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Fly Me To The Moon

Oh, puleeze.

I'm watching Jay Leno interview Reese Witherspoon or whatever the hell her name is, and they're off into that standard comic riff about how awful it is to travel on commercial airlines with squalling infants and owly seatmates and lousy food.

Nobody -- no one -- at that level of creature comfort travels with the swarming masses. They either have their own Learjet or they slap the AmEx platinum card down to charter it.

Not that I begrudge them that. If I had the simoleons, I'd be doing exactly the same thing.

Just spare us the jokes, please, about how grim it is in the economy section of United flight #255. We know already.

It reminds me of Oprah Winfrey babbling on about how much she'd like to buy a bicycle that she liked. So buy it already, you bloated billionaire.

Martha Stewart gets all sorts of grief for being a snob; but then, she's never pretended to be anything otherwise.

It's faux populists like Winfrey, Leno and Ross Perot who give money a bad name.

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This page contains a single entry from the blog posted on July 3, 2003 1:46 PM.

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