For as long as I can remember, April 29 has been one of my favorite days of the year. That, dear readers, is because it is the anniversary of one of the most blessed events ever -- my graceful entrance into this world, promptly (would I make an entrance any other way?) at 9 a.m. and, as always, with something in my mouth.

However, these last few birthdays have been milestones I approach with dread rather than anticipation. Whereas I used to mark birthdays by counting down the years until I could drive, drink or buy a gun (just kidding! I meant rent a car), each birthday now is just another sad reminder that one day, I will be 30. (My apologies to those who have passed or, like the man of casa de WYD, will soon reach that mark.)

Even more depressing is the fact that my little brother has somehow managed, despite at-times spotty employment and dubious living arrangements, to have himself a lemon birthday cake with lemon frosting each and every year. Which means that I am still obligated to consume this now-loathesome confection for at least another two birthdays, on top of the 18 years of lemon cake already resting uneasily under my belt. (And let's not forget that eight of those years were spent eating lemon birthday cake twice in a given year!)

If there is something more depressing than the prospect of one day turning 30 AND having yet another sickening lemon cake, I don't know what it is. That is why my brother must be stopped.

Lately, celebrity couples have been in the news a lot. Bennifer II recently announced its engagement. More newsworthy is the fact that J Lo (of the original Bennifer) is still married. Britney and her latest hubby are expecting. Demi may or may not be pregnant -- she's just happy for whatever additional press she can milk out of her May-December romance with 8-year-old heartthrob Ashton Kutcher.

On the breakup front, the improbable marriage of hooker-loving party boy Charlie Sheen is over. So is the genetically promising pairing of Brad Pitt and Jennifer Aniston, whose incredibly buff offspring will never greet the world. And rumor has it that the honeymoon is over for America's favorite newlyweds.

But while others mourn the demise of these high-profile pairings, I weep for the loss of a celebrity couple of an entirely different caliber.

While Brad and Jen will continue doing quality work independent of each other (as they always have), and while Charlie and Denise will continue to play forgettable roles in unwatchable "B" movies such as "The Arrival" and "Valentine" just as they always have, the world is losing a duo without whom things will never be the same.

Like Cher without Sonny, like Ricky without Lucy, like Terrence without Phillip, this love affair's dissolution will not only dismay those who envied the seemingly perfect relationship of the two celebs, but will rock the entertainment world to its very core.

Oui, mon petit choux. I am talking about the tragic breakup of Paris and Nicole.

Some people pay for sex. Some smoke crack. Others gamble online. My guilty pleasure -- or rather, horrible secret -- is a crippling addiction to the Fox reality show, "The Simple Life."

For three magical seasons, trash-TV junkies have enjoyed the antics of these vapid VIPs as they travel about a caricatured version of Middle America, hitting on males ranging in age from 3 to 103, making teenage boys kiss each other at town fairs while dressed in Playboy Mansion party leftovers, and somehow managing to find legitimate work in every town they visit despite a known history of advertising "Anal salty weiner bugers" on Sonic Drive-In signs.

Who can forget the taxidermy bear makeover (available only to those who purchased Season 1 on DVD)? Or the old man Nicole cajoled into wearing his chaps with nothing underneath? Or the girls trying on airline passengers' clothes when they were supposed to be handling baggage?

Paris and Nicole have changed the way America talks. (OK, maybe just the way I talk.) Phrases such as "That's hot" and "Loves it" -- and the latter's variant, "Do you love it?" -- are irresistible to use when one sees a skeevy old man in overalls. And what better way to send off a loved one than with an affectionate "Good night, bitch"?

Thanks to my favorite on-and-offscreen couple, those of us whose need to shop is so great that gas stations, dollar stores and purveyors of hunting accoutrements will do in a pinch can come out of the closet. And noblesse oblige has been redefined by the girls as the obligation to encourage denture-challenged Social Security geezers to get their freak on.

Now rumor has it that Paris' sidekick in "The Simple Life 4" will be played by another musician's daughter, Kimberly Stewart, although Nicole is still on contract with Fox. And today, the world found out that Paris and Nicole are no longer friends.

What Miss Hilton may not realize is the breakup of Paris and Nicole has doomed the show to failure. Without someone to throw ALL of the onions in the fryer at once (ever notice that the most hilarious instances of egregious slacking and workplace destruction are almost always instigated by Nicole?) or to ask toothless octagenarians about their sex lives, how can "The Simple Life" survive? The very selling point of the show in its current form is not so much the concept of unleashing two spoiled rich girls on the Midwest, but the amusing notion of Paris Hilton as the voice of reason.

Never mind that the breakup of a close friendship is much more a cause for mourning than the Britney-Justin split. (Face it, if those two had reproduced, it would be a sign of the End Times. You know this is true.) The real tragedy here is that whatever camaraderie Paris and Young Rod Stewart in Drag may share, Nicole IS the show.

Sure, Paris' naivete on matters not concerning Centurion cards, B-list celebs and VIP rooms is amusing, and her optimistic -- nay, moth-to-the-flame -- approach to amateur porn is charming indeed, but what makes the show worth watching is the embodiment of crassness, irresponsibility and poor judgment that is Nicole Richie. What fun will a show about heiresses be without Nicole there to get them fired from the menial jobs the two uneducated slackers would be working at if their daddies weren't rolling in dough?

Yes, while others fret over Brad and Jen and their beautiful, never-to-be-born babies, I am mourning the demise of the best relationship ever made -- the perfect union of Paris' well-meaning ignorance and Nicole's criminal insouciance. The beautiful yin and yang of Nicole's jarring sense of entitlement balanced (well, not quite) with her desire to be seen as a good person. The marriage of outrageous wealth with complete lack of class. (OK, that last one will probably not be an issue, even sans Nicole.)

