Cravat Emptor

I'm not what you'd call a stylish person. My fashion sense limits itself to a preference for corduroy trousers because they go “voop voop” when you walk. (I also think that wearing white socks with black pants makes me sort of a rebel.) I'm aware of fashion, but as a neutral observer: I've witnessed the repeated futile attempts of GQ to get guys to wear kilts. Over the years, I've seen neckties get wide, then thin, then wider, then real skinny, then broader again, then narrower. Meanwhile, I have noticed my belts just keep getting longer and longer and longer.

Ockham's Osterizer

This whole “free will” versus “predetermination” debate gets sort of tiring. Near as I can tell, equally good cases can be made for either side. You might end up saying that each of us is free to decide that our every thought and action is predetermined. Or that it is preordained that we believe ourselves to have free will. Or split the difference and say that we are free to determine our own rationalizations for the things we have no choice but to do. Basically, I think it’s all to keep Jesuits from pining too much about the celibacy thing.

Ostensibly A. Paragraph

Pretty much, folks will whine about anything. They complain about spam in their email as if the inbox was a corporeal object and the spam an odious gelid substance. Or as if the time they spent clearing the stuff out had any value in the first place. Select. Delete. How hard is that? Clearing spam out of your inbox is a minor chore - like flossing, or rinsing your coffeecup. And the best part is the spam senders' names: Extraneously J. Ineptitude. Pontificate U. Unwisely. It's as if Groucho Marx and W.C. Fields were sending us little notes from the beyond.

Saints Alive

I don't normally pay attention to sports, except to the extent that some of my pals are sports in and of themselves. In the genetic sense. But this Saturday, the Saints are playing the Eagles. Here in New Orleans everyone's all excited, referring to the team as “we.” Me, I'm not so sure this is a fair matchup. I've looked at pictures of these Saints; these are some enormous young men. Fine specimens in the vigorous bloom of youth. Meanwhile, Frey and Henley have got to be in their 60s, right? And I'm betting Joe Walsh doesn't even suit up.