I've been trying for months to work up some righteous indignation about the fact that New York City now has a ''Rock and Roll Hall of Fame Annex.''

After all, Northeast Ohio got a hard enough slap in the face when it forked out $65 million in public money to erect a 150,000-square-foot shrine and then was allowed to host the induction ceremony exactly two times in 14 years.

The recent announcement that Cleveland ''probably'' will get the ceremony back every third year softens the slap just slightly; that means two of every three galas still will take place in — yes — New York City.

Hall of fame officials have billed the ''annex'' as a place that will only increase traffic at Cleveland's hall. Right. And people who go to Disney World are suddenly inspired to fly to Cedar Point.

I mean, New York's first special exhibit, which opened last month, focuses on John Lennon, the driving force in the biggest band in rock history. It includes everything from handwritten lyrics to the bloodstained eyeglasses he was wearing the night he was gunned down.

Now, I'm not sure how much I'd pay to see eyeglasses with 29-year-old bloodstains. But if somebody is going to exhibit the bloodstained eyeglasses of an assassinated rock superstar, that somebody should be the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame and Museum in Cleveland, Ohio.

But then . . . from way back in the dusty seconds-bin of my time-addled brain . . . the memory crept forward: Those same glasses were exhibited right here in Cleveland in 2000 — along with most of the other things on display in New York today.

Who's cutting edge now, Big Apple?

Our civic ego also should be assuaged by the fact that New York's building is less than one-fifth the size of ours.

''The idea of the annex is to introduce people to our mission, give them a taste of what we do and hopefully start a larger, longer relationship with them,'' says rock hall spokeswoman Margaret Thresher.

Whether that concept will fly remains to be seen. But we do know one thing for certain: At this point, the real action is in Cleveland.

That would be the Bruce Springsteen exhibit, From Asbury Park to the Promised Land, which opened in April and will run for another year.

It's a magnificent presentation of the career of a magnificent performer.

You may not like Springsteen's politics, but if you don't like his body of work, you don't like rock 'n' roll. The man personifies the best the genre has to offer.

Using a synergetic combination of music and lyrics, he shows us life from different angles, teaching us more about human nature and ourselves. His richly drawn lyrical characters inhabit a bleak wasteland, a land where the American Dream is stuck in the mud. But his messages ultimately are uplifting because he always leaves hanging a strand of hope.

Springsteen's impact is even greater during live performances, especially when he assembles his full E Street Band for a typical three-hour marathon.

Longtime fans have been reveling in close-up looks at a vast array of memorabilia that fills the top two floors of the hall and then some: