Friday, September 28, 2007

Just because the actors are hot doesn't mean that the show is good

I am so disappointed. I thought that if you mixed the very hot Michael Vartan with Dylan McDermott, and threw in some Joshua Malina (from one of my favorite shows ever), it would create instant awesome.

Sadly, the show sucked. It might have been the worst thing ever. Well, no -- clearly that's an overstatement. Besides, I can imagine worse.

And ABC, what's with you and the tranny hookers in your 10pm shows? Hmmm? Something you want to talk about?

Thursday, September 27, 2007

Not enough hours in the day

For the record, I eat relatively healthily. Sure, every once in a while I have ice cream and hamburgers, but more often than not, I have salads. I've pretty much given up "white foods" -- pasta, sugar, bread, and rice. And I exercise -- not as much as I would like, but I generally go to the gym a couple of times a week, I walk outside, and I occasionally take the stairs instead of the elevator.

But apparently, it's not enough. In order to lose weight, the contestants on shows like The Biggest Loser exercise four to six hours per day.

Yeah, you read that right -- four to six hours each and every day.

I think I probably get about six hours of exercise in an entire week -- when I'm being diligent. For me to get four to six hours of exercise every day, I would have to give up sleep. Or work. Maybe both.

Wednesday, September 26, 2007

The one where the dental hygienist was mean to me

I went to the dentist this morning, for a routine cleaning. Big fat yawn, right?

While there the hygienist said two things that I was not expecting. First of all, she told me that, contrary to years and years of conventional wisdom -- not to mention my mother's nagging -- chewing gum is good for me, and I should do it for 30 minutes after each meal.

An AP article confirms this. So I just went out and bought a new pack of Trident Watermelon Twist.

And second -- most disturbingly -- in relation to the fact that I burned the roof of my mouth on a croqueta de pollo at Jaleo over a week ago, and it still hasn't healed, she told me that "As we get older, our gums take longer to heal."

I was in total shock. First I wanted to hit her in the mouth while shouting "Shut up, beyotch, I'm 31, not 50!" I should have done it too, since old people don't start fistfights with their dental hygienist.

Then I just wanted to cry.

Now, I'm just confused. If I'm so friggin' old, why does she insist on giving me the fake watermelon-flavored fluoride treatment? Blech.

Ozzy Osbourne would be proud.

I may travel a lot for work, but I've never done this:

The Rocky Mountain News reports that Scott D. Clark, an auditor with the Denver office of the Health and Human Services Department's inspector general office, is facing a felony animal cruelty charge related to an incident at an Embassy Suites hotel in St. Paul, Minn., where he had traveled for work.

According to witnesses, Scott cornered a duck near an atrium pond at the hotel and ripped its head off. Announcing, "I'm hungry. I'm gonna eat it," Clark got on an elevator with the headless bird and took it up to the fifth floor.

On top of that, the Minneapolis Star Tribune reports, local law enforcement officials said in an official complaint filed against Clark that after police arrived on the scene, Clark said "that he worked for the federal government and when this was over he would have the officers' jobs."

When told that he was in trouble for killing the duck, Clark told officers, "Why, because I killed it out of season? Big deal, it's just a [expletive] duck."

Then again, I'm not an auditor. Guy's gotta find something interesting to do, right?

Update: At least the duck guy doesn't go around biting three-year-olds.

A laboratory technician has been fired after the parents of a 3-year-old boy claimed she bit his shoulder while drawing blood from his arm, a hospital spokesman said.

Faith Buntin took her son Victor to St. Vincent Hospital on Friday for a blood test because of recent recalls of toys involving lead. She said she saw the worker put her mouth on Victor's shoulder.

"I looked at her like that was the craziest thing that I'd ever seen," Faith Buntin told television station WRTV. "She looked at me and smiled and said, 'Oh, it was just a play bite. He's not hurt.'"

