I don't know why Lindsay Lohan was so upset about being sentenced to 90 days in jail. A little time in the slammer didn't hurt the careers of Robert Downey Jr., Paris Hilton or Martha Stewart.
Note to the car behind me: If my car is vibrating from the thumping bass of your radio, you should remember that there are other people on the planet, and turn the volume down a notch.
Dear BP, please leave a signed, blank check under the mat.
The breathtaking beauty of the jacaranda tree in bloom is soon replaced by an utter mess. Like a day at the beach or the dawning of a new school year.
NASA should study the molecular bond that cements soggy Rice Krispies to the side of the bowl. It could be used to glue heat-resistant tiles on the next fleet of Space Shuttles.
If you've ever called yourself an "old soul," you're probably not.
It is with both fear of injury and wanton desire that I ponder licking the yogurt off the Yoplait foil lid.
Vampires, Starbucks, Lady Gaga, 3-D movies. They're like Renee Zellweger to me. I just don't get the appeal.
I don't often tell jokes. But when I do, I've gotten them from my barber John. Here's one from the last time I saw him:
John: "Did you hear about that actress that went crazy and stabbed her boyfriend?"
Me: "No. Who was it?"
John: "Reese something."
John: "No, with her knife."
Swap two letters and Grapevine becomes Gravepine. Which, when you really want to get home from a road trip, is an appropriate description of one's mental state.
Here's one from the wife: Cargo pants were the death of the fanny pack. Sad but true.