Nobody cares about your fixie.

Nobody cares that you tele.

Despite over a decade of anti-spam technology development, somehow I receive an average of one email a day about Viagra. Is it not possible to just block all emails with that word? I guess there’s a chance I might miss a friend’s hilarious joke about ED, but at this point that’s a risk I’m willing to take.

Women pick out “nice” underwear when they get dressed up for a special occasion. I need to start using a similar approach with picking clothes on airport travel days so I don’t get embarrassed when the cute girl in the security line sees the holes in my socks.

Whenever I buy a new sweater or pair of pants, I safely store away the little envelope of buttons and thread that is optimistically tucked behind the sales label. I’ve got over 20 of these in my underwear drawer. I guess I’m holding out for a day when I live with someone who would know what to do with them.

The volume dial on old Sony stereos that spins itself automatically when you press the volume up and down button on the remote is one of the most unnecessary and awesome inventions of the 1990s.

Whenever I fly, I usually leave my magazine in the seat pocket. I do this because once I forgot a book and I learned the capacity for ironic enjoyment of SkyMall tops out at about 15 minutes (which is probably why Family Guy episodes feel too long).

One time I found a used air sickness bag, but in all my years of flying, I’ve never found a non-airline-sanctioned magazine in my seat pocket. Part of the plane cleaner’s job must be to throw out all foreign reading material. Sort of like in Tehran after the election, but with less media hype about Twitter.

There is no good way to type the common abbreviation for “situation.” Sitch? Sitsh? Sit?

Recent reality TV developments have really called attention to this problem.

Once you’ve taken the step of putting your phone into “airplane mode” to prevent incoming emails from affecting the frame rate of BrickBreaker for Blackberry, you can never get that part of your dignity back.

After watching a truly terrible movie, the credits are like a slap in the face. It’s basically a list of hundreds of professionals that are personally responsible for your boredom. And these are the ones that are so talented that they beat out tens of thousands of other people who are desperate to work on movies.

Then again, thinking of all the people I know who moved to LA “to try and make it,” I guess getting to the top in Hollywood isn’t exactly like becoming Valedictorian.