1. Katie Holmes has put Tom Cruise on a “sex diet” to help him lose weight. In a nutshell (har), she thinks Tom’s turning chubby (har har), and she wants him to get more exercise. By having sex. Presumably with her. Which is, I suppose, one way of going about it.

2. Project Runway is going to be a videogame. Normally I’d say “feh”, but the game’s going to roll out on the Wii platform, which could be kinda fun:

As with the show, players will compete to create different designs, but they will also have the opportunity to become the model and showcase their creations on the runway, using the Wii Balance Board.

Sounds like a very short runway, but hey, they didn’t ask me.

3. Speaking of iffy fashion projects, I believe it’s time to dig out the shoulderpads (you know you’ve been storing them in the back of the sock drawer like everyone else):

Dynasty star Joan Collins is fronting a new TV special as part of her personal mission to revive style in Britain.

The veteran actress is appalled with the current state of fashion in the U.K. and is hosting a one-off show, Joan Does Glamour, in which she helps three women learn to dress stylishly.

Werque, bitchez.

4. Have you ever wondered what the most beautiful object in the world might be? As it happens, I can tell you. It is this fireplace:

[via BoingBoing]

Good news: the Faubourg Marigny has been named one of the “10 Great American Neighborhoods” by the American Planning Association. But what makes a great neighborhood, by APA standards?

“They are enjoyable, safe and desirable. They are places where people want to be — not only to visit, but to live and work every day. America’s truly great streets, neighborhoods and public spaces are defined by many criteria, including architectural features, accessibility, functionality and community involvement.”

Frankly, I think the Marigny fits that bill to a tee. My friends from out of town often comment on the neighborhood vibe, how it’s walkable, relatable, manageable. How we speak to one another, say hello on the street (usually). We’ve got a good mix of inhabitants, rich and poor; straight and gay; black and white; steampunk, hipster, and square. If only we had a grocery store, we’d be freakin’ Mayberry. You know, just like Lincoln, Nebraska, Fargo, North Dakota, and everyone else on the APA list.

Bad news: St. Louis Cemetery No. 2 and Phillis Wheatley Elementary School are among 93 sites from 47 countries named to the World Monument Fund’s 2010 “Watch List” for endangered architecture. That list focuses on “cultural heritage sites worldwide that are endangered by neglect, overdevelopment, vandalism or disaster.” Funny thing is, many people come to New Orleans precisely because of the decay — and its etymological cousin, decadence. But I suppose there are limits to the romance of all that.

Yet more proof that life isn’t fair. And that the world may be ending. Like, TOMORROW and shit:

Yeah, that’s Tania. Again. I hate to lavish attention on just one of our three hounds, but Tania is so loving and expressive…well, she’s hard to ignore.

Monday night, Jonno and I were on the sofa, giggling through another episode of The Rachel Zoe Project (don’t hate, y’all), when I looked over at Tania, and she looked back with her big, brown eyes, and what can I say? I’m a softie for big brown eyes. I patted my chest, and she accepted the invitation immediately, crawling on top of me and conking right the hell out. Adorable. Heavy and snorey and kind of pointy with the toenails, but adorable nonetheless.

As she lay there sleeping, I remembered something I’d half-forgotten: the way Tania liked to spoon with me after the storm. (Which I suppose we should all start capitalizing as The Storm to distinguish it from the other storms that have already begun to follow.) Jonno and I hadn’t had her very long at that point — only a month or so– but Tania wasn’t one to stand on ceremony. She acted as if we’d been pals forever. Every night, I’d crawl under the covers, and within a minute or two, she’d squeeze in beside me, her back to my belly, her paws dangling over the bed’s edge. No fidgeting, no fussing, just right to sleep for the rest of the night.

At first, it was just cute — the act of a giant puppy who thought of herself as a lapdog — but soon I’d turned it into a little game. She’d sneak into position, I’d pretend not to notice, then once she’d settled in, I’d try to breathe in synch with her, so our chests rose and fell in unison. I don’t know why I thought it was funny, but game or not, it helped me relax, breathe deeply, and sleep, none of which were easy to do back then. (Evacuated, imposing on friends, guilty for being comfortable while other friends weren’t — if I knew where they were at all. Ah, memories.)

In light of last week’s unpleasantness, Tania’s behavior on Monday night also reminded me of worldfamousauthor Ken Foster and his story of the pit bulls who saved his life. (If you haven’t read The Dogs Who Found Me or any of his other works, I can’t recommend them highly enough.)

Ken had begun feeling sluggish and dizzy, but he’d written it off as exhaustion — which makes sense because, you know, handling three dogs can have that effect on a person. But one day, his dogs starting acting strangely, jumping on him, playing very aggressively, trying to get his attention, get him up off his chair. Ultimately, it was that crazy behavior that got Ken out of the house and into a doctor’s office. And it’s a good thing he went, because somehow, the dogs knew what Ken didn’t: that his heart was failing and that he was slowly dying. They were trying to save him.

