I don’t care how many towels you put down, it’s just not okay for you to straddle a two-foot-wide bench when you’re naked.

I watch The Nate Berkus Show every day (for some reason), and obviously one of their go-to segments is the home makeover. Generally, the segments are introduced by a husband, who’s appealing to the show to make over a room for his wife. These guys produce these effusive testimonials about the women who are the proposed beneficiaries — that they’re loving and hardworking and “do everything for everyone else” and are so busy being living saints that they never consider the importance of letting their homes rise to meet them.

Sometimes, during these segments, I make myself laugh by imagining the copy Dave would submit to try to get me a room makeover from Nate.

“My wife Tara is a dick most of the time. She’d like a new bathroom, though.”

Watching the rather boring movie The Conspirator, barely co-starring Kevin Kline, reminded me of how much I loved this interview Kline did on The Colbert Report last year. If I do a lot of things right, I think, I could MAYBE be Kevin Kline when I grow up. (Sorry about the autoplay on the video. Please address your angry letters to Viacom.)

Apparently there isn’t anything I can do to stop you pregnant ladies from working out like the rest of us normals, so whatever, I’ve made my peace with the fact that I’m going to see you at the gym. But the next time I see one of you with a kettlebell, I am going to take it away from you.

If you expect people upstairs, in the locker rooms, and outside on the sidewalk to know how you feel about the latest stock market news, you are going to have to huff and sigh just a tiny bit louder.

Growing up in a landlocked province exactly halfway between two oceans, fish was not a staple of my diet. In fact, I don’t recall my mother ever even trying to feed me any kind of seafood (other than tuna salad, or battered whitefish in a fish-and-chips scenario) until my mom married my dad came along — and the violent retching with which I met their first efforts at introducing me to shrimp is still part of family lore. (My mom didn’t want to give in to what she thought were theatrics, whereas my dad either could tell I wasn’t faking my revulsion or didn’t want to ruin his own meal with the threat that I might not choke mine down.)

As I’ve grown up, I’ve been increasingly embarrassed by my aversion to seafood. Fortunately, over time I’ve incrementally moved closer to one coast or another, so the quality of fish to which I have access has gone up. Though I wouldn’t go out of my way to have it, I can enjoy a cold shrimp appetizer, and in Hawaii I had amazing sushi made with ono (local white fish). I still haven’t had lobster. But I think I would like it. And given that it’s summer — lobster roll season in New York — it seems like the time is right.

The experts have weighed in on the best lobster roll purveyors in the city, but I am looking to you, dear reader, to advise me. Which lobster roll do you think is the best choice to be the first lobster experience of my young life?* (On the other hand, if you think I should start with lobster in some other format OR not eat lobster at all, I’m interested in those arguments as well.)

*Not young. I’m thirty-six. See why I should be embarrassed?

No one can stop you from working out in what are, without a doubt, the most spectacularly crotchworn gym shorts I have ever seen. I guess I’m kind of surprised that common decency hasn’t caused you to think twice about wearing them on the recumbent bike positioned directly at the top of the stairs, but since it hasn’t, please advise your GP to take a look at your right testicle because I’m pretty sure I see a lump.

In my last dream before I woke up this morning, Anthony Weiner had decided to try to burnish his image by volunteering at my local branch of the public library. It seems like that would be a good idea, but there were a few problems.

First, the put-upon, disgusted attitude that was so hot when I’d see it in videos of Weiner sighing his way through House debates with dumb Republicans was a lot less attractive when he was directing it at old men looking for large-print Tom Clancys.

Also, Weiner was still hitting on virtually every female patron.

Oh, and finally, Weiner seemed to be evolving into some kind of man/lizard hybrid. Like, he was in the usual semi-off-duty politician costume of dress shirt (no tie) and chinos, but he couldn’t wear shoes because of his giant two-toed lizard feet. Plus he had a forked tongue and a tail.

So…I thought I didn’t really care about this story, but my subconscious has let me know I was wrong.

Or should I say, “I got new hairCUTS”?! I shouldn’t. But let me explain.

In 2008, I got this haircut. And I kept it like that, more or less, for the next three years. (In early 2009, I changed salons, and my new stylist — the wonderful Lee at Arrojo — started undercutting it with a razor to take out even more weight in a sneaky way.) It was a good cut that served me well. But then mid-May came, and with it the first hot weather of the year, and after just ten blocks out in the humidity, the whole back of my head would be soaked with sweat. “There’s GOT to be a better way!” I told myself. And then I made a haircut appointment.

So here’s what I looked like before:

You can tell I was really trying to sell this look because I put makeup on. But you can tell from the fact that I’m wearing a sweater that it was kind of cool that day. NO MORE. It’s too hot to bother putting on makeup that’s just going to melt off anyway.

That said, here’s what my hair looks like now.

BAM.

But that’s just the default look. What if I busted out some bobby pins? BOOM.

This is kind of a ’60s look, reserved for the very hottest days when the thought of having bangs anywhere near my face makes me want to cry or barf. (New Yorkers have probably already guessed that I took that photo on Wednesday.) What else might one do with a pair of bobby pins? Oh, you know. This.

That’s what it looks like with the sides pinned up, and is kind of my favourite.

So that’s the latest on my head. Thank you for your time.