I was frankly ashamed and embarrassed when I read the headline online: �Many Americans see little point to Web?�

What is this country coming to?

Did I really read that right? Are there people out there who just don�t care about the Internet? Can it be? Don�t they understand how important it is? How it�s changing our lives and making the world a better place? How else are you going to watch videos of guys jumping bikes off buildings or singing cats?

Singing cats, people. Get with the program.

Believe it or not, there are a lot of people out there who don�t use the Internet. It was a Reuters story that said �a little under one-third of U.S. households have no Internet access and do not plan to get it.� Pshaw! Of these millions � in fact 31 million rebel households � most just don�t see why they need it in their lives.

Don�t see why they need it? Didn�t I just mention videos of singing cats? How about getting your identity stolen, contracting a computer virus or losing thousands of dollars in online poker or a Nigerian E-mail scam? You�re free to choose. You think you can get that through television or any other media source?

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Is this the best you can do?” I shouted at the heavens while trudging across Fifth Avenue. The howling wind leaned against me like a brick wall toppling over, and the snow fall got thicker and thicker. “I can hack this, no problem. I’ve survived hurricanes!”

And then the sleet started to fall. That’s when I curled up in a garbage can and convinced myself I was gonna die.

I was in New York City last week for a conference on advising college newspapers. You have to try very hard, or literally be on fire, not to have a good time in New York, and even then it still would rank up there as moderately enjoyable. But sleet sure does test you. It was like someone firing BB pellets at me. Check that, it was like 13,000 people firing BB pellets at me.

I’ve seen and been in my share of snow over the years, but this Florida boy has never in his life experienced sleet. It’s like a dump truck of gravel falling from the sky.

The trip had begun with such wonderful weather. When I arrived, it was in the upper 60s and I went for a 5-mile jog in Central Park. Gorgeous. For a while I forgot I was even up north. I was quickly reminded, though, when as I was running around the reservoir and hit a cold pocket of air. Unusual, I thought, before glancing down at the water. “Odd muck,” I said to myself. “Look how shiny and congealed it seems to be. And those birds are skating across it. What kind of algae ”

Ice, you idiot! The water is iced over! You’re up north in the spring. People like you die up here!

Just the thought of an iced-over lake sent me scurrying back to the hotel where I huddled shivering in the shower with a cup of coffee and a heating pad.

The weather got worse. Thursday saw gray skies and a big drop in temperature (recollection: windy, cheeks turning red, nose cold and runny) and by Friday, the winter storm had pulled out all the stops (recollection: butt froze and fell off on 52nd Street.)

It started out pretty enough on Friday. Or as pretty as 30-degree weather can be. Lazy snowflakes sauntered across the early morning sky — a dazzling site. There’s something wonderful about light, falling snow — so casual and nonchalant, like it’s in no particular hurry. It has nowhere to go and all the time in the world to sail through the air screaming, “Weeeee!” It makes you want to be a snowflake.

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Oh, it’s terrible when it has gone missing. And it goes missing A LOT these days.

Why? Well, it could have something to do with the remote control fairies that live in my house — grumbling, fat fairies with beer bellies and a desire to scratch all manner of regions while eating pork rinds and grumbling about baseball. It’s either them, or my 14-month-old daughter who would never hug a doll, but will cradle and cuddle the remote like it’s a kitten.

That is, when she’s not gnawing on it like a ravenous dog who has gotten hold of a soup bone. There is nothing worse than a baby-slimed remote that needs to be sanitized and pressure washed on a nightly basis.

I take that back: There is something worse, and that’s when the remote goes missing. At least when it’s dripping in saliva, you can use a pencil to change channels or put on gloves. But a missing remote just doesn’t work. And it will drive you batty.

Good luck finding it. When I ask my wife if she knows where it is, she tells me the last place she saw it. When I tell her it’s not there anymore, she just shrugs and says matter-of-factly, “It could be anywhere.”

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So, the race is on. It’s March, and time for the Jacksonville River Run, that 9.3-mile monster with a bridge on the tail end that will give you altitude sickness and make your calf muscles sue for divorce. The race is Saturday, and will attract literally thousands of runners like me who can’t understand that you don’t have to pay $30 to run 9 miles — you can do it at home for free!

I’m excited and pumped up, though, and the truth is, I’m already racing. But it has nothing to do with my feet touching the pavement 10,000 or so times. Rather, this race is to see if I can figure out my new running watch before the starting cannon fires on Saturday.

Nothing could be worse, or more embarrassing, than being trampled by 8,000 runners because I was still standing there at the start trying to figure out which button would get my watch going.

“I hit start! What’s wrong with-” SPLAT!

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It’s a titanic and monumental task, and I recognized the daunting challenges it presented.

“Rome wasn’t built in a day,” I comforted myself, before remembering it did burn to the ground at one point.

What the heck was I thinking getting my mother a computer?

My mother’s computer literacy is right up there with penne pasta. In fact, in nine out of 10 laboratory tests, cooked penne proved it was faster when it comes to turning on the computer, logging onto the Internet and searching out a Martha Stewart recipe.

My mother is most successful on a computer when she grows frustrated, bangs her head on the keyboard and, miraculously, something happens. Not what she wanted, but something does happen.

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