After they returned home, the boy's mother said, she saw teeth marks on his left shoulder, and her husband drove the child back to the hospital, where he was prescribed antibiotics.

"Taking a bite out of him like he's an apple, this is heinous," said James Buntin, the boy's father.

St. Vincent fired the technician after the incident was reported and is "reviewing the capabilities" of the employees of the subcontractor that does blood work for the hospital, spokesman Johnny Smith said.

Tuesday, September 25, 2007

A (long) day in the life

Today was a really long, tiring day. Fourteen hours from the time I left my apartment in the morning until I got back this evening.

It probably started at 5:00 when my first alarm went off, but what I really remember is the emergency back-up alarm going off at 5:15. (At least I knew I'd need a backup.) Then it was eat, shower, dress in fancy-yet-comfortable-enough-to-drive-in suit, do hair and make up, put on sneakers, grab heels, bag, cellphone, BlackBerry, and Diet Coke and head down to the garage.

At 6:05 -- five minutes behind schedule -- the little blue car and I were on our way. Five minutes later, I realized that I was heading in the wrong direction, out of habit.

Forty-five or so minutes later, I was heading west on I-270, watching the backed-up traffic in the other direction. Man, it must suck to live all the way out in Damascus.

In the midst of this, I'm listening to the traffic reports and thinking that there must be some kind of correlation between people being tired and people being in car accidents. And how the world would be better if we could just schedule things according to our own circadian rhythms. Friggin' genius, right? I should get some kind of grant or something to study it further.

Anyway, once the DC radio signals and their traffic reports started getting weak, I put in some CDs, and raced along my merry way. I was in Pennsylvania before 7:30. I barely saw any other cars until I was basically at my destination -- Harrisburg. Man, it must be nice to live in a place where the ten cars that are waiting for the light count as "traffic."

I got to my final destination by 8:45. In and of itself, that's noteworthy because there are a heck of a lot of days when I don't even manage to leave for work that early. Anyway, while at my destination, I got to see a former co-worker, educate his interns, and -- while waiting in the appropriately-named waiting room -- read a five-year-old Sports Illustrated with Jason Giambi on the cover, proclaiming him "the perfect modern hitter."

No, really:

And yes, I did feel slightly suspicious taking this picture with my cellphone in a Federal building.

Shortly thereafter, I did my lawyer-y work, which involved going to court and winning a case. All that, and it wasn't even 11:30. So, I got in the car to head back.

I even took a picture out the car window. You can almost make out the Harrisburg skyline in the distance.

I meant to get on the highway and get off on Route 15, to go back home through Gettysburg and Frederick -- I would have stopped for lunch somewhere along the way -- but somehow, I wound up on the real highway instead, heading towards York and Baltimore. Later, I'd find out that this miscalculation was a good thing, based on my former coworker's email to our other coworkers describing some kind of accident involving a horse. Forget about my earlier comment about the ten cars constituting traffic -- it's even better if you imagine nine cars and a horse and buggy. Livestock rules!

I got stuck in a little bit of traffic in Baltimore -- there was an accident -- so I read my BlackBerry emails. And when I got to my office around 1:15, there was no parking available in the garage. So I drove home. And changed out of my suit, checked my email, Twittered, grabbed lunch, and metroed into the office.

I got home just after 8 -- which was fourteen hours, almost to the minute. And now, I'm eating dinner. If I'm not too exhausted, I'll probably watch last night's Heroes when I'm finished.

Monday, September 24, 2007

Revenge of the Pool Boy

On first read, I thought this article about the Bush family pool boy must have been a joke. I mean, what kind of self-respecting pool boy speaks English?

Then I remembered that this was taking place in Maine, not Palm Beach.

Cheap jokes aside, I find certain parts of the article hard to believe. Like how a 23-year old pool boy engages in offhand discussions of Bush 41's policies. Or how his friend happened to set up a web site to help raise money for his dental work. Or how he just happened to go to a war protest down the road from the Bush compound and wound up talking to their cousins at a lemonade stand, and that those same cousins indicated disagreement with the administration's policy. These coincidences strain credulity, but they make for an excellent feature.

