As goes Andy Roddick...

Much like Andy Roddick, I think I have lost my mojo. Or at least what little 'jo (if not mo') that I had (assuming both Mr. Roddick and I had any 'jo to speak of. His being questionable, mine being, well, enigmatic). Unfortunately, unlike Mr. Roddick, I do not have the consolation of #1 ranked arm-candy or starring in a series of Lexus commercials where I say absolutely nothing but get to drive a phat car (despite all of my professional ineptitude) to console me and ease my frustrations.

I have sat down to write several times over the last couple of weeks and found myself with nothing to say. Or rather, just not feeling very inspired by what I am willing to say. As thrilling as my exposition on furniture the other day was, (so sorry!) well, it certainly leaves a lot to be desired. (You can only imagine what holding an actual conversation with me is like these days...) Sure I have the occasional burning questions that come to mind, including:

- why was the entire press corps so surprised when Barry Bonds came out against further steroid inquiries by Congress? Duh! Or maybe it was just Pedro Gomez who simply has that perpetual look of surprise and fear, surpassed only by the apparent vacuousness behind it, to him, much like GWB in any press conference where they use poly-syllabic words. (Side note: Apparently he has made a point of noting that he needs to drop about 25 pounds this off-season "for the sake of his knee" - at least Barry's PR flacks have learned from Giam-bonehead's "I gave up fast food" mistakes and have cut any shrinkage speculation off at the pass)

- Or why MLB and every one of its teams insists on selling their own variations of these? Or perhaps more astoundingly, why people actually insist on wearing them? [NOTE: I was going to link to a picture of someone, anyone, wearing one of these crimes against fashion, but apparently, even those that sport these monstrosities are savvy enough to shy away from the camera. Apparently, pink ball cap wearing chicks are strictly videotape; no still shots. How...vivid.] Now Ladies, I understand if you aren't a fan and know nothing about the national pastime protocol of "keeping in real" so to speak, but, this still does little if nothing to relieve you of your crimes against fashion (if not humanity) by wearing a pink ballcap. I mean come on, though I s'pose it may be a clever means of subliminally channeling the look of an areola, and thereby being a clever ruse for getting yourself up on the Jumbotron and getting some attention, you can't really think it looks good?

- Then again, people keep insisting that Paris Hilton is beautiful, as evinced by her recent Vanity Fair cover. Really? It seems only Valentino, Mallory and I have any sense in the matter.

- Why would you want one of these things? Perhaps to frighten off vermin? What do you want to bet he has at least a bakers' dozen of these stashed in various places around his "Crib"?

Okay, so the snark is out in full effect. Is it hormonal? Am I just dark, twisted and evil and given up pretending otherwise? Have I become a moral reprobate? (Well, okay, not that, but I just wanted to use the term "moral reprobate" - it has a crisp, cut to the chase sound to it...)

So what is my deal?

Not entirely sure. Who knew you could get writer's block when you only write about topics that fall under the general header of "nothing in particular"? I always did like to be a trail-blazer...