Ode to Red Hot Dogs

Down here in the Bay State, we adore red, snappy skin hot dogs. They are the epitome of processed, triple-pink-dyed deliciousness. And they snap when you bite into them.

Paris, of course, is not a hot dog fan. She much prefers Taco Bell as shown in this accompanying photo. But we are willing to convert her. We're going to send Super Sibling # 1 and 3 several cases of red snappy skins, and we'll divert a box to Paris as well. Lindsay Lohan, alas, will not receive a case until she straightens up her act.

Let us discuss Lindsay Lohan ... or we could talk about Paris some more

Lindsay Lohan is a girl in trouble. A girl with a serious problem. A girl nowhere near as good and pure as Paris. Paris is my new moral celebrity hero. She just bought a new dog. And a papparazi photog had to save one of her other little canines from wandering out into the street in front of her house. She's recording a new album. And she's telling people not to drink and drive. She is a dear, dear girl.

She needs to save Lindsay, though. An intervention is in order.

I need a v-a-c-a-t-i-o-n

I've got a serious dilemma. A work dilemma. A guy I work with declaring he's a transsexual. Changing his name. Starting soon, I have to stop calling this guy by his guy name and start calling him by his new girl name (which is nothing like his guy name. At all). I am dead serious.

Fortunately, I don't work with this guy in my office. I talk to him over the phone several times a week sometimes. And maybe I see him once or twice a year. And now I have to call him a different name. While he gets used to being a girl.

I'm serious. And I seriously need a vacation. I need to come to Maine, where all you deal with are people who address envelopes with "down back of Reny's." It's that simple. No one goes around changing the name of Reny's.

I'm a liberal, for heaven's sake. A card-carrying, outspoken, open minded liberal. And this is a serious dilemma. I seriously need a vacation.

A Picture is Worth ...

OK, I need to whine. I do not take a good photo. I realize Mom always says that about herself. And that she deliberately sets out to look like the spawn of an ice queen whenever a camera lens turns her way. But I do not. I try to look cute and thin and not a day over 35. And it doesn't work. It hasn't worked ever, really. I always look kind of goofy, big in the face, and lopsided. Honestly, just once I'd like to see a photo of myself that I actually liked.

Unfortunately, because my Boston editor has left the job and I've been handed her duties along with my own for a few months, I have to have a photo on the Editor's Note page of the Parents' Paper. So I scout around and find one and I look like some just-back-from-the-groomer, swollen-faced Irish setter. But I'm stuck. I need a pic for this Editor's Note page and this one is the most palatable. I don't get it. Just once I'd like to take a decent photo.

I have some Paris news for you. She's working on a new album. Perfect. Jailbird to songbird. Maybe it'll feature some inspirational gospel about changing her ways. I'll let you know, Kimmie, when Paris has to order eye glasses. It'll happen. Mark my words.