Sometimes I can't believe how Californian California is. Women walk around half-naked, waiters call patrons "dude," and medical marijuana is legal. But I wondered just how legal. Could anyone buy it? Even me, who doesn't have cancer, AIDS, arthritis, glaucoma or even any previous pot-smoking experience?

There's an emotional ceremony every month in which 3,500 newly naturalized citizens pledge their loyalty to the United States, and it really feels like they've joined a community of shared values, goals and purpose. Then, as soon as they pass through the gates of the L.A. County fairgrounds and enter the parking lot, they are charged from the right by Republicans and from the left by Democrats, begging them to register to vote. It is a bit like kissing the bride and being told your new father-in-law is a Capulet and your mother-in-law's a Montague and they've each registered you for a Glock.

The reason I wanted to be a columnist is that -- as readers of this space know -- you don't need any complex ideas to be one. So you can imagine how jealous I was when along came bloggers, who are even more intellectually lazy than I am.

There are experiments -- Galileo's falling bodies, Einstein's elevator, NBC's "The Age of Love" -- that radically change the way human beings conceptualize the world around them. But little celebrated are the vast majority of experiments that prove the obvious. This is one of those experiments.

I've always thought giving money to a political candidate was stupid. If you care about the environment, give money to the Sierra Club, not to producing TV commercials about how a guy who might help the environment loves his family and flags.

This election season, I've discovered that it's not cool to make fun of people for their gender, race, religion or weight. Actually, I'm just guessing on the weight thing because it's not like we're going to let a fat person run for president. Which, I'm trying to point out here, is totally a bad thing.

The Stephen Glass and Jayson Blair fabrication scandals may have damaged journalism, but those only really affected the small portion of news consumers who read. For us picture-looking news consumers, what I've discovered may be far more disappointing. After a series of phone calls to secret sources, I found out that most of the celeb-mag "editors" who appear on TV don't actually edit, write or in any way help produce the magazine. Instead, Star, US, Life & Style, In Touch, InStyle and People find attractive people and pay them to go on TV and talk about articles as an "editor at large" or "national correspondent" or "television editor." At other magazines, those first two titles refer to an editor or writer who works from home, and the last means an editor who works on the section of the magazine about television. Editors who spend all day talking to TV producers are properly called Graydon Carter.

I believe that Fed Chairman Ben Bernanke cares about me. Those dark, deep-set puppy eyes, the beard that hides the pain, that Benedictine haircut that must be self-induced punishment for something -- the dude oozes empathy. If I needed $100, I would definitely ask Bernanke. Or I might just take it from him. Bernanke does not look like a tough guy.

Unlike Eliot Spitzer, I've never been to a hooker. That's because, like everything else in my life, sex is all about my ego. If I were to pay someone, every time I got that I can't believe she was willing to do that rush, it would be ruined by Oh, right, that's because I paid her $1,000. Spitzer is clearly more self-assured than I am.

Iwas so young when I started playing "Dungeons & Dragons" that I assumed Gary Gygax, the game's creator, wasn't real -- just as I figured there'd never been a Walt Disney or burger chefs named McDonald. When I finally realized Gygax indeed lived in Lake Geneva, Wis., near the post office box address listed on every "D&D" book, I pictured him in a mansion filled with piles of gold and women in metal bikinis. More insane, I deeply believed these outfits would be practical for swimming.