DOES THIS WOMAN LOOK PREGNANT TO YOU?

While the general lack of etiquette and manners on the part of all humans continues to astound our gentle sensibilities, there is nothing more appalling to us than the "baby bump" phenomenon that seems to have afflicted all celebrity news outlets of late, from print to cyberspace. It's become so widespread that it appears to be spreading to non-celebrities, perhaps the result of general ignorance on behalf of the public at large and general affinity for chocolate, wine, and other fine foodstuffs on behalf of the victim.

For the purposes of blogging anonymously, let's just say that we have a friend in the business, by which we mean not hollywood, but another "business" that requires much wining and dining and not nearly as much dieting. Well, no dieting at all, to be exact. The occupational hazard of said business just happens to be the equivalent of the freshman 15...only it doesn't exactly go away when you're working 60+ hours a week and traveling to exotic locations where people bend over backwards to feed you 7-course dinners.

Said friend has been asked multiple times in the last six weeks if she is expecting. "Expecting to eat?" she replies, coyly trying to suck it in for all she's worth. The embarrassed interrogator usually changes the subject at that point, to the weather or some other asinine topic that has nothing to do with reproduction, but the damage has been done. For the record, said friend has now abandoned all blousy shirts in her wardrobe, no longer leaves the house without her trusty Spanx on, and has made considerable efforts in proper posture and ab positioning techniques, but to no avail. Tonight someone asked her, YET AGAIN, if this is her first baby.

WHY DO PEOPLE THINK IT'S OKAY TO ASK A WOMAN, ANY WOMAN, IF SHE IS PREGNANT/EXPECTING/ FOR HER DUE DATE?

NOTA BENE: UNLESS YOU SEE A CHILD CROWNING FROM BETWEEN HER LEGS, ASSUME SHE'S GOT FUPA ISSUES AND MOVE ON.

And that, people, is your friendly public service announcement for the day.

LA TRANSIT TAKES IT UP THE A . . . . AGAIN

The Los Angeles Times reports today that our fab lawmakers have taken $1.3 billion from mass transit funds to balance the budget. Super! These guys are great aren't they.

"The cuts could imperil a variety of transit projects, most notably the Exposition Line light rail from downtown L.A. to the Westside, extending the Orange Line busway from Warner Center to Chatsworth, and building the Gold Line from Pasadena to San Bernardino County, said Roger Snoble, chief executive of the Metropolitan Transportation Authority."

I'm aware that $1.3 bil isn't much in the grand scheme of our traffic problem, but losing it sure doesn't inspire faith in the powers that be.

CELEBRITIES = BAD NEWS

We here at Pico, as stated in our mission statement and charter, strive to bring you only random crap, and not celebrity-soaked blather, as we feel that a) there are lots of other blogs that do so with more aplomb and dedication than we care to apply (and which we read daily) and b) celebrities are generally, well, dumb, and not worth any more attention than the world already gives them for saying such horrible lines as "this is where it all began for me; this is where it ends." Seriously, Matt Damon, what happened to the artistic vision and genius we saw in Good Will Hunting? Has it all really come to this? Sadness all around about such a disappointing final piece to what was otherwise a rather fun and refreshing triptych, but we'll save the review of "The Bourne Ultimatum" for someone else's blog, one focused not on random crap, but well, atrocious movies and other ways to waste millions of dollars. We really did have high hopes.

Anyway, on to our point about how celebrities are not the sparkly, stardust-laden beings worthy of our worship and harrassment, but, rather, HARBINGERS OF DOOM. Case in point: Last night we went to the Arclight, one of the last bastions of the belief that an outing to the movies deserves as much respect as does an outing to say, church--really where else can we all laugh and cry (and as in the above case, gasp in angered disbelief that this thing ever got made into celluloid) without having to bear the idiocy of laser pointers and cell phones and what have you brought along by the heathen masses. Upon arriving, we learned that the Arclight restaurant, where we'd planned to fill up for the journey of un-suspended disbelief ahead, is closed due to a private event, a.k.a. special party for the special screening of something special for special people. We head to the bar upstairs in search of nourishment. We can't find a waitress, waiter, you name it, anywhere it sight, but we do see Tony Hawk and Vince Vaughn, each with their own entourage. We should have seen the bad moon rising. Behind them were the missing waitstaff, standing against the wall, watching each celebs' every move. We order a beer at the bar and head to an empty table on the patio, knowing full well that now that celebs are on the premises, it's a self-serve situation. Whatever. We go to the movie. It sucked. We leave the movie, and head across the street to The Hungry Cat for oysters and maybe a pug burger or two to cheer us up.Those hopes are quickly dashed as well. Adrian Grenier is in the restaurant, and we're seated on a side patio. After 15 minutes, we're told we can order just drinks for now and food later. Another 15 minutes go by, drinks come. Adrian and friends are having a blast. Everyone around them is eating. 15 more minutes go by. Our waiter is gone. So is our love for Hungry Cat, which we've recommended to more people than Adrian ever will. Which brings us to our point, 45 minutes later: while the presence of a celebrity in your favorite restaurant or bar may bode well for the chef with stars in his eyes (which, let's face it, these days they all do), it means very bad things for the common man, foodie, barfly, chowhound and joe schmo left to languish in the wake of servers who leap to an A-lister's every beck and call. Or simply stand against the wall and stare. Either way, we're fucked.