This is all our fault.

Just who in the hell does Tiger Woods think he is? Well? I mean, it's as if he's some sort of private citizen or something. All I know is I'm an American taxpayer, by crikey, and he owes me, big-time.

Oh. Wait a minute. Tiger Woods is a private citizen. Hmm. And it doesn't appear that he has broken any laws.... Damn. Come to think of it, he pretty much doesn't owe anyone outside of his family an explanation for what happened in his driveway. I honestly don't care if his wife's story is completely preposterous, either. None of my business. (In the interest of disclosure, I am not a fan of Tiger Woods. What I've seen of his media interviews leads me to believe he's kind of spoiled. Then again, I've never met the man, so I shouldn't judge.)

But I do wonder why "we" think he is obligated to talk. Gee, it couldn't be the fact that so many public figures can't seem to keep their mouths shut about the most banal details of their lives. Could it? I mean, it couldn't be the fact that the American public has created an expectation of blabbery, with our Twitter and Facebook and blogs* and the like.

Could it?

In other news, it appears as though nobody in Dubai has read WHOSS. Silly, silly people.

I'm a little feisty today. You see, I just spent 40 minutes at the gym, watching self-important 24-hour news channels (take your pick) repeating themselves and each other. I got so worked up, I accidentally punched the stationary hand grip on the elliptical. Drew blood, in fact. I look like a very precise, bare-knuckle boxer. One punch is all it takes, if you're very precise, after all.

Whoo-hoo! Who wants a piece of me?

* Yes, I am aware that this is a blog. Sometimes I like to take little digs at myself, to remain grounded.