But I wholeheartedly agree with this sentiment:

For Razsa, his job -- the only one he could find -- put him directly in touch with the very sort of power he holds partly responsible for his, and other people's, hard times.

"I look at the biggest middle finger in the world all day," is his more succinct explanation.

I ask Razsa if he has a monologue loaded up, in the event that his next encounter was at closer range. To my surprise, the idea doesn't appeal.

"What do you say? 'Thanks for School of the Americas, and Iran-Contra, and NAFTA, and shipping all those jobs overseas, and arming Saddam, and funding the Taliban?' What do you say -- 'You're a jerk?' There's nothing that can be put into a sentence that would capture the lives these people have taken, and the way of life that's been taken."

I mean, how do you burn down the master's house when that master is the President of the United States -- or, for that matter, his father?

Duh. You tell your story. And hope that people listen.

Friday, September 21, 2007

My version of atonement

Slate had an interesting article on Yom Kippur.

Here's what we're supposed to have done or be doing:

According to Jewish law, there's a five-step program for sin eradication during the Days of Awe, the weeklong period beginning with Rosh Hashanah and ending with Yom Kippur, when God's judgments of each man's righteousness (or lack thereof) over the past year gets indelibly inked in the Book of Life. The first is mere recognition of the sin, followed by remorse for having committed it. Next comes the physical cessation of the sin, the act of restitution toward the sinned against, and, finally, confession before the Almighty, which includes vowing never to do it again.

Versus what people actually do:

Plenty of High Holy Day Jews cut corners on the sacred practice by resorting to what Rabbi Yehuda Sarna at NYU's Bronfman Center calls the "spray-fire" method of atonement. Instead of humbly approaching those you know you've wronged over the past year, you dial up everyone in your Rolodex or e-mail everyone in your address book, and seek a pardon for any offenses you might have given—a hollow gesture if ever there was one. Operating on the Don Corleone-ish principle that a request can't be refused during a blessed event, these Jews literally phone in their apologies and expect forgiveness for all sorts of trespasses, be it a missed birthday, an unpaid loan, or nasty gossip.

Not me. I don't call anyone -- let alone everyone -- to ask for forgiveness. Maybe I should, but whatever. What's done is done, and all I can try to do is fix whatever problems my behavior wrought.

So, instead, beginning around Rosh Hashanah, I tend to contemplate the year gone by. (Probably more because it's fall, and less because of the holiday -- but the reason seems less important than the action.) I think about the things I could have handled better, and eventually, I get to a point where I promise myself, and whatever deity may or may not exist, that I will try harder. This is my version of atoning for my sins.

And, then, more often than not, I go to synagogue and fast. My personal 24-hour atone-a-thon begins in roughly two hours.

Thursday, September 20, 2007

TV character blogs: Good or Bad?

Slate has an interesting article about blogs written by tv characters. They conclude that "most of these blogs kind of stink."

I don't know if I agree. In fact, browsing through my archives, I saw that I mentioned two that I like before: Barney from How I Met Your Mother and Dwight from The Office (Creed's blog is kind of creepy, though).

I think that, to a very large extent, whether you like the blog is going to depend on whether you like the show and the character. I think Barney and Dwight are hilariously entertaining fictional characters, therefore it's likely that I would be entertained by fictional blogs written from their fictional perspectives.

But I agree that blogs written from the perspective of a tv character don't always work. Even though I watch Grey's Anatomy, I think the nurse's blog is a waste of time - it's not from the perspective of a main character, and all it seems to do is recap the episodes. It doesn't add anything.

Now that I think about it, I think that's the difference between any promotional website for a show or a movie or whatever -- does it capture my attention, and does it add to my enjoyment of whatever it's promoting? Like when I first started watching Lost, I would go to the various websites to try to figure out what stuff meant, which added to my enjoyment of the show. Or maybe added to my confusion and frustration. Bad example. Whatever.

