Due to being quite busy at work, the start of the new improv season and my computer suffering from a dizzy disk, I have had scant chance to update this column / iBlog thing. But something has come up to make me break my silence and put digit to keyboard.
It's not the fact that Pluto is no longer a planet, although this does disturb me. Intergalactic wars have been fought over less. I worry that Plutons will take exception to us saying that their home is not big enough to be called a planet and send in their fleet of spaceboats (they're probably not big enough to be spaceships) and try to destroy us with their Big-Pop Device.
It is also not that American Military Intelligence reports that the Iraq war has only increased the terrorist threat to America, because the only answer to that statement is a big resounding "duh!"
No, it's that Paris Hilton now sells her own drink, which only came to light as far as I am concerned when she tried to have it sold at Oktoberfest, the German celebration of everything Beer. Apparently it's champagne in a can. It's apt, I guess: something rich looking like something cheap and everyday. However, I had expected it to be some sort of cocktail. Perhaps part vodka, part cocaine, part bit-part actor. Actually, let's make that this month's competition: If you have an idea what would be in a "Paris Hilton" (cocktail), please enter via a comment. Winner gets a trip to the Paris Hilton at their own expense.
In our soft-porn, voyeuristic society (that's not a complaint by the way), Miss Hilton is the perfect star. She can afford to look cute most of the time despite not being naturally so (see early pictures); She leads the sort of life of ease and (p)leisure most of us dream of; and she is more than willing to fall out of whatever she happens to be half wearing at strategic intervals. In short, she's the slutty rich girl next door. "Next door" of course being "on the internet."
Not sure exactly what my point was, but it's good to be back.