O Good Morning America people, shrieking out from our television at work each day: What is the source of your thrill? Soundwalk-bound, sign-clutching, you come from Nebraska, New Jersey and Ohio; you flock to LaGuardia to stand at the altar of Katie Couric and Al Roker and Matt Lauer. You stand and stand in the morning cold, packed in tight, tighter, your sons on your shoulders, your sorority sisters all drinking Starbucks for hours, shifting from foot to tired foot, holding your pee -- and then it happens: the red light comes on, the camera swoops in on your flock and from among you comes a shout, a cheer mounting in excitement, something between Dionysian ecstasy and football-game revels. Oh, what is the weather in your neck of the woods? A day begun in Rockefeller Plaza and ended in Times Square.