Hug it out.

B naps best when she's snuggled inside a carrier strapped to my body, so I spend two to four hours a day doing deep-knee bends with a 20-pound weight buckled to my sternum.

Our little cream-coloured iGod rides shotgun during her siestas and it's not only kept me sane, I think I'm actually more in the media loop than I was a year ago.

To wit: I finally had a chance to watch the first two-and-a-half seasons of HBO's critically-acclaimed fluff, Entourage. Loosely based on executive producer Mark Walhberg's experiences in Hollywood, the show chronicles a young star's rise to fame and his misadventures in the company of his three closest friends.

The show is quick, light and frothy and isn't trying to say anything about, well, anything. I probably wouldn't have kept watching if it wasn't for Jeremy Piven, who's a revelation as the hyperaggressive, motormouthed agent to star Vincent Chase. Much like Oliver Platt's relentlessly self-destructive lawyer in the otherwise staid Huff, Piven burns up the screen with his predatory, type-A narcissist. He's the only reason I kept watching the first season and even now, when I'm somewhat invested in the characters and story, he's still hands-down the best part of any given episode.

Far from brilliant, Entourage is nevertheless quick, glossy, snappy, often funny and usually finished before you know it.