Wednesday, September 19, 2007

Dorm room beds

Growing up, I always had a twin bed. And no tv, but that's a story for another day.

Sometime around my senior year of high school, my parents got my sister and my brother -- both younger -- queen size waterbeds. Their purported justification was that I was going to be moving out soon. I was annoyed, but even at 17, I would have understood that buying me a new bed was probably a waste of money (that might have been better spent on clothes and shoes).

When I moved into my first dorm room, I looked at the stained little twin mattress in horror. Not because it was so small, but because it was not particularly clean. And it was ancient. But you know what? It was comfortable, and I somehow managed to live with it for the entire year.

My second year, I moved into a historic dorm that had just completed renovations. My dorm room had a new twin sized mattress. Unfortunately, it was covered in vinyl, which made it exceptionally uncomfortable. Still, I lived with it.

I bought a full-sized bed when I graduated and went to law school. But that's not the point.

One of the things I learned in college was that it is possible for two people to fit on a twin-sized bed, even if one of them is over 6 feet tall. It might not be perfect, but it works. Heck, it's a right of passage. And people have survived worse. (Sleeping on the bathroom floor comes to mind, but I'm sure there are worse things than that, too.)

So it really annoys me to read in The Washington Post that whiny, spoiled college students are now getting larger dorm mattresses because twin mattresses are too small.

University officials hoping to keep students on campus and compete with off-campus housing are trying new room designs and all manner of amenities to appeal to the millennial generation, especially those seeking the comforts of home while in school. Some have given single rooms to students not used to sharing. Others have offered maid service and microwaves. Now they're giving them a larger space on which to lay their heads.

Maid service too? Sheesh. What's next, wash-dry-fold?

Still, I had to laugh about how the students all basically said the same thing:

" . . . And it is easier to fit multiple people."
". . . students also indicated 'that sometimes they are not in the bed alone.'"
". . . And it's definitely much easier to have another person in the bed if the occasion arises."

I'm sure their parents are all so proud.

Tuesday, September 18, 2007


I left work early this afternoon to drive my sister to the airport. After I dropped her off, I drove back to work.

Sadly, her flight just took off 5 minutes ago. But at least we got to send somewhat amusing texts back and forth the entire time. Here's the best one:

Sister (9:13 pm): I'm still here. Maintenance issues on the plane. They don't expect us to take off until at least 9:30.
Me: I'm so sorry. Would it make you feel better to hear that I just got home from work and was stuck behind a marching band on the way?
Sister: Depending on what they were playing.

At least she kept her sense of humor about it.

A challenge, or maybe not

I had a comment posted in Gene Weingarten's chat today. If you can correctly identify it, perhaps we can discuss it.

Monday, September 17, 2007

Guest photo blog

I tried to get my sister to write something while she was in town this weekend, but she doesn't like to share her thoughts with people. So instead, here are her pictures from this weekend:




And here are her favorite cheers that she learned from the annoying kids sitting near us at the ballpark:

(1) "In your face!"
(2) "That's what I'm talking about!"

Thursday, September 13, 2007

Concert meme

HoneyKBee posted this meme, and I thought I would play along.

Here's how it works: Copy this list, leave in the bands you've seen perform live, delete the ones you haven't, and add new ones that you have seen until you reach 25. An asterisk means the previous person had it on their list. Two asterisks means the last two people who did this before you had that band on their list.

1. Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers*
2. Dave Matthews Band*
3. Bob Dylan*
4. Counting Crows*
5. Bon Jovi
6. Goo Goo Dolls
7. U2
8. The Police
9. Fleetwood Mac
10. Matchbox Twenty
11. Willie Nelson
12. Queensryche
13. They Might Be Giants
14. Sister Hazel
15. Eric Clapton
16. Everclear
17. Beastie Boys
18. Nirvana
19. The Breeders
20. Cheap Trick
21. Dixie Chicks
22. Gin Blossoms
23. Sugar Ray
24. Velvet Revolver
25. Smashing Pumpkins

I'm not tagging anyone. But it's a fun exercise, so you should totally do it.

