Me? I currently have four. And that's only because I've gone through them and consolidated. Why the hell do we bother sticking notes around the screen? We never read them. They stay there for weeks.

Of course, whenever I have really important notes, I stick them right in the middle of the screen. But, ever since I got my 21-inch monitor, I've realized that doesn't do much good, either. There's so much room now, I have actually arranged my windows around the Post-It so I can work.

The solution to this sticky, yellow procrastination? Don't write anything down. I figure if it's destined to a small piece of paper, it'll never get done, anyway. If it's really important, you'll receive an angry notice in the mail about it eventually.

Am I the only one who's never seen an air mattress before? The AeroBed people tout it as though it's a revolutionary concept. "It's like sleeping on air!" they claim. Idiots — it is sleeping on air. And the little electric pump it comes with is no novelty, either.

True to advertising fashion, they show some buffoon trying to work a manual foot pump stumbling over himself to demonstrate just how incredibly fantastic their new AeroBed is and how easy it will make your life if you purchase one right away. Who are the morons falling for this? Yes, I agree, those manual pumps suck. But, electric pumps have been in stores for decades, right next to the air mattresses.

What's more, they're selling this thing for 3 easy payments of $33 (plus shipping and handling). That's over a hundred bucks! I bought a new air mattress, larger than the AeroBed, and a component electric pump just a few months ago for a total of $40.

True, I didn't get the fancy, draw-string, nylon bag that comes with the AeroBed, but for the money I saved, I'm pretty sure I can pick one of those up somewhere. Or, I could just keep using the box it came in.

I was assured earlier that domestic beer was only $2.00. So, I ordered myself a Shiner Bock. Now, for those of you who are not familiar with the brew, it is a wonderful Texas beer, served with varying availability in much of the rest of the country, but found in every Texan establishment that serves alcohol.

Having a limited supply of cash, I double checked the price with the waitress, "That's two dollars, right?" Oh no, she responded, they're $3.50. "Domestics," she said, "are two dollars."

"Well, what are the domestics?" I inquired.

"Miller, Miller Light, Bud, Bud Light."

"Shiner isn't a domestic?"

"No. It's an import."

"An import? It's brewed and bottled four hours from here!"

"But, it's an import."

"It isn't made in another country. It's not even made in another state! Where is it imported from?"

"It's not a domestic."

"How can you get more domestic than your own backyard?"

"It's an import."

The conversation went downhill from there. Even the bartender, skilled in Jack and Cokes, Kamikazes and bottle opening, chimed in with some economic dissertation about what makes a domestic beer. I promptly interrupted him with, "Miller Light."

Now, if you would like to write me with the same economic dissertation explaining what makes a beer "domestic," don't. In my opinion, if a beer is not imported, it's not an import. If it originated domestically, it's domestic.

If you would like to classify beers based on some other specifications, then come up with some other terminology, because as it has been made clear, origin has nothing to do with it. Frankly, given the list of which beers constitute "domestics," bars should simply classify their stock as "good beer" and "something called beer."

And just for the record, I was still charged $2.50.