Ladies and Gentlemen, we are about to enter Crazytown, otherwise known as Atlanta, Georgia - where Asian-American activists are pissed that the city has re-named the train route within its Asian community the "yellow line." They maintain "yellow" carries a negative connotation among Asians, and want officials to change the name to gold. We went to the color "yellow," for comment, but as you know, it cannot speak. For yellow is a color. It has no feelings, thoughts, or pulse. It is incapable of racism, because it's incapable of anything, other than being yellow. I suspect, like other basic colors used to describe train lines (blue, red, green, etc), it's simply serving a purpose of navigation, without intent to offend.

But let's ponder the word yellow. It also means "cowardly," and therefore serves as an insult to everyone. But it's also the shade of bananas, the phone book and cabs. I hate bananas, phone books and cabs - but I still don't hate the color. I really hate Coldplay, for their song "Yellow," makes me violently ill - but I still don't hate the color. I just hate Chris Martin. And he's not even yellow. He's more asparagus green.

My point is, I'm a grown-up. When a producer accuses me of being "short" to a guest, I know she's not referring to my height. And, I'm practically a midget. Yet, if I get on my tippy toes, I can see the difference.

So I say to you, Center for Pan Asian Community Service, lighten up. I get the sensitivity over the racial nature of the word "yellow," but you're better than that. Accusing city planners of racism over a yellow train line makes you look silly. You can argue until you're blue in the face, turn red with rage, but in the end, yellow is just a color.

Like fuchsia.

Just not as awesome.

And if you disagree with me, then you're probably Gwyneth Paltrow.