Five Guys, the cure for all ills

I've been feeling kind of sick all week. Kind of headachy, really fatigued -- more than usual -- and dizzy when I stood up. First I thought it was a prolonged hangover from this weekend, but it kept on lasting. Then I thought I was dehydrated, but I've been drinking enough water -- at least 64 ounces each day. So then, after talking to my mom (who's diabetic), I thought my blood sugar must be too low. So last night, after services, I ate a really big meal, and went to sleep kind of early.

When I woke up this morning, I felt worse than ever. I could hardly drive to synagogue.

In the middle of services, I realized what it was: my iron was low. I thought about it, and I couldn't remember the last time I had red meat -- it had to be over a month ago. And I'm covered in bruises -- my elbows, my knees, even one giant one on my upper arm. So, when I left services, I headed straight to Five Guys and bought myself a burger. Mmmm, burger.

I'm feeling better already. Maybe I'll have steak this weekend.

Wednesday, September 12, 2007

Random thoughts at inappropriate times

At Rosh Hashanah services this evening, something -- I'm not sure what -- caused me to think about whether a native Hebrew speaker reads the prayers in Hebrew or English. Lucky for me, I was sitting next to such a person, and I got to ask. This progressed to me asking whether she translated from one to the other in her head, which language she thinks in, which language she dreams in, and whether she feels herself shifting between languages.

It was an interesting conversation, although maybe we should have been concentrating on the praying, all things considered.

Rumination on why I need to go grocery shopping more often

Because I'm going to be out of the office this afternoon and tomorrow for Rosh Hashanah, I worked late last night -- until 9 pm. Which put me at the Pentagon City metro stop at 9:22, before the mall closed. So I thought I'd grab a quick food court dinner before rushing home to try to catch the end of the Nationals game (ugh, what a disaster) and my normal routine of responding to emails and paying my bills.

Lately, for me, "food court" translates into a salad at Subway. But I wasn't in the mood, and the line was very long -- unusually long, especially since there was no line at McDonald's, which is usually insanely busy. So, with that in mind, I decided that I would try some of the new fancy chicken strips at McDonald's.

As an aside, I almost never eat at McDonald's. Every once in a while, I crave their fries or their ice cream sundae, but the feeling usually passes quite quickly. It's not that the food doesn't taste good -- it does -- but it tastes good in the same way that Kraft dinner tastes good. It's for kids. Real mac and cheese tastes better, as does a real hamburger or thick cut steak fries. Or a bison burger. Mmmm. But I digress . . . .

Anyway, I walked up to the cash register and the cashier mumbled something about not having cheeseburgers. Or fries. Or some other things. I didn't really understand much of what he was saying because (1) he had a thick accent, (2) he mumbled, and (3) he spoke waaaaaaay too fast.

At this point, I realized that this scenario explained why the line was at Subway. The McDonald's was out of food. So I said, "I don't want a cheeseburger. Or fries. Does that help?"

He looked at me like I was crazy.

So I said, "How about telling me what you are not out of?"

Same reaction. Clearly it's me. I mean, I definitely should have anticipated that the McDonald's in the food court of one of the busiest malls in the region would be completely and totally out of food. No chicken strips, not even chicken nuggets.

I wound up with one of the new chicken snack wrappy things. It was okay -- not quite low carb, but only 32 grams, and 330 calories. Still, it was an awful lot of effort for something ultimately neither healthy nor satisfying.

Tuesday, September 11, 2007


Last year, I blogged about my journal entry from 9/11, and my memories of that crazy, crazy day. But two weeks ago, I was reminded of a funny thing that I left out of my account.

