AWARD TOUR, CONTINUED: I know somebody out there is feeling hard-pressed, right this very moment, for a last-minute gift idea. Something low key, but rich and satisfyingly complicated. Something light-hearted, but heartfelt. Maybe something thoughtful, but funky. Yes? Yes. Here it is:

Lyrics Born has a new record out.

If you haven't heard of him, he's a longtime champion of the Bay Area hip-hop scene, working often with the Quannum / Solesides crew that has spun out DJ Shadow, Jurassic 5, Blackalicious and such like. With Quannum cohort Lateef, he also forms half of Latyrx. Like the rest of Quannum, Lyrics Born has and does reliably provide worthy, fun, intelligent tracks that take the time and effort to say something . . . Good stuff that leaves you thinking and feeling better for listening to it. His new disk, the first LB solo effort, is no exception.

It's called Later That Day, and you can find some other positive write-ups here and here. And here's a short interview.

Lyrics Born and Later That Day officially get my 2003 'Bout Damn Time Award for the solo album that I've been waiting for the longest. Ever since I heard "I Changed My Mind", in fact, and more so since I saw him open for DJ Shadow downtown last year.

Lyrics Born is a mellow visionary who can keep it humorous, spirited and insightful in verses about the day-to-day difficulties in real-world America: insomnia, telemarketers, phone trees, insufficient funds and begrudging payment of income taxes. I did not stop smiling the whole way through this disk. Chumps who dismiss this effort as "backpack hip hop" should be forced, A Clockwork Orange style, to listen to Prince Paul's last joint until they wake up and smell who the joke is on. I only wish half of the mainstream was a third this worthy, and await its righteous correction.

If you're in the Bay Area, Lyrics Born will be at The Fillmore on January 10, 2004 with Blackalicious. (I'd give you a link for that venue, out of an abundance of local pride, but all they offer is a chance to get on their mailing list. Punks. No info; no promos; no previews; no schedule; nothing but an address.)

SHORT-FINGERED VULGARIAN WATCH: Just when you thought television had finally evened the gap and put enough rich folks on television to balance out the rest of us, Donald Trump's The Apprentice debuts January 8.

WHAT A DRAG IT IS GETTING OLD: Defying doctor's predictions and any number of dead pool entries, Keith Richards -- a man who famously once said "I'd hate to have to go around thinking of health and shit like that" -- turns sixty years old tomorrow.

Richards has said he would like his epitath to read as follows: "Fuckers! I told you I wasn't feeling well."

Happy birthday, Keith.

IS THAT NEXT DOOR TO THE ASS-MART? Rob Sheffield does me one better today in explaining the greatness of Panjabi MC's "Mundian To Bach Ke (Beware of the Boys)":

It kicks so much ass, more ass than I have to offer it. In fact, that song kicks so much ass that it totally exhausts my ass resources, forcing me out to the 24-Hour Ass Depot to pick up some more ass, so, like, that song can kick it some more. You know what I'm saying?

On Slate.com.

JUST HAPPY TO BE NOMINATED: There were a lot of excellent contenders in the category of Best Reality Television Host/Judge of 2003. Two veterans of the genre excelled again -- The Amazing Race's Phil Keoghan, still does the best fake-out "actually, you're still in the competition" face on television, and Survivor's Jeff Probst had what may have been the funniest line of the reality year (and please, tell me what I'm forgetting), when, as described by TWoP's Miss Alli:

He levels his eyes at Jon. "Give me the state of affairs of this tribe." "Awesome, awesome, awesome, awesome. Happy tribe," says Jon, every bit the idiotic drunk. Jeff nods and glares at him. "That's it -- good tribe, couldn't be happier," Jon says, grinning like the pickled nitwit he is. Back to Jeff, still glaring. Without breaking his game face, Jeff looks straight at Jon without a trace of amusement and says, "Are you loaded?" It's really hard to explain how totally, preposterously awesome Probst was at this moment unless you saw it yourself -- he managed to pull off a flawless combination of disgust, fury, and...something else I can't quite put my finger on.

