IF THEY CAN'T MAKE MONEY ON THIS, THEY WILL CONSIDER GETTING OUT OF THE MONEY MAKING BUSINESS: After the run of Game of Thrones, HBO will apparently hand the Sunday night slot for the summer over to Vampires Get Nekkid and Aaron Sorkin's new Newsroom, starting June 24.

DUN DUN DUN DUN DUN, DUN DUN DUN DOO DOO:  John Williams -- the film composer, not "Hot Rod" or "Hot Plate" or any of the other John Williamses -- turns 80 today.

SUPERMAN DOES GOOD; YOU'RE DOING WELL. YOU NEED TO STUDY YOUR GRAMMAR, SON: The twice-daily 30 Rock reruns on Comedy Central have restarted their cycle this week -- last night, I re-learned that Lutz had a first name (J.D.) and Toofer is really "James Spurlock."  (Seriously, it's like that rarely-aired pilot of Gilligan's Island where you learn the Skipper's and Professor's full names.)

It's fun watching the show figuring itself out -- Tracy's even more antagonistic than he ends up being (and, at the time, his entourage was more thuggish than lovable), Pete and Josh have larger roles (and they're still trying to figure out a place for Rachel Dratch), but hot damn is Jack Donaghy fully formed from the first moment. There are far worse ways to spend an hour each night than to watch the show that ended up winning the war with Studio 60. Also, here's a compilation of Liz Lemon flashbacks.

OMAR DON'T SCARE:  This week's episode of The Wire, "The Wire," gets us deeper into how people survive in this world. Bubbles has his copper scheme; Wallace is somehow raising a crew of parentless kids on chips and juice boxes; the police are subject to bureaucratic pressures potentially thwarting meaningful policing, forcing them to choose their battles; McNulty, again, lets his day job bleed into his parenting time without any sense of how reckless he's being. At least Bodie is "ready to be good," and I'm sure that'll work out well for everyone.

This episode didn't hit the dramatic (or comic) heights of some of its predecessors, but damn I enjoy each hour in this world.

PAGING TOMMY WESTPHALL:  Follow the bouncing pop culture reference.

THIS DISTRICT SMELLS LIKE RAT PISS/MY NAME IS KATNISS: Lana Del Rey's "Hunger Games."

THE ONLY PLACE WHERE ELITISM REQUIRES YOU TO SCORN THE HARVARD ALUM: New York Knicks guard Jeremy Lin is a novelty in the NBA because he is Taiwanese-American and a Harvard graduate (in a league where a fourth year of college is almost a badge of basketball inferiority). He doesn't exactly qualify as an out-of-nowhere sensation (he got a long Sports Illustrated profile a few years ago), and the odds remain firmly stacked against his long-term success (he got little time for the Warriors last year, and he is the Knicks' backup point guard only by virtue of injuries to two other Knicks guards). Even if the NBA existed (it doesn't), I wouldn't bet on a long and storied career.

But Lin had a great game the other night. More importantly he had a stirring game. It is rare to see giant, jaded, tattooed, bearded NBA players bouncing in giddy excitement and surprise at the performance of one of their teammates. For one game, Jeremy Lin, the NBA's most collegiate player, infected the pro game with collegiate enthusiasm. Try not to smile at Lin's highlights and the reactions of his teammates and Knicks fans.