I can't be alone.

Maybe I was in a sour mood yesterday. I'm back alone in my apartment--unfinished still--and living out of a suitcase. My wife, who says she no longer travels very much, has traveled the last four weeks. Even Whiskey, who is usually velcroed by my side has left for the greener pastures of the dog-walker's apartment.

I came upon something during my sour mood that really ticked me off. It was a smarmy promotion for a wireless company in Belgium I think. They decided to do a campaign that gave you free wireless while you're at the beach, so long as you sat in the shadow of the giant blue monoliths they erected.

Then the Metropolitan Museum of Art had some gala in New York attended by a host of gliterati, including Kim Kardashian's sequined and enormous buttocks.

I put these two things together because they bother me for the same reason. Whoever's in charge has decided that everything is for sale.

Sand on the beach. Access to Van Goghs.

Everything.

I can't for the life of me believe I'm the only one who hates sponsors of things that are supposed to be public. It doesn't make me feel better about the brands that are slapping their logos over every square inch of our world, it makes he dislike the brands that do so.

As I've said a couple hundred times before, if I shell out $75 for a seat at Yankee Stadium, I shouldn't then be told that Yankee baseball was brought to me by Chase. Even my Metro Card has an ad on it. As does the noxious, blaring TV screen in the back of cabs.

I've yet to see these sponsorships do me any good. I've seen prices only go up and service only go down.

Like I said, if you want to piss consumers off, rub their noses in your logo.