My office is so ungodly hot.

An Open Letter to Myself:

Hey, HEY, Hey! What's crackalackin, you fine specimen of lawyer? Keepin' busy eatin' stuff? Looking busy when you're not?

So, let's chat about something. Your office has a distinct odor of late... I believe it's called "Hot Sheep." Now maybe no one else can smell it, but I'm pretty sure that's not the case, because if you can smell the Hot Sheep, everyone else probably can too. It's like when you were in middle school and not used to wearing deodorant and Eric C. pointed out to you that you had B.O., and you didn't know you did, but then you got totally embarrassed and paranoid about it from that day forth, and always think you smell, even if you can't smell yourself... and even though you shower compulsively and have determined that Old Spice Red Zone as the most aluminum sulfate in it to seal your pits...and even though you never actually smell, and you always think you do? Like that? Remember that?

Know why your office smells like hot sheep?! Because you insist on wearing Banana Republic or JCrew heavy wool slacks to work. And your office faces West. And it's 100 degrees outside. And, for some reason, the A/C never works in Miami Office Buildings... are we putting this together?

YOU SMELL LIKE THE TALLIS ROOM IN SCHUL. HOT. WOOL.

Maybe the wool pants wouldn't be the worst of it, but really? Drinking Cuban Coffee with a Donut and then two rolls with hot cocoa later on...

You're not skiing in Jackson Hole. You're fucking eating working as a lawyer in Miami.

Let's switch up the heavy Wisconsin WinterWear for something a little tropical fabulous, aight?

Oh, you can't afford to buy ANYTHING BECAUSE YOU ARE HOUSE POOR AND SINCE THE MERGER YOU CAN'T WEAR KHAKIS LIKE BEFORE!?

That's really sad for you.

Maybe you should put a small hold on your liquor budget for the month and buy some new fucking pants.

I'm glad we had this chat.

Love,

Me.

Thought this was amusing.

From the Washington Post:

With apologies to Celebritology's international audience, today we hop on the trendy "hyperlocal" train to talk about a little Beltway buzz.

Yesterday, rumors about Dave Chappelle's possible Prince William County, Va. hospitalization made the blogosphere rounds and had fans frantically calling in sightings to one local D.C. radio station. By day's end, a Chappelle spokesperson issued a statement saying the comic was hospitalized over the weekend for "exhaustion" and had since fully recovered. A friend of Chappelle's also came forward to say the comedian had been hospitalized, yes, but in San Francisco.

The truth of the matter seems elusive and we may never know if one of America's funniest dudes was in fact confined to a padded room across the street from Manassas's Red Panda Buffet (where an all-you-can-eat lunch buffet in close proximity to where a major celeb may or may not have been confined is only $5.50).

It's immaterial at this point, because even the thought of Dave Chappelle -- who redefined TV sketch comedy, who managed to make Wayne Brady hip and who ultimately walked away from $50 million Comedy Central contract -- cooling his heels in PWC was enough to make one's mind reel. If true, why would this world-class comic, who chose South Africa for his last destination breakdown, choose one of D.C.'s outer suburbs for the scene of his latest "exhaustion?"

Celebritology field agent Frank Thomason and I wondered the same thing. Last night we came up with some possible reasons that Chappelle may have found himself in Prince William County (whose prior claim to fame was playing host to the Lorena Bobbitt trial) over the weekend. Here's what we were able to come up with:

-- Chappelle was shopping Potomac Mills when he found himself physically overwhelmed by the too-good-to-be-true deals on irregular Mikasa china.

-- Maybe Dave's munchies were crying out for Ikea's famous Swedish meatballs .

-- Dave was passing through Prince William on his way to this Loudoun County everyone's heard so much about.

-- He was on his way to Richmond to see the James River, bitch.

-- He's an admirer of the county's progressive policies.

-- How can a comic resist seeing a town named "Dumfries" in person?

-- He was planning to stake his tailgate territory early for next week's Poison/Ratt double-billing at Nissan Pavilion.

This is MY Miami.

This absolutely fantastic article was published in the Washington Post.

One of my super secret spies must have come down and hung out with me one weekend (when I'm out and about during a weekend) because this article tracks MY Miami. The places I go to. The Galleries and neighborhoods I frequent. The places I eat. And all the credit for that goes to... any guesses? Stephen. Oh well.

Read the article, but please don't overrun Circa 28, and please, don't overcrowd my Wynwood.

I think this article does a fine job of seeing this filthy, gritty city honestly, but shedding some light on the few bright spots we have... Even if that bright spot is a warehouse gallery district that smells like piss, crack, and damp building.

Really... it's like someone followed me going to my favorite places...