EXILE IN GUYVILLE always seemed like a carefully calculated piece ...

GUYVILLE always seemed like a carefully calculated piece of crap, so I've had no interest in Liz Phair's recent alleged sell-out. Still, it's kind of creepy to see Liz fielding questions as I walk into the press room at Z-100's Zootopia at Madison Square Garden. She's answering a generic poll-the-celebs question ("What's the best prank you've ever pulled?") with a tale involving Jason Mraz. It's all chummy show biz, and about as depressing as that recent Daily News item about Lou Reed taking his dog to a birthday party for somebody else's dog.

Liz is asked about her best summer job, then some guy in an accident-victim haircut follows up by asking her what artists should be doing to fight AIDS. He must be a big fan of Rock Hudson in Magnificent Obsession. Liz also lets slip that her management hasn't decided to let her start buying her own clothes again.

I really can't act righteous and outraged, though. It was my own idea to subject myself to all this. The kind folks at Z-100 originally offered me seats for the actual Zootopia concert. I specifically requested the press room. It never occurred to me that they might remember how I'd bitched about being stuck in the press room while covering December's Z-100 Jingle Ball concert.

So maybe I'm a guy who likes to complain. In my defense, I seem to be the only writer who's figured out how to sneak out to actually see the show from the floor. Besides, Zootopia's a rare chance to fraternize with my favorite gals from publications such as Tiger Beat and Popstar. It just doesn't make me feel any younger. The gals are impressed that I'm walking around with an advance copy of the DVD box set of the first season of Punky Brewster. They're less impressed by my DVD box set of the first season of SCTV. In fact, they've never heard of the show-but they're greatly amused by the sight of a young Eugene Levy.

As always, I'm relying on Z-100's annual summer show to keep me in touch with today's youth. It's another stellar night crammed full of the nation's-and the station's-hottest pop acts. It's great to see plenty of hot young girls parading about in skimpy summer outfits. I'm appreciating the camaraderie, too. Sure, I could be attending Avril Lavigne's private AOL concert at Webster Hall in a few days. It's far more meaningful to see her assuring a crowd of screaming teens that she likes them the way they are. Avril even cares enough to ditch the heroin-addict eye makeup for her younger fans.

She's the first act that I step outside to enjoy, but it's not necessary. The press room comes equipped with a press release that conveniently recaps the entire show before it's finished. I arrived too late to see Phair's performance, but I can still state with confidence that "the crowd got off to a rousing start with rocker Liz Phair." I can further confirm that the night "ended with a memorable performance from the breakout band Maroon 5"-and it's only 8 p.m.!

Too bad the press release can't predict that Maroon 5's early appearance in the press room would only be for a photo op. I guess the band is too scared to be interrogated about their worst summer jobs. It's more fun to see J-Kwon later smile at the question. "I've never had a job," he replies, and it looks to be the first time that's ever occurred to him.

If you're looking for a cultural marker, note the crowd's wild reception for the Backstreet Boys-who are only present to serve as hosts. Obviously, they've made a smart gamble to lie low for a few years. It's worked out for Morrissey. They've almost all aged well, too-and, yes, that includes Nick Carter. The remaining weak link is A.J. McLean. His wardrobe is outdated, and he's sporting a ludicrous leopard-print hairstyle that looks like a scalp disease onstage. But who's going to tell him? Any criticism might lead to a relapse.

Other high points include the cheap novelty-act thrill of seeing William Hung play the Garden-especially after I go backstage for the best possible view of his dancers, and get to experience being in the heart of the confetti cannon during the big climax of "YMCA." It's also fun to watch Phair chat it up with two 8-year-old girls while signing their Zootopia programs. Good thing they're not telling Liz how much they look forward to growing up and being able to buy their own clothes.

The joke's on me, however, since that clever observation costs me a chance to weasel my way into the Talent Gift Lounge, where millionaires get to enter and grab a bunch of free stuff. That's okay. It would've only interfered with my stepping back into the Garden to revel in the glory that is Jessica Simpson.

I was kind of planning a creepy angle about how Jessica and William Hung represent the fetishization of mediocrity. Instead, I have to concede that Jessica Simpson is the shining triumph of mediocrity. It's truly fascinating to watch a beautiful young woman performing dynamic renditions of really lousy music. Even Rolling Stone has had to give up pretending that Christina and Britney can do the same.

Jessica is truly America's Sweetheart, too. A security guard actually admonishes me for going backstage so that I can look up Jessica's corset as she steps up to the platform at stage right. He's correct about my intentions, and I was certainly successful. That doesn't mean the guy has any right to try and make me feel bad. Is it a crime to be heterosexual now?

I was going to ask Jessica that after the show, but she only stops by the press room for a photo op. That's understandable. Most of the media has already taken off, so the remaining photogs deserve to be rewarded for their perseverance. There are only three writers left in the press room-including myself, since I've decided to take the press release's word about that great Maroon 5 performance. Those guys were painful enough back when they were power-popsters doing business as Kara's Flowers. This new boy-band schtick makes Liz Phair sound like LaMonte Young.

A.J.'s a big fan, though!

Anyway, Jessica makes a quick exit from the press room. To her eternal credit, she strolls right over to the elevator and heads out while still wearing her corset. Then the show's pretty much over. This allows me to sneak through a back curtain to loot what's left of the Gift Lounge. Let's just say that somebody isn't going to have to buy any Citrus Samba Chiclets for a very long time.

Incidentally, it turns out that I had a perfectly vital reason for being in the press room. Earlier, a reporter from the teenybopper mag J-14 had asked Eamon, "What's the toughest lesson love has ever taught you?" The potty-mouthed pop star gave this some thought, and then replied, "Don't fuck with sloppy seconds." There's a quote that would've gone lost without New York Press in the house.