I had forgotten that when we were all huddled up in my friend's apartment in Cleveland Park, watching CNN, her toilet was not functioning properly. The maintenance guy came up to fix it, but told her there was nothing wrong. My friend got annoyed and started arguing with him, while the rest of us sat around looking very uncomfortable. Eventually, she threatened to have us all pee in the toilet then and there. Another friend broke the stunned silence by loudly protesting "But I don't have to pee."

Despite everything, we laughed about it that day, and we continue to laugh about it now -- at least when we remember. When it happened, it was a respite from unthinkable tragedy. Today, it's just better than thinking about Bin Laden tapes, the war in Iraq, or even the offensive truck I saw driving around my office today with a picture of the twin towers in flames, a comment about god hating homosexuals, and a warning of how, if we're not careful, he'll let similar tragedy strike again.

A little humor never hurt anyone. Or, as Gene Weingarten said six years ago, and reiterated today, "When people are filled with grief, they need to cry. When people are filled with fear, they need to laugh."

Monday, September 10, 2007

Sometimes the industry gets it right

It makes me giggle that this (NSFW) won an Emmy:

I mean, the Scrubs musical was good, but Dick in a Box is riveting. I'd go as far to say that it was the best thing SNL did all season long.

Of course, it's an extra added bonus when all the news outlets have to edit the title of the song out of the story.

Thursday, September 06, 2007

Nihil declarandum

I have developed a horrible habit of bookmarking things that I want to blog about, and then completely forgetting about them when something else catches my eye.

So, since I have nothing of importance to say today, here's my overly-organized version of a linkdump. It is, admittedly, ginormous. Feel free to read any or all -- or none -- of these things, and comment accordingly.

Fun with latin.
The overuse of exclamation points.
Compendium of lost words.
Rules of language, via the Columbia Journalism Review.
How to speak Yiddish.

On The Road is 50 years old.
The greatest fictional travelers.
Children's Book: Why Mommy Is A Democrat.

Social Studies:
The most interesting scam. Ever.
Even lottery winners get the blues.
Sad story of Theresa Duncan and Jeremy Blake.
Congressional Food Stamp Challenge.
Fat Like Mommy.
Why we love dogs.
The Maiden Name Debate.

Music Appreciation:
Rock stars die young.
The A.V. Club's Guide to Festival Survival.
The A.V. Club's review of Lollapalooza '07.
Top 10 karaoke songs to avoid.
Name that Boy Band & Name that Hair Band Quizzes.
100 Worst Cover Songs.
The Archive of Misheard Lyrics.

Mass Media:
Median age of TV shows (and related graphic).
My So-Called Life finally on DVD.
Top Cult Shows.
TV Guilty Pleasures.
Donnie Darko, explained.
50 best high school movies.
20 Best/Worst Celebrity Blogs.
List of celebrity Scientologists.
Top 10 secret celebrity Scientologists.

Home Ec:
Guide to sweet tea.
What your drink says about you.
What your drink really says about you.

Arts & Crafts:
Subversive cross-stitch.
How to knit Space Invaders socks.

Have fun. This might take a while.

Wednesday, September 05, 2007

Religious intolerance and its effect on art and history

Several years ago, before September 11th put Afghanistan on the map and introduced the Taliban into our collective American consciousness, artists and historians and anthropologists and the like were all up in arms about the Taliban's destruction of ancient sculptures -- particularly Buddhas -- because they were contrary to Islam.

I vaguely remember signing some sort of petition that went nowhere. Go figure. I mean, it's not like the government really cared all that much about art or the destruction thereof. But then Al Qaeda and Osama bin Laden attacked, and we fought back. And people started talking about the destruction of the art as one of a laundry list of sins committed by the Taliban.