But this was not a year for veterans. Six newcomers made their marks this year, and each ought to be recognized. Each set the tone for his or her show, making viewers care about something they otherwise might have ignored, or not appreciated. First, the runners-up:

Tyra Banks, America's Next Top Model. Modeling is hard work. Tyra was professional, demanding, classy, funny and not very difficult to look at. Not only did she host but also exec-produce, making what could have been trashy and exploitative instead completely engrossing.

Debbie Allen, Fame. Even though the show failed down the stretch, becoming a second-rate American Idol rather than a first-rate 21st century show, Debbie never let me down. As I wrote in June, "She's wonderful on the show as its creator-host-denmother. She's supportive yet tough, and always enthusiastic. She's like Paula Abdul, minus all the flaky new-age bullshit, and plus a lot of talent."

Paul Hogan, Joe Millionaire. Why he's listed: season one. Why he doesn't win: season two.

Ted Allen and Carson Kressley, QESG: Yes, we all see the shark. Doesn't matter right now, because both men brought both sage advice and fun to a show that could've been too campy, too stereotypical or just plain boring. Carson was tv's breakout star of the year, and those of you who know me know just how much of a Ted Allen fan I am. So for someone to top them both, s/he had better be good.

And this winner is . . . . (and frankly this is 90% on merit, 10% on You People Need To Watch This Show And I Know You Didn't, Shame On You) . . . Robert K. Oermann, from Nashville Star.

It's easy to be lazy as a music-talent judge on tv -- get a few catchphrases ("Yo, Stevie is hard"), cop a dismissive attitude, or just be uncritically supportive of everything you see. But not Oermann -- or, for that matter, his fellow Nashville Star judges. No, Oermann brought an encyclopedic knowledge of the genre, plus a true love of country music, and was thoughtful, supportive and wise all season long.

My favorite example: Week 4, when the competitors were asked to countrify a pop song. Sweet Brandi Gibson, a 21-year-old small town girl, chooses Bryan Adams' "(Everything I Do) I Do It For You". Yeesh. And this is what Oermann said to her afterwards: "I'm sorry, Brandi. You're not a victim. You're a real live woman and you shouldn't be singing that co-dependency shit."

Brandi cried. The next week, Oermann said after her performance, "Brandi, I'm sorry I cussed in front of you last week. I apologize; you're a lady and I didn't mean it," and put three dollars in the 'cuss jar'. Total class.

All season long, Oermann used criticism to suggest ways for the performers to improve by being true to themselves, rather than just bringing them down and turning himself into the star of the show. And when he was enthusiastic, he meant it. It is possible to be critical without being mean, and to be entertaining without resorting to shtick. Oermann and the Nashville Star crew turned a genre of music I generally ignore into must-see tv, and today's gold star is for him.

SPECIALIZATION OF . . . LABOR? What if I told you an enterprising young obsessive compulsive with escapist, anti-social tendencies could make over $100k a year without ever leaving his apartment? What if I told you he could do it without starting a porn-site or running ebay scams? What if all he had to do was play video games really, really well?

DON'T HATE THE PLAYER: It's been an interesting year for NFL-related controversy, particulary NFL player-related controversy . . . and player ego-related controversy. And fines for player ego-related controversy.

So I would like to present this year's award for best end-zone stunt resulting in a fine by an NFL wide receiver.

"Joe Horn", you're thinking? Naw. Look down at the bottom:

"Also Tuesday, Cincinnati Bengals receiver Chad Johnson was fined $10,000 by the NFL for retrieving a sign from behind a snowdrift and holding it up after a 10-yard touchdown catch Sunday. Johnson's sign read: 'Dear NFL: Please don't fine me again.' "

Mmmmm... now that's a fine worth paying. Delicious.