Tune in, turn on, drop out.

A few weeks ago, which in my pea-sized brain feels like yesterday, I was tagged by my virtual twin-by-another-mother, Annie McQ.

The assignment? Identify my most recent media selections.

Strictly speaking, I believe I'm supposed to report what I've seen, heard and read in the course of seven days, but in the interest of generating something snappy, I may have to get creative with those boundaries.

Let's begin with the written word, shall we?

Or, actually, not so much, because my reading list has been a bit on the puny side lately.

For example, I've been slowly but steadily making my way through a scintillating issue of Pottery Barn: March 2008, and the suspense is nearly killing me.

Is yellow, as the author boldly claims, honestly BRILLIANT IN EVERY WAY?

Don't let me spoil it for you, for heaven's sake; turn to page four to discover the answer for yourself.

Meanwhile, a short but stylish stack of books patiently awaits my attention atop my nightstand.

There's the generally entertaining Helping Me Help Myself, which I purchased in January in lieu of drafting any new year's resolutions of my own.

Just below that is Same Kind of Different As Me, which I'm not sure I would have chosen of my own free will, but, in a rare stroke of serendipity, is the selection for both of my book clubs this month. Two birds: one stone.

And last but not least, I have Loving Frank, which will receive only a cursory review in the car tomorrow morning, as it's expected to be returned to the library bright and early. Alas.

Now: to the screens we go.

On the big one, I watched Atonement tonight for, believe it or not, the second time.

It's rare that I see any movie in a theater, so setting aside ten bucks and two hours not once, but twice? Clearly, a ringing endorsement.

Prior to this feat, Trey and I saw Juno. Loved the quirky cast, dug the snappy dialogue, adored the soundtrack. Two enthusiastic thumbs up; can't wait to catch it on DVD.

The only other semi-current flick I've seen, which I've already documented, was the Veggie Tales pirate movie. And really, one showing of that was enough for me, thanks.

I've got less to say, if that's possible, about what captures my attention as of late on the small screen.

Five years ago, I was a thoroughly happy couch potato. And I still lurve me some serious slacking time, but it's usually spent staring at this computer screen, not the television.

On the rare occasion that Trey's not tuned in to a dry Canadian documentary about anything sold, bought or processed, I will gladly catch a rerun of Sex and the City. But you know, there are only so many times you can watch Carrie break Aidan's heart into a bazillion pieces before you become a little jaded.

So I made an attempt recently to bust out of my rut. I decided to really go out on a limb and watch something totally new and groundbreaking.

After careful consideration, however, I'm sorry to say that Cashmere Mafia and Lipstick Jungle have yet to rake any leaves, much less break any ground.

What? That idiom made no sense? Well, what can I say: I'm no Tina Fey. And must I seriously be forced to wait until April 10 for a new episode of 30 Rock? Grumble.

Last but not least, for the two of you still reading this (hi, Mom, and greetings, hapless stranger): iTune. Tunes. Whatever.

Sadly, I lack Annie's technical prowess and have no idea how to share with you a snapshot of my current-favorite playlist.

So you'll have to take me at my word when I tell you that it channels my alter ego, my true inner self, which is that of sbg, or sassy black girl.

My sbg persona, who, by the way, can sing AND dance when no one's watching, is happiest with a streaming soundtrack of Jill. Angie. Mary J. D'Angelo.

For fun, I infuse a little Christina, Rihanna and, because I can, Mariah.

Then I take it old school with the Commodores, Cornelius Brothers and Carl Carlton.

And that, for this week or thereabouts, is how I roll. Et tu?