I wasn’t having a heart attack last week or last night, but it’s comforting to sleep among hounds just the same.

I reference these AT&T ads all the time in my marketing class — despite the fact that most of my students are too young to remember them.

Apart from their historic appeal (seriously: dig that smokey early 90s music video vibe), the ads are great examples of brand marketing. AT&T isn’t selling anything here other than the idea of AT&T. In fact, the campaign’s very premise is that consumers can’t possibly buy or do any of these things…but thanks to AT&T, they will. Soon.

Of course, there are a bejillion other examples of brand advertising I could name. (That weird Shell campaign with the Scandinavians and the bendable drinking straws come to mind.) But for some reason, these stick out.

That’s probably because AT&T’s predictions were so spot-on. Unlike the wild-ass predictions spawned by unfettered suburban optimism in the 1950s and 1960s — robot butlers! cities on the moon! meals in a pill! — AT&T knew what it was talking about. The company saw the technology coming down the pipeline and accurately calculated where it would lead.

* See that photo up there? That is ART, y’all.

* Speaking of photos of crazy people, this has been making me laugh all week:

* Speaking of just plain craziness, the Nigerian phenomenon of missing penises is back — and this time, it’s personal. I mean, obviously.

* Speaking of personal, linebacker for the New Orleans Saints Scott Fujita is my new personal hero. Dude rules.

So, funny story: last night around 2:30am, I woke up with chest pains, nausea, and a tingling sensation in my left arm.

Hilarious, right? But wait, it gets better.

Even though I know good and well what those signs rather forcefully imply, I refused to believe that Little Ol’ Me could be having a heart attack. And to prove my point, I wobbled all the way to my laptop and zipped over to WebMD.com, which, unfortunately, did not support my self-diagnosis. I would’ve looked for another site, but by then I was getting dizzy, so I stumbled back to the bathroom, chomped a couple of aspirin, and called 911.

Five minutes later, there was an ambulance parked outside my front door. Before they could unload the gurney, I stepped out, explained the situation, and hopped into the back of the vehicle. They ran some tests, took my blood pressure, and said that they didn’t think it was a heart attack, but they’d like to take me to the hospital, just to be sure. I went back in the house, woke up Jonno, gave him the short version, told him that I’d be back in a bit and not to worry. He was totally NOT interested in staying behind, but eventually I convinced him that everything was going to be fine and that he’d be much better off staying in bed with the hounds. I’m lucky I caught him when he was sleepy.

En route to the hospital, the EMT put a drip in my arm and loaded me up with nitroglycerin. My heart was racing, but that could’ve just been because I’d never ridden in an ambulance, and it was vaguely nerve-wracking. (On the upside, the EMT was cute.)

At the hospital, check-in was a breeze, the staff did an EKG, drew some blood, took an x-ray or two, then shot me up with morphine. A couple of minutes later, the malenurse (who was also pretty cute) came back to check on me:

Him: Hey, buddy, how you feelin’?

Me: Mmm. Feels like college.

I was in and out for the next hour or so. Eventually, malenurse came back and told me what I’d been dreading: that I was not, in fact, having a heart attack, but rather a severe case of indigestion. You hear those stories all the time — “That fatass wasn’t having a heart attack, just heartburn!” — and you can’t help but think, “Damn, what a loser”. And so, I turned out to be a loser. A very, very, very happy loser, but a loser nonetheless.

As soon as I was discharged, I hailed a cab and got home at 6:00am. I was too lazy to get the stickies off, and they weren’t bothering me, so I slept with them. Which was much more comfortable than ripping them off before my shower.

So, what’s the sitch, you ask?

Worst case: I may have a coffee problem.

Second-worse case: I may have eaten something at Domenica that didn’t agree with me. (Which would suck because I am so totally going back there every chance I get.)

Easiest case: I had leftover Chinese for breakfast yesterday, so I may have a Chinese food problem. (Which would also suck, but as long as they don’t take away the rest of my Asian cuisine, I’ll survive.)

I should point out that I’m kinda lighthearted about all this because (a) everything turned out fine, and (b) I have pretty good health insurance. I couldn’t imagine going through that without some kind of coverage. Even though it was just indigestion, it was scary at times, with all the chest pain and swooning. I’m thankful that my concerns weren’t made worse by worries about how I was going to pay for the care. Let me put that another way: SUPPORT UNIVERSAL HEALTH CARE.

Oh, one more thing: if you’re in New Orleans and you find yourself possibly having a heart attack at 2:30 on a Wednesday morning, I highly recommend Touro Hospital. Had Mel Gibson ever been there, he’d want to rethink his position on Jews and all the world’s problems.