Seacrest is in bed, at home in the Hollywood Hills, by eight o'clock almost every night. He sleeps spooning a BlackBerry, his dating life is in suspended animation. "He works too much at the expense of his personal life," says his friend Ellen DeGeneres. "I'd love to see him meet a nice girl and settle down."

But, for the moment, this isn't part of the Seacrest master plan. "I completely fell into [a] relationship, and I didn't want to," he says about a recent girlfriend. "I remember having conversations like ‘This is so weird for me, because I'm not supposed to like anyone until I've achieved what I want to achieve.'"

So Seacrest sticks to what works for him: a seven-day schedule that would put most of his peers on Nexium. He maintains that he isn't fazed by the pace. "I'm tired, but I'm used to it," he says. But his subconscious might be. "You know when you watch video screenings and there's a time code in the corner?" he asks, trying to explain a recurring dream. "I have dreams about time codes."