I suppose you could say we'll always have Paris. But I'd tell you you can keep her. The fourth season of "The Simple Life" promises to suck without the mercurial weirdness, mindblowing laziness and compulsive lechery of Nicole Richie.

Mourn those lovely ghost babies of the Aniston-Pitt merger if you want to. And if you believe the latest dish, shed a tear in advance for the lost opportunity to see the beautiful, dumb children Nick Lachey and Jessica Simspon could have spawned together. I will be weeping over the "Simple Life" episodes that never had a chance to be.

An impressive multiagency dragnet operation netted more than 10,000 fugitives last week, in what law enforcement considers to be some sort of victory. I'm glad that murder and rape suspects are off the streets -- don't get me wrong -- but I do have one question. If our state, local and federal agencies are capable of apprehending fugitives, why is it news when this kind of thing actually happens?

Obviously it wasn't too difficult -- with a little effort and cooperation -- to figure out where these people were. And let me just point out that apprehending these people is part of the law enforcement community's job.

I'll assume that this operation required a little more manpower than usual day-to-day law-enforcement doings. But if no extra hours were logged by authorities to accomplish this amazing feat, shouldn't our reaction be embarrassment rather than pride?

And if this 10,340-suspect dragnet did require overtime, as I'm sure it did, Alberto Gonzales and the rest of the Bush administration need to stop crowing and start thinking about why Bush has slashed funding for President Clinton's successful COPS program by more than 50 percent, and why this administration cut funding for other domestic law enforcers such as --oh, I don't know -- border guards, apparently to free up money to send college kids off to die for oil in various gnat-infested desert hellholes.

The words "homeland security" mean nothing if domestic law-enforcement agencies don't receive enough funding to keep people suspected of crimes against American children and elders off the streets (except, of course, when self-serving politicians OK massive efforts such as Operation FALCON to boost their flagging approval ratings).

How does a free Iraq serve everyday Americans better than having enough local law enforcement officers to keep unregistered sex offenders from entering our daughters' rooms at night? How is tracking my library activity more crucial to a feeling of security than providing victims of violent crime with the closure of seeing the accused held accountable? What good is oil if we cannot drive our own streets without worrying about that carjacking suspect who is believed armed and dangerous?

I am willing to bet that a hell of a lot more Americans die at the hands of other Americans than at the hands of terrorists. But then, it's not like there are statistics on this sort of thing.

I am embarrassed that any of us are able to read stories such as this and feel pride rather than shame. Leave it to the Bush administration to slash funding for law enforcement, then orchestrate a huge sting when they're doing poorly in the polls and pat themselves on the back for the "the largest number of arrests ever recorded during a single operation."

Well, how the fuck do you think those suspects evaded apprehension in the first place?

That's like my not doing the dishes for two months (let's say I am too busy trimming my neighbor's grass on the pretext that it will somehow add to the cleanliness of Casa de WYD), then one day throwing one-tenth of them in the dishwasher and bragging, from the squalor the still-filthy kitchen, about doing an unprecedented number of dishes.

But I suppose bullshit like that is much easier to peddle when you repeatedly invoke images of burning skyscrapers to distract from your doublespeak.

Today, in response to a pharmacist's "moral objection" to providing birth control, the governor of Illinois approved an emergency rule requiring pharmacies to fill birth control prescriptions.

Tomorrow I'm sure we will hear lots of rhetoric from the religious right about a pharmacist's right to stand up for his or her beliefs by depriving people of the product he or she is supposed to be dispensing.

I agree. In fact, I think we should take it a step further.

Let's allow ER doctors to refuse to treat drunken drivers. I think most of us can agree that it's immoral to drink and drive. Providing emergency medical treatment to these people enables them by implying that their actions are OK.

Delivery-room doctors who belong to World Church of the Creator should be able to refuse to deliver mixed-race babies based on their "moral objections" as well. After all, the we can't just protect the rights of Baptists and Methodists!

But while we're on the subject of religions espoused by backwards white men, why not allow particularly right-wing police officers to refuse to respond to domestic calls, and let them cite in defense their "moral objection" to wives refusing to submit to their husbands?

Ushers at your local movie theater should be able to stand up and say "Public sex is wrong" by refusing to mop up the puddle of spooge off that seat in the back row. And perhaps they can take a moral stand against littering, too, by refusing to sweep up the errant bits of popcorn and remove half-empty drinks from the cupholders.

All those fresh-faced little teens working at music stores should be allowed to share their church youth-group values with others by refusing to sell music with suggestive lyrics, despite its presence on the shelves.

And Jewish and Muslim waiters should be allowed to refuse to serve pork and shellfish, because of their moral objections to food that is not kosher or halal. Hindu waitstaff should be allowed to refuse to serve beef, and Buddhist waiters should be allowed to eschew serving any meat at all based on their moral objections to harming another living being. I am sure that America's restaurateurs will be completely understanding when they are informed of their waitstaff's rights.

The old ladies working the register at Wal-Mart or your local drugstore likewise should be able to use their discretion when selling condoms, lubricant and ovulation predictors. No ring, no sale!

Yes, the world would be much better if everyone had the right to refuse to do the job for which they were hired. Nobody should be able to compel anyone to go against any belief they have -- no matter how wacky.

I mean, really, what's a moral person supposed to do? Go into a career in which one won't be asked on a daily basis to compromise one's value system?

Jeez.