ON BUYING GIANT BRIEFS: Desperate, I wander down to the Westin South Coast gift shop (or is it shoppe?) last night. The small Asian lady is closing up, but she lets me in. Almost immediately I spot an odd display of toiletries, makeshift luggage, and yep, single-pack "Chereskin" briefs. There's L and XL, and on the package they look more or less like my beloved Calvin Klein briefs, discovered in the '80s (natch) and worn to this day (mixed with boxers). I grab the Ls, because I'm not a total fat-ass, and I take 'em up to the counter. The little Asian proprietress starts giggling.

"Oh!" she exclaims. "Oh, ho-ho! Oh-ho-ho-ho!"

She's giggling uncontrollably now, somewhere between humor and discomfort. She starts nodding.

"Good!" she says. "Oh-ho-ho-ho!" Nodding. "You need!"

Just bag up the briefs and let me be on my way, lady.

I retreat to my room and try on my new briefs. They're diaper-huge. The front of 'em is the friggin' Hancock Building (whoa! pun alert!) it's so hi-rise. They start at my crotchular region and extend well over my belly button. I look like an ad for Powerdorks Anonymous. Sure, no one will see me in my briefs. But I'll know. Plus if my shirt rides up at all folks will wonder if I'm Mormon.

I fold down the waistband. Not as bad. Not great. Won't win any Marcus Shenkenberg look-alike contest. But they'll do.