The Mexican people I know seem to respect the country in a way that many spoiled brats who were born here don't. So come on over folks, the more the merrier. But please, sign the guest book on the way in.

I don't need to be born again. I got it right the first time.

Look, we're Americans: optimistic, addicted to the quick fix, constantly on the hunt for the new and exotic. It's much easier for us to accept a guy with a big white beard hawking his own custom blend of saw palmetto and squirrel dandruff that it is to hear a real doctor telling us to lay off the big macs, and get off our fat asses and take a walk every decade or so.

Is it just me, or are the 49ers doing an awful lot of ass-patting today?

I don't have credibility, I'm a comedian. I'm not Ed Murrow up on the roof in a London fog reporting on the blitz.

Drop the veneer periodically and be like "OK, I'm an imperfect human. Let's try to get through this."

My fear of flying starts as soon as I buckle myself in and then the guy up front mumbles a few unintelligible words then before I know it I'm thrust into the back of my seat by acceleration that seems way too fast and the rest of the trip is an endless nightmare of turbulence, of near misses. And then the cabbie drops me off at the airport.