments that his son says something off color. Needless to say, he didnt talk much to me after that.

I had a bit of a showdown with a Penn State parent at my current job. I was outside enjoying a cigarette with the system architect when a pleasantly rotund blond came out onto the patio. Bob greeted her and asked her how she felt about Penn States chances in the next game. This sweet innocent woman launched into a biting invective, culminating with a chant of
“Shit on Pitt!”
“Shit on Pitt!”
“Shit on Pitt!”
I was shocked, not by her words, but how here eyes narrowed, the whites disappearing and a crimson mask rising in her face and the visceral tone in her voice. All this over a game?
I couldn’t resist. I blurted out,
“Wow, Penn State is a lot like Amway…”
Her squint angry eyes turned and burned in my direction,
“What in the HELL is that SUPPOSED to mean!?!”
What is that supposed to mean? Look at how you responded to it!
I disengage the enraged with “Well, you’re a little excited over a game…’

Her eyes divert and she takes a drag off of her cigarette and in one motion shifts her body so that she is no longer facing me. If this woman would have been a Scientologist the assembled group would instantly dismiss her as a nutty cult member.

The incident with Penn State mom occurred about four months ago. In that time she has made a point to smile at me and great me with pleasantries when we run into each other. The other day I left earlier than usual and happened to pull behind her big ole Olds Ninety Eight. And what do you suppose was on the rear deck???

Im not wishing death on the guy but I do know that JoePa is pretty close to a thousand years-old so I know that he has less time then more. When he does pass, I do imagine a scene reminiscent of the death of Ayatollah Khomeini. The sea of black-clad people descending on Tehran by foot replaced with blue and white descending on Happy Valley, reaching a frenzied pitch and dumping the body of Joe Pa out of the coffin. I can almost see the sight of thousands of mourners in Penn States stadium as Joe Pas body is finally load on to a helicopter and lifted away…

IT was Tim’s turn in primetime tonight as he presents the first, primetime showing of a brand new to the network, Le Chateau.

A few things jumped out at me tonight. The first; when Tim stated he is no expert. I immediately thought of Skelton’s rattling off of movement numbers and technical specs. He then name checked Thomas Prescher and his having interviewed Prescher at Basel. Might this mark a return to the Jeff Hess / ValueVision days of truly, high end pieces? I might be wrong, but I think Temple sold Quintings on ValueVision.

I’ve also notice a distinct difference in how the shows are shot. Temple sits on the left while Skelton rides the right side of the box. The shots of the timepieces themselves are live on Tim Temple’s show, featuring close ups and Tim manually manipulating and displaying the pieces. The Renato show was usually the looped video segments and not a lot of Skelton actually handling the timepieces, but way more wristshots.

It feels like Temple is getting more face time.

Am I the only one that notices Mr. Temple talks about his rejoining of ShopNBC and not the greater ‘Watch Program’ of the network? I really do feel like I’m watching two different networks. I think this is demonstrating a clear break between the future and the current lame duck. I can almost see Mr. Skelton climbing aboard the helicopter and waving goodbye, one last time.

I do find it curious that Mr. Temple seems to be pushing the lower end of the ShopNBC inventory, but I think this is more for his own adjustment and to further develop the looseness that he had with Avi on the Nashville Shopping Network. I do predict that she’ll be on ShopNBC within the next 6 months.

Is Renato actually top of the line? The finishing is impecable but these are, at their core, Asian watches. And as everyone remembers, Renato was booted of SNBC for making false statements about the quality of diamonds used in their watches. One wonders if we may see a wholesale change at the network that includes a lot of new brands; and no longer includes some of the old favorites like Renato or Invicta.

I caught tonight’s Renato show on ShopNBC. Normally, I’d pass on a Renato show as I am not a fan. But the recent heat from Überfans response to a few of the blogs I wrote have me hooked.

One of the comments on my blog stated that Mr. Skelton was no longer to mention watchgeeks.net. Sounds reasonable but this was as a statement of fact without any supporting evidence. Then, tonight, Mr. Skelton mentioned discussing how great a specific Renato looks once you get it home with “watch social groups” I thought, “Shitzam!” this troll might be on to something. But then Daniel Mink mentioned a watchgeek that had designed one of the pieces being sold.

Further into the 11 o’clock hour, Mr. Skelton started talking about watchgeeks.net and the 14,000 odd members.

Warning – conjecture is about to happen; is this a big FU to SNBC management? Or is this a reminder to network brass of just how much juice the watchgeek nation has?

AS I watch Tim Temple’s return, the juxtaposition between Tim Temple and Jim Skelton becomes quite clear, it’s like the difference between Alton Brown and Guy Fieri. As a long time viewer, the professionalism that Temple exudes cannot be ignored. It stands in stark contrast to the casual nature that is a hallmark of Jim Skelton’s presentations. I have read reports suggesting that ShopNBC is trying to rebrand itself as more upscale and if that is true, then tonights presentation demonstrates that direction.

Mr. Temple stated in the first hour that the testimonial line had crashed from volume. Might that have been the militant wing of Skelton’s Juggalos or actual fans of The people’s Tim Temple? As for the calls that got through, I noted a few that appeared to be Camp Jim and even heard a watchgeek plug, but the vast majority were ‘clearly’ Tim fans. I know; none of these calls are loaded – it’s a coincidence, right? All of the pro Temple calls have made the exact same statement: “Tim, you got me into watch collecting…”

There also appeared to be more sellouts than usual but a lot of that volume can probably be attributed to the insanely low prices. As the point I made to all of the Watchgeeks that hate on me, they must be watching and buying. See dummies; if the price is right, you’ll be there. If The Devil was selling cheap, Swiss made automatics, you’d be there; and you’d be a moron if you weren’t getting a great deal.

A question to the Watchgeek masses; did you notice no praise lavished on either Jim or Shawn? Even as callers mentioned Mr. Skelton, Mr. Temple never acknowledged him. And when he spoke of being back, it was never as part of a team; rather as returning to the “largest watch program on TV…”

Could it be that the watchgeeks just have really big mouths and not the numbers to seriously impact sales at the network? Is there a mass of shoppers out there that left with Temple and will now return?

I’m trying to find a site with cable ratings for ShopNBC and/ or internet traffic volume to compare both hosts.

Until next time…