Blogandt!

You know what I like? I like airports. I like traveling. I like sitting on airplanes. I like airport food, rental cars, and hotels. I like all of it. I don’t even mind delays. What I don’t like is hearing people complain about flying. Because when you’re flying, you’re going somewhere very, very fast, and that’s the whole point. The point is not to have a comfortable seat, or great food or pretty much anything besides fast transport between point A and B. So far, I’ve never had a flight take off and land in the same spot, so to me I view flying with a 100 percent success rate.

And c’mon, people, who is this mythical fat guy who seems to appear on every flight except mine? He is an elusive beast, one I hear about in stories yet never really see, as if he’s some kind of alien or Bigfoot. To listen to everyone else, I assume Michael Moore is just spending his money bouncing (with a thud) from airport to airport like Leonardo DeCaprio in Catch Me if You Can. Yup, Michael Moored...

I generally shy away from subjects such as this, so I’ll just state the facts. Here we go.

On Thursday night I checked into my hotel in Anaheim, and relieved myself after a fine day of drive-thru fast food. The next morning I realized that my final flush didn’t really take, and there was some stuff left in there. So I flushed again, and again no dice. We’ve got problems.

With ace timing, house keeping then knocked on the door. I figured they would handle it, so I grabbed my running shorts and went for a jog while the room got a cleaning. I ran for awhile while waiting for her to clean—I knew she needed some extra time. After 35 minutes I circled past the room and saw her cart still out in front of the room. So I circled back and kept on running. Five minutes later and I had now run for 40 minutes, and the cart was still there. 45 minutes. Still there! It was good to get such a long run in, but I had a meeting scheduled that day and I really needed to get going. Finally...

In 1995, Michael Jordan's comeback with the Chicago Bulls ended at the hands of the Orlando Magic, who wiped the floor with the #45 jersey-wearing MJ, who was still coming back from a stint at playing baseball. We've seen this before.

This just pissed Jordan off, so he spent the summer reinventing and reestablishing himself as a basketball player. The Bulls picked up the insane Dennis Rodman, and ripped off the greatest single-season win record in the history of the NBA. But O-Town still loomed in the playoffs. The Bulls had no one to contend with Shaq (except for a free throw line). A collision course was set. An epic battle between the best 1-2 punch of the past--Jordan and Pipped--versus the best of the future, in Shaq and Penny.

Then the Bulls swept the Magic. 4-0. Over and done. A week later, during the NBA Finals, Bob Costas said words I will never forget: "Perhaps the only shame in this amazing Bulls season is that they didn't have another great team to measure...

After nearly 30 years, the love affair is over. I’m moving on. A clean break with the past. And it will start tomorrow morning, as I wake up and start a new life.

I’m done with Kellogg’s Frosted Mini Wheats.

I’ve been eating them since I was a kid, fitting since it’s the one cereal that bridges the gap between sugary kids fare and a sensible adult breakfast. Frosted Mini Wheats magically claim to be both healthy, and yet, covered in sugar. Powdered donuts wish they could get away with that. Those supposedly guilt-free revolutionary chips baked with Olestra didn’t work out. KFC once rolled out commercials claiming their chicken was a diet aid in the Atkins era since it was low in carbs—but they were forced to pull the ads. But Frosted Mini Wheats are frosted with sugar, not guilt, wheras Frosted Flakes make breakfast the least important meal of the day if you’re trying to stay healthy.

But if you think I’m about to go into some self righteous, “I realized frosted...

Two child superstars who peaked way too early

In today’s realty-show-based, people-are-famous-for-doing-nothing culture, it’s hard to define any real skills that separate success from failure. Absent of answer, the armchair quarterbacks of the celebrity set use the esoteric, means-absolutely-nothing term “ they have “it”’ to describe someone who makes it.

“It” is terribly overused. It’s a go-to term that requires no thought or creativity. “It” comes in handy when you don’t want to say the truth, which is, “these people are rich and famous for no other reason that pure luck, and yes, that’s how ridiculous the celebrity industry we’re working in can be.”

There’s “it” and then there’s actual talent. Occasionally the two collide to produce a can’t-miss star. If you’re in your 30s today, you will remember the “it” quality of Debbie Gibson. Gibson was a pop music phenom destined to rewrite the record books in album sales. In the late 80s, the teenaged Gibson blasted...