Her hand twitches as she speaks -- her tell: I only do it in traffic, she says.

No biggie, right? She talks about how she's got no energy left, has trouble focusing. Eyes are all over the place, and can't even finish her sentences.

Lost in her thoughts, fifty of 'em all at once, not present anymore: a lot going on in that brain?

Let's riff on that constant need to be on: cellphones, computers, texting, or even watching movies (while texting and on your computer and cooking a TV dinner) oh, let's not forget --

Oprah's big issue texting while driving.

'Seems like most of us are zombies when it comes to that technology: We don’t control it; it controls us.

No, I'm not here to bang all the wonders of technology, or to offer an intervention...it's too late, they're all here to stay (get used to it) --

I have.

I'm talking about when we can't shut it down. So much so it becomes our identity. Where we can sit in a place and not be able to stay in the moment ('cause isn't that's so 2000 and late).

'Doing my very official: throw-the-bums-out stance, and look at me improving my carbon footprint by just looking out my window. Know what I can see? --

It's hot. Waaaay hotter that it used to be. Somethings not right, and I don't need a stack of science facts to know we are going in the wrong direction. It's so hot I feel like lining up all those stupid turds that say global warming is a myth and bitch slapping the shit heads with my very high air conditioning bill and my right carbon foot print.

But,

I'm a a man of peace...what I really don't understand is anyone with children that has decided to sit this one out, really? -- while the planets continues to cook and burn...way to set an example for all the little ones.

'Getting old sucks, more so if you're Mel Gibson where your dirty laundry has being left out there in steaming pile, leaving so many wanting to spank his dirty tush-y. No, this isn't going to be a love letter to 'ol Mel. Even if I weren't a Latino, or in Mel's eyes just another “wetback" he'd still be a really hard one to defend.

The words to that "When I'm 64" Beatles song makes some sense here

'goes something like: "When I get older losing my hair..." -- or in Mel's case when he hits the wall so hard, losing his looks. Wow, what to do then?

'Thinking about that Chris Rock rant on O.J. Simpson: "I'm not saying he should have killed her... but I understand." -- and while I don't think Mel Gibson has killed anyone just yet, there is the part of Mel's meltdown that I do understand: It's how he simplified his sex life.

Stay with me here, I might be doing a little walking on the edge here...

'Really? -- 'count to ten, breathe in slowly, and then exhale. 'gonna try to keep my cool here.

Take a letter Maria, address it to my wife, the New York Post (and others):

I know the big ugly oil spill isn't the New York Post's idea of front page news, they think sex and sluts -- yeah, that's what people want to see.

Here's how the New York Post rolls: 'just stick any stripped-down-to-her-bra-and-panties Madonna-wannabee all over your the front page (in bold fonts). Stir in a little fake outrage over giving some folks the finger, and it's all --

fun, fun, fun.

'Lady Gaga was no lady at Citi Field...' -- duh, she's an attention whore.

I do get it, in tough economic times we throw soft balls at people to distract them from any of the real issues that should be on the news.

But, how can you really dare call yourself a newspaper? Why not call it what it is: when the shit hits the fan -- or the oil spills into the gulf -- we like to go gaga over any stripped down bra and panties singer...I'd be fine with that. Stupid Trash sells a lot better than gushing oil.

A little honesty goes a long way.

There's a line in that Cyndi Lauper song 'Money Changes Everything' that goes: 'there was one thing we weren't really thinking of and that's money.'

yeah, you sang it right Cyndi --

'ain't it always about the almighty dollar?

That came to mind while I'm flipping through all the daily papers. Got me thinking well, if they just stick a Vampire in this problem, well -- it just might change everything...maybe even for the better.

Don't get me wrong here, I'm looking forward to HBO's True Blood (which for my money got it just right: Vampires and sex = hit).

I'll also be one of the first twihards in line for the next fix of that dumb low-rent -- c'mon sparkly vampires? really? -- Twilight saga -- (just call me a big sucker for a sexless romance) -- I'll be wearing my pink Go team Edward t-shirt.