As you may, or may not know, the Internet is changing. And I don't just mean its slow, corporate take-over and subsequent ruination. No, I mean the advent of HTML 5. Why should you give a crap about something that doesn't involve sports, religion or celebrities? I'm glad you asked.

Surprisingly, the problems our country has been experiencing since the 1980s aren't the result of Republican over-spending, military build-ups, religiousity, blatant hypocrisy or rampant marital infidelity. They also aren't the result of Democratic homo-friendly amorality, Pro-Education elitism or “We know best” over-regulation. No, the reason that this once-proud, Capitalistic country is melting down can be traced directly back to one insidious evil: advertising. And I should know, after all, I work in the business.

Shocking only to those who have never met anyone from France, the results of a recent competition revealed that the French are the World's Worst Tourists. Yet this "scientific" survey surely begs the question: How did America not sweep this award in a landslide? I mean if there's one area where America clearly still excels, it's in grudgingly visiting foreign countries and treating the people who live there like backwater rubes just because their country isn't exactly like America in every way. Still, this national loss needs some context.

Lately, I've been researching and mulling over my next car purchase (in spite of my previous rant about the “Age of Automobiles” coming to a close. Of course, living in Northern California virtually requires me to buy an environmentally friendly mode of transportation—something that either runs on reclaimed french fry grease, wind-power, solar power or pixie dust. But if you go to any auto dealer around here and ask to see a zero-emission vehicle for less than $50,000, they'll stare at you like a dog trying to solve a Rubic's cube. Accidentally, I discovered what may be the best way to get around town: Zombie power.

Do you know what gelato is? Sure, you’ve probably heard of it—it’s essentially the Northern Italian version of ice cream—but you probably haven’t had any of it. Well, not the real stuff anyway. Fortunately, that’s easy to find out: If you’d rather ingest gelato than oxygen, you’ve probably had the real stuff. But if you prefer breathing, even just a little, then you’ve only had the fake stuff. And that’s a damn shame. Because the real stuff is more addictive than crack cocaine.

Ornithologists and bird-fanciers can (finally) hold their heads up high, extend their headcrest feathers and let loose a shrill “Ha, ha!” at arrogant owners of normal adorable, cuddly, and quiet pets. For centuries, bird owners have been viewed as the full-on nut-cases of Crazy Pet Owner set—more so than even the cat owners who dress theirs in matching sweaters, or the dog owners who carry theirs in a purse. But scientists now believe there is more to birds like cockatoos than just high-pitched shrieking, newspaper soiling and dirty-sounding names.

Remember when wrong-doing was, well...wrong? Back in the day, people used to feel bad when they did things that everyone else in society agreed were unethical, or just plain creepy. But that all ceased to exist the moment a Hollywood executive invented reality TV. These days, doing wrong no longer results in your immediate and eternal social ostracization, it results in your own television show on E! network.

UPDATE#3: Here's a new disturbing look at how Goldman Sachs all but determines U.S. government financial policy, by hiring "former politicians and civil servants, as readily as it supplies them," especially in the Obama Administration (I'm sure there's no conflict of interest with that arrangement). The New York Times columnist David Brooks noted that "Over the past few years, people from Goldman Sachs have assumed control over large parts of the federal government," Brooks noted grimly. "Over the next few they might just take over the whole darn thing."

Once December 29th, Freddie Hubbard, one of the last great jazz trumpet players, died after a heart attack at age 70. Growing up, I was a huge fan of Freddie. I used to listen to his records and play along (did I mention that I started playing trumpet when I was nine? Cuz I did).