Wednesday, April 28, 2010

Loggia Envy

Jim has a bad case of loggia envy, and he doesn't even know what a loggia is. But Tom Brady has one. A covered one. And after staring at the photo of Tom's new 22,000+ square foot manse, under construction in Brentwood, he thinks he's figured out that it's a stylish small outbuilding going up slightly to the rear of the house. I don't know if he's right - I don't know what a loggia is either. And I WON'T look it up to find out. Because what I learned in the process of putting a big addition, including a new kitchen and three baths onto my home, is that once you learn about some new gadget, appliance, or luxury, you suddenly can't live without it. And I've been hanging in there without a loggia this far. I know, loggia afficionados, I just don't know what I'm missing. I'm an illogical, il-loggia-cal, ignoramus. I don't know the finer things.

Another thing Tom and Giselle have, that I don't:

HA-HA! About 100 billion things!!!!

But really, I was referring to the "lagoon-shaped" swimming pool at the new Brady-Bundchen spread. What the heck. I'll admit it. I don't know the shape of a lagoon. It never came up in geometry - I don't know the formula for calculating the area, or more accurately, the volume, of a lagoon. Judging from the pics though, it's long and curved, like a banana. A banana-shaped pool is what they really have, Tom and Giselle. But that just doesn't inspire the loggia envy the way a lagoon of your own does. In your own back yard. Or maybe front yard - it was hard to tell from the photos. I think it functions sort of like a moat. It's a big banana - the whole length, and more, of the humongous house. You could definitely swim some laps, get some exercise. Somehow, I just don't see it happening though. On reflection, I'm pretty sure the lagoon is just a moat in disguise. I don't have moat envy. So, I'm good.

Monday, April 12, 2010

Tiger, the new Charlie Brown

Has enough been said about Tiger's Nike ad? Nooooo. There are infinite comments remaining.

Obviously, it was a tremendous, triple-D cup, pecker-sized mistake. (Note to kids: You should have stopped reading by now, and that's an order from Mom.) I think the underlying problem is that it was done for Nike. While Mr. Woods, Sr. is talking, his voice wah-wahing at Tiger like a teacher to Charlie Brown in a April Fool's cartoon, all my head keeps saying, looking at that "swoosh" or whatever they call it in promo-land, is "Just do it." Like the unreformed Tiger was really the prototype for the brand, you know? Like Tiger's just sitting there, taking it, but saying inside, "I don't get it. You told me to just do it." Tiger seems like such a, I don't know, blockhead. All he can do is blink. Then I start wondering what Charlie Brown would be like in bed. And if he ever made it with the little red-haired girl. Or if he just settled down with Peppermint Patty, and lusted in his heart his whole life like Jimmy Carter, another doofus I don't want to imagine in bed. And then I feel like a pervert, and it sort of ticks me off. I mean, who's the pervert here? Not me. Not poor Peanuts Chuck. Or Peanut Jimmy. Upshot is, Tiger as Charlie Brown won't sell me sneakers. You?

Oh well. At least the crowd clapped. Maybe in the way you'd clap for that sad little Christmas tree - you know the one.