I asked a few people what they thought about Lindsay Lohan’s court troubles at work and they looked at me half crazy for even asking. I’m sure wondering why I even cared. It’s not typical of me to talk about the latest celeb gossip or this ever-present pop culture. All my co-workers had to say was, “I hope she finally gets what is coming to her.” Truth be told, I agree.

I follow this subject loosely, as I can’t escape it. Lindsay was sentenced to 90 days in jail; of those 90 days she was sentenced to she served only 11. I know California has a half-time statute for non-strike offenders, but if my math skills are not horrible I believe she should have served at least 45 days. How does someone get 30 days less than they should have because of their celebrity? Sure, usually they don’t prosecute celebrities, I mean look at O.J., but once you have been sentenced how do they change the rules? I just don’t understand it. If that were me, or any other non celebrity, we would have served the full term. I believe this sets a terrible example for the younger generations. Our court systems, our symbols of justice, are being bought; right in front of the eyes of America.

Today I turn on the T.V. and see that Lindsay failed her first drug test…Big surprise! Maybe if our justice system upholds its values then possibly Ms. Lohan would learn her lesson. Let’s face it, 11 days in jail is almost a vacation. She has learned nothing and continues to waste the time of the courts and the money of the taxpayers. She continues to waste our time by being featured in the media. I can only wait for the day I see her face in another movie and not on my nightly news channel. I never thought I would see the day I actually hoped to see a Lindsay Lohan movie, funny how things work out.

Each commercial is about a product that will make us more masculine, so that we can be like our male counterparts on screen. During the day it is subtle, performance-enhancing substances for the average Joe. As the night begins to roll around is where it gets really fascinating. At every commercial break you can expect to see an advertisement for “Girls Gone Wild,” a male sexual enhancement drug, and some guy urging you to buy supplements. It gets into my head between bouts of grown men smashing each other’s faces in inside an octagon. If I watch a few hours of this I find myself pondering the intentions of Spike. I begin to think, ‘do all men wish to grow their penis two to three inches with a topical cream or some magic pill?’ Must all men be big, muscular, skilled fighters? Do we all really want a hot drunk college girl? Don’t get me wrong the latter would be great… but I’m rather happy with myself. Actually, I’m rather happy with my wife as well, my kids, my job, my physical attributes, hell I’m happy my penis simply functions properly. I could do without the extra three inches. Still though, these commercials make me wonder. What is it that our society now deems a “man.” As I watch all of this information flooding into my living room I can’t help but grow mildly insecure.

I work a job in sales, I’m not a MMA fighter. Am I less of a man? The television tells me so. My pecks are not as big as that guys, I must be therefore less masculine. ‘How big should my penis be,’ I wonder? This television for men is subtly influencing us, the man, to feel insecure about our very being to sell a product. It intrigues me, so I watch and continue to watch and make my observations. In the end, I simply feel bad for the college student who downs a six pack of ripped fuel every day, purchases these sexual enhancements and gobbles them up like M&M’s, just to think he’ll meet girls from the “Girls Gone Wild” videos. I think I’ll refrain, maybe go out for pizza and beer, and relax and be content with who I am – a “man” (as far as I can tell).

So, yesterday I was skimming through one of those trashy magazines that you so often find in the waiting rooms of doctors offices, except I was at home and I happened upon an issue on my coffee table, strategically (or not) left out by my wife. It was open to a page claiming celebrities are just like “us,” whoever “us” is… Now, allegedly, this publication thinks that Tom Cruise and Leonardo DiCaprio are just like me, but I can assure you—they most certainly are not. I considered this, and then I realized something astounding. Tom Cruise and Leonardo DiCaprio together on the same page is interesting. Tom Cruise and Leonardo DiCaprio on the same page, being compared to me is ironic.

Here’s why:

Aside from the fact that both of these gentlemen are highly esteemed, well respected (well, semi-well respected… perhaps 100% respected pre-couch surfing incident) actors, I recognized that they each also have something else in common. No, it’s not that they’re both millionaires. Is it just me, or do you also feel like every other movie either of these guys do has a sex scene in it? Not just a sex scene, but a sex scene involving themselves. Level with me on this one—am I wrong? Vanilla Sky… Titanic… Jerry Maguire… The Departed… Eyes Wide Shut… The Beach… I mean, come on, need I name more? So, I’m going to make an assumption, and wildly propose that these dudes get laid regularly, both fictitiously and in real life! …Well, pre-couch surfing incident… Anyway, they have a lot of sex. My point? To my knowledge, neither of these A-list contenders have, or have had, or have been treated for erectile dysfunction. So… I mean, yeah, I may be dashingly handsome, have a beautiful wife, play with my kids, eat bagels, and wear baseball caps, too, but… I have overcome; I have conquered!

Tom and Leo ain’t got nothin’ on me. Albeit, I do appreciate the suggestion!

Lots of people have been complaining for a long time about how much they dislike Twitter, about how inane it is that anyone would think that what they ate for breakfast or the fact that they just cut their toenails was important and must know info for someone else.  I was not one of those people.

I found it amusing that weather boob Al Roker got flak for taking a picture of the jury he was serving on, in the jury room and posting it on his Twitter page. I was happy to find out that Martha Stewart’s neighbors down the street, the Steinhart’s just had a baby camel born at their place. Twitter informed me that Ellen DeGeneres doesn’t wear nail polish, Ryan Seacrest is planning a bachelor party for a friend and Dog Whisperer, Cesar Millan feels that,“The energy you’re projecting internally is the message you’re sending to your dog.”

When porn star and now legitimate actress Sahsa Gray exclaimed on her Twitter page, “Whoa! Too much to handle,” I was dying to know what or who she was talking about. I would mindlessly and happily check out the tweets of politicians and writers along with those of Tony Hawk, John Cleese, Sean Diddy Combs and yes, even Tony Danza. I’d check almost daily to find out how they were doing and just to make sure they were okay.

Then it happened.

At 1:43 yesterday, I somehow wandered onto the tweet of Kirstie Alley and from that moment on I will never view Twitter quite the same way. This is what I read:

“Although no one has asked, I like this new name for a vagina…A POLLY WOG..yes I tried that term out today and got good feed back…YOU?”

That was one Twitter too many for me. It conjured up images that should have been left unconjured. Why did she need to try out that term?  And who gave her positive feedback anyway? I now only view the tweets of family, friends, and my followers — staying close to home and no longer exploring to find out what, say, David Hasselhoff or Newt Gingrich are doing for fear that I will be disappointed or worse, disgusted.

Thanks for ruining Twitter for me Kirstie Alley. Thanks!

Image: Absent Without Leave Blog