sometimes my kids are the most insightfulish of all

Overheard from the back seat during a game of Pokemon...

Moe: "Remember, if you lose just say 'good game' because it's just a game, and games don't matter."

Larry: "Yeah, unless it's a game where if you lose, you die."

original(ish)

I was thinking about getting a tattoo to showcase my originality and uniqueness.

But they've become so common nowadays, I decided if I really want to stand out all I have to do is not get a tattoo.

things I love that start with x

Well, I can only think of one, and it's the Xlerator hand dryer.

Seriously, I love this thing. It's the automatic hand dryer we always dreamed of, isn't it?

Back when you'd use toilet paper to dry your hands rather than mess with the useless white box on the wall.

Back when people (not me, because that would be vandalism) would write "Step 4: wipe hands on pants" after the directions on the dryer.

This thing does the job, and fast. After a remarkably short period of time my hands are dry, warm and toasty. Never mind that the noise is loud enough to frighten small children. Never mind that I feel like my rings, and possibly my skin, are going to be blown off my hands. I don't care about any of that. The Xlerator is a glorious invention, and I absolutely love it.

Xylophones aren't bad either, I guess. But I wouldn't say I love them.

imprisoned(ish)

I've never wanted to be rich and famous. In my view, fame would be a curse from which you can never fully escape. That's why despite my boundless talent and potential, I've worked very hard to avoid becoming famous. (So far, so good.)

The truth of fame's curse was driven home recently as I was riding around in a black bus with tinted windows, craning my neck to see a mansion high above the treetops of Beverly Hills. We saw the ridiculously massive homes of movie stars, big-time producers and a few other people who are mysteriously famous in spite of doing nothing particularly worthwhile. After about a dozen or so of these homes it got a bit monotonous, and I started to doze off a bit. (In my defense, I had woken up at 5:30 that morning.)

Even with my eyelids half-closed, I was deep in thought. These people, with their closets full of designer clothes, their swimming pools and tennis courts, their hired help, their guard dogs and security systems, are trapped in a prison of their own making.

Can Matt Damon just leave his house and go for a walk? (Answer: Of course not. Matt Damon would do something cool like stealthily jump from rooftop to rooftop dressed in black, but that was a trick question.) How about Cameron Diaz, who--at least according to our tour bus operator, and how would we ever know if he's telling the truth?--lives across the street from Matt? Is she just going to pop out of her home and drop by his place for coffee?

You can bet she would at least look both ways before coming out from behind the bushes. Because who knows who might be there: paparazzi, some crazy stalker, or a black tour bus with tinted windows.

Rich, I could possibly deal with. But famous? No, thank you.

all the world's a stage, but especially Hollywood

Do you know what your dental hygienist does on her off time? How about the cashier at the grocery store--did you hear who he was with last night? And what on earth is that bus driver wearing? Who would put those shoes together with those pants?

Probably, you don't really care. You just want someone to clean your teeth, ring up your groceries, and drop you off at the correct location without getting in a wreck.

That's how I feel about actors. Their job, in my opinion, is to make me believe they are someone else for a couple of hours while I enjoy a little escapism. The mechanic fixes my car (we hope), the video store clerk checks out the movie (or, more likely, the Redbox spits out the DVD), and then I drive home and eat the food that was grown and harvested by the farmer, shipped by the truck driver and stocked by the grocer, then I pop in the movie. Then the actors act. Then I turn off the movie and get on with my life.

I do not care what the actors wore last night, who they slept with, what they ate, how much they drank, who they are engaged to, who they are divorcing, what they named their children or how much they spent on a pair of shoes. I don't care about their political affiliation, their religion, or their deeply held personal beliefs. All I care is if they can act.

Because that's their job, acting.

As you might have guessed, I am not a reader of People magazine.