Why am I thinking of this now? Because I was reminded of this not-too-distant history while reading this article. It describes the destruction of native religious artifacts in Nigeria by fundamentalist Christian evangelists who believe that the native traditions are linked to the devil and therefore urge their destruction:

Born to a family of traditional priests, Ibe Nwigwe converted to Christianity as a boy. Under the sway of born-again fervor as a man, he gathered the paraphernalia of ancestral worship _ a centuries-old stool, a metal staff with a wooden handle and the carved figure of a god _ and burned them as his pastor watched.

"I had experienced a series of misfortunes and my pastor told me it was because I had not completely broken the covenant with my ancestral idols," the 52-year-old Nwigwe said of the bonfire three years ago. "Now that I have done that, I hope I will be truly liberated."

Generations ago, European colonists and Christian missionaries looted Africa's ancient treasures. Now, Pentecostal Christian evangelists _ most of them Africans _ are helping wipe out remaining traces of how Africans once worked, played and prayed.


Ikechukwu Nzekwe, a 48-year-old farmer who belongs to a traditional masquerade cult, rues the action of his younger brother, a born-again Christian who destroyed the family's masquerade costume, including pieces dating back seven generations.

The masquerade cult was once part theater, appearing at festivals to perform songs and dances, and part traditional police _ its members helped enforce mores and customs. Now its role is largely restricted to theater, including performances and races by men in costumes depicting ancestral spirits.

Ukpai, the evangelist, tells followers the artifacts bear "curses and covenants" linked to the gods they represent.

According to the article, the lack of tolerance is comparatively new:

Early missionaries to Nigeria condemned most traditional practices as pagan. Roman Catholics and Anglicans later came to terms with most practices, even incorporating some traditional dances into church liturgy. But there was no room for local gods once their erstwhile worshippers became Christians.

Similarly, Muslim preachers in Nigeria's predominantly Islamic north forbade interaction with figures dedicated to local idols, although many cultural dances featuring traditional masks are still tolerated.

So let's get this straight: The native religious customs survived for hundreds of years and were, at a minimum, tolerated by Catholics and Muslims -- but can't survive the Pentecostals?

Tuesday, September 04, 2007

Money may not buy happiness, but at least it can get you really fancy accessories

Over the long weekend, the Post had an interesting article about Coach handbags. (Disclaimer: I have at least six. And a wallet. And two wristlets. And now I'm reminded that I never did follow-up on my promise to blog about my handbag collection. But I digress.)

The point of the article -- I think -- is that the Coach brand has come to represent an affordable luxury item. Which is an oxymoron, right? But at any rate, it's a category separate and distinct from higher-end brands like, for example, Louis Vuitton -- and their $52,500 handbag.

Which brings me to my real point: $52,000 for a purse? And it's not even all that cute?*

$52,000 is more than my car cost-- almost double. And I have a pretty nice car. Even if I had that kind of disposable income I don't know that I could pull the trigger on such a ridiculous purchase. I mean, think of all the shoes $52,500 could buy.

The world is a crazy, crazy place.

*The Post's Ruth Marcus described it as "[N]ot the world's priciest handbag . . . but it may be the ugliest. The Empress's New Purse is -- shh! -- a hideous hodgepodge of 14 recycled Louis Vuitton bags cut up, stitched back together and festooned with gold chains. If Frankenstein's monster carried a purse, this is what it would look like." Ouch.

Monday, September 03, 2007

The Bowden Bowl

Florida State plays Clemson in less than two hours, and I can already feel my heart pounding in my chest as if the game is tied with seconds left in the fourth quarter and FSU is attempting to win by kicking a field goal.

I don't know why I'm so nervous. I mean, it's Clemson, for crying out loud. They're not even ranked this year. It's nothing like last year when my 'Noles started the year against Miami and I had to turn off the tv and have a friend call me to tell me that it was okay to turn the game back on.

Still, I take the whole thing so damn seriously. Too damn seriously. I think this is why people drink when watching football.

I agree with Bobby Bowden: The Bowden Bowl is just not fun anymore. Plus, if Florida State loses, my whole fall is going to be shot, and it hasn't even started yet.