Yes, it's true. During the run-up to Y2K, I was a talking head on CNN. If you've never been one, I can tell you it's quite an experience. I would go to their San Francisco bureau, a wallpaper backdrop of the city skyline immediately behind me, a huge television camera about 5 feet from my nose. A wire would snake up my back and into my ear; a tiny lapel microphone had the same honor in front. Typically, I would share the occasion with a host and three other guests, none of whom I could see, all of whom I could hear.

The staff consistently warn you: "The cameras are always on. You never know when they'll put your face on the screen." Better not get caught looking down or off to the side. Just sit there smiling and prepare yourself to give up compelling insights on a moment's notice, especially when the host calls you by name.

But you can't just listen for your name - you might be asked to respond to what was just said. So you must listen carefully, as well. One time in particular, I was smiling like mad, and listening just as hard, when I was gripped by the feeling that the advice I had just heard had a distinct hole in it. And then I couldn't stop myself.

In response to reports that people were stockpiling food in advance of Y2K, the consumer advocate for a large southern newspaper recommended spreading out your purchases for the next two months. Every time you go to the grocery store, pick up an extra can or two of tuna.

After a few puzzled seconds, I simply blurted out. "Are you kidding?!?! I've got enough food in my pantry right now, I could live off it for two months. I just don't want to eat any of it! If Y2K is a mess, let's just eat the food we already have." Then everybody suddenly started shouting over each other, and the program lost its way.

If anything, this experience clarified exactly how I feel when I'm receiving harmless - although suspect - advice, and I had that feeling again just the other day. The headline read "E-mail addles the mind." San Francisco Chronicle writer Benjamin Pimentel described a Hewlett-Packard study which showed that excessive daily use of email and cell phones can result in a 10-point drop in IQ. All manner of statistics were cited, and a cadre of experts weighed in. In the end, HP offered guidelines, including the recommendation to eliminate "one-word email messages, such as those that just say 'Thanks.'"

And that's when the bells went off.

"Thanks" is more than "Thanks." Sure, it's polite, but it's also a whole lot of other things. It's the technical equivalent of "Over and out." It's an acknowledgement that the sender received your last message and read it, and things will proceed apace. On the receiving end, "Thanks" takes no time to read, while registering an expression of gratitude, different from "ok" and "got it." I say an appropriate one-word email of "Thanks" is a very good thing in the online world.

Which takes me back to on-air advice. If your fifteen minutes of fame brings you to on-air glory, you just might catch yourself saying something quite inane. Quickly insert, "Of course, that's just one approach. Obviously, there are pro's and con's," and take a breath. Someone else will jump in and take the whole situation off your hands.

And one last thing, which I can't believe would affect your IQ any more than this brush with the media - don't forget to say "Thanks."

I'm Moira Gunn. This is Five Minutes.

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