OK, let's get this thing started!

Testing, testing. One, two, three, test! "It was the best of times, it was the worst of times."

"To be or not to be, that is the question."

"Are you trying to seduce me, Mrs. Robinson?"

(tap, tap) Test! Test! Is this thing on? Whew.

It feels good to finally have a column again.

For a while there, I was feeling like the title of a Harlan Ellison book from the late 60s: "I Have No Mouth, and I Must Scream."

For those who prefer a more recent comparison, it's a little like the scene in "The Matrix" where Agent Smith seals up Neo's mouth.

No lips, no tongue, just skin.

Yep, that kinda nails the feeling of being a column-less columnist.

I liked it about as much as Neo did.

Back when I was fresh out of school, I was living in the Chicagoland area. Some loved Royko's columns, others followed Bob Greene.

But my friends and I loved Anna Quindlen.

You usually had to be white and male, for some reason, to be a columnist. But Anna Quindlen

broke the mold. In the pages of the New York

Times, of all places.

My friends and I read and discussed her avidly. We'd read her columns to each other over the phone.

We liked her voice, we agreed with her opinions, we liked her choice of subject matter. She wrote about things that were important to us, things that other columnists didn't broach.

It was a sad day when Quindlen quit to devote herself to writing novels exclusively. (Though we still had Ellen Goodman and Molly Ivins.)

Things would happen in the world, and I'd want to read Quindlen's take on them. The journalist in me would think, "I bet it's killing her not to write about this!"

Five years later, in 1999, she began writing a twice-monthly column for Newsweek. I'm sure she felt relief at finally having a public voice again, a venue in which to speak.

Of course, now, anyone with Internet access can start a blog. According to Technorati, over 1.6 million blog posts appear online daily.

That's a lot of opinions.

Everyone's a commentator these days, with opinions about anything and everything.

But still, it's nice to have this little piece of prime newsprint real estate. I've missed it. (I know, how old school. But hey, you're reading this, aren't you? So it may be old school, but newsprint certainly isn't passé.)

What will this column be like?

Fun, I hope. Unpredictable. Eclectic. Artscentric but limitless.

The guys who started this paper promised I can write about virtually anything. That's the great thing about a rebellious little start-up like the Florida Weekly. There isn't a lot of bureaucracy and red tape. You have an idea? Go for it! They remember that journalism should be fun. They encourage their writers, rather than throwing obstacles in their way.

One paper I worked for asked me to revamp their weekly arts column and "give it a voice." It was a major part of my job; I was expected to attend arts events during the evenings and weekends and write about them.

So I did. The editor refused any overtime, saying, "Well, you like that kind of stuff, so you'd be attending those things anyway."

And once I'd given them what they wanted - a column with a voice - the editors, in that maddeningly illogical way some editors have - immediately decided to have other people contribute to the column and write sections of it too.

At another paper, I had a weekly arts column. But in a four-year period, I wound up with six different features editors (two of them interim) and three different entertainment editors. (Yes,

you're right, it was The Daily Revolving Door.)

And the latest editor? Well, let's just say he wasn't a happy guy. I not only felt increasing pressure to squelch any creativity, but pressure to write things I didn't believe, to state opinions I didn't hold.

The kicker was when I managed to land an interview with theater director/producer Harold Prince. (Hal Prince, in case you don't know, is a huge name in theater. Huge. He co-produced "The Pajama Game," "Damn Yankees," "West Side Story," produced "A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Forum," "Fiddler on the Roof," directed "Sweeney Todd," "Evita," "Kiss of the Spider Woman," produced and directed "Cabaret," "Zorba," "Company," "Follies." Just for starters.)

His show, "Evita," was coming to town.

My editor wasn't happy. He buried the column.

Why? Hal Prince didn't live in town. In the paper's obsession to be "hyperlocal," they couldn't recognize what a coup it was for a paper their size to get such an interview. He was also unhappy I'd conducted the interview over the phone.

"Would the paper have sent me to New York City to interview Hal Prince in person?"

No.

"What's wrong with interviewing someone over the phone," I asked, "especially if they live in another state?"

"You can't describe what they're wearing," I was told.

Yes, this was said to me with a straight face.

"You want me to ask people to describe what they're wearing when I talk to them on the phone?" I asked, thinking, This sounds like a

script from a bad porno movie.

I doubt I'll run into that problem here. Maybe the old saying's true: the third time's a charm.

As of this writing, this column doesn't have a name. If past history's any indication, it'll probably be called "Commentary." (The editors, for some reason, are very generic with names. Our

food column's called "Florida Weekly Cuisine,"

our wine column, "Vino." And our outdoors column? You guessed it: "Outdoors.")

If you have suggestions for a creative column name, I'm willing to hear them. Some ground rules: No puns on my name or use of the word "hat." No use of the word "Florida" or, God help me, the word "Paradise." Nothing cute. (That's an automatic disqualification.)

We might use it. We might not.

I once interviewed a guy who wrote a book about band names and their origins. One of the things he said was that it was the band and its music that made the name, not vice versa. I'll try to remember that, especially if the editors decide to call my column "Commentary."

As Shakespeare said, "What's in a name?"

Maybe nothing. Maybe everything. Maybe your name, (even a column name), like your life, is whatever you make it.