I was told earlier this week that Victoria’s Secret’s new Pink NFL lineup doesn’t include the Super Bowl Champion New Orleans Saints. So I put my “journalism” “skills” to work to see what it was all about. Every other journalist out there might as well go home, because the resulting piece is surely this year’s Pulitzer winner.
My inner ten-year-old just went insane.
I didn’t get past page three of Elizabeth Gilbert’s “Eat Pray Love.” I physically could not read any further. I’m an eye-roller. And by that point, my eyes had pretty much locked into a backward-facing position. “Oh, c’mon,” was the reaction I kept having. It’s not that the writing was bad. It wasn’t. I just felt like I was listening to a rich white woman whine about her life. I also knew how many women had fallen for this garbage. Here’s a secret, folks. Unlucky in love and at a transitional stage in your life? All you need is a few hundred thousand dollars and a trip around the world. Amazing what a vacation can do! Of course, what it can’t do is guarantee you love or enlightenment that lasts.
Continue reading “Gullible for Gurus”
Curled up on the couch the other night, convinced I was about to die from a combination of aneurysm, stroke and cancer, I fell back to playing a game we used to play in grad school.
If you died in your apartment tonight, how many days would it be before someone noticed?
Continue reading “Your Stinking Corpse”
Yo, it’s Frodo over here and I’ve got a ring that needs getting rid of. But the MTA has canceled subway service to Mount Doom and I’m sure as hell not walking over there. I thought about giving it to Gollum, but he hasn’t been the same since he took a job writing tax code for the Federal government. (He was seen on a street corner, rubbing his hands and saying “Mine! Mine! Mine! over and over again and they had to have him.)
But seriously, as the separation slowly marches toward divorce, I’ve finally gotten my grubby mitts back on the engagement ring. Continue reading “For Sale: One Slightly Used Engagement Ring”
I guess this Right Whale didn’t like the cut of Intrepid’s jib. So he jumped out of the water and crushed the boat.
Mel Gibson is a raving loon, a jerk, someone who needs serious help, possibly some medication and maybe some time alone in a padded cell. The stuff he says throughout these tapes … well, I don’t know. Height of passion and all, threatening to murder someone and hoping they get raped by a pack of … never mind. (Perhaps in the fourth installment of Mel Gibson tapes, he will insult Inuits and Pacific Islanders.)
That said, listening to the tapes, you can’t help but notice something odd about the sound quality. I’m not talking about Oksana Grigorieva’s stone-cold delivery. She was obviously setting him up after previous threats. Nothing wrong with that. I would have done the same thing.
I’m talking about the hissing on his end of the line compared to the complete silence on her end. There are numerous technical reasons why this might happen, of course. But that, combined with some of his responses that seem not to fit with her prompts — I smell something a little fishy. As in she (or someone) may have done a cut-and-paste job for maximum effect.
And while his career might be over, I’m pretty sure none of these tapes will be allowed in a court of law as Grigorieva likely violated California law by taping them in the first place.
From my friend Drew, regarding my Paul Rudd piece below.
“This would be an amazing epiphany . . . if I hadn’t suggested Paul Rudd to you, like, four months ago.”
I kind of figured that would happen. I’m going to say I was drunk at the time. Because chances are if I was talking to Drew, I was drunk at the time.
The things you see in Brooklyn. Like this poster for a missing pigeon. “Dennis” was last seen crossing Atlantic Ave. by Court Street, which is exactly where this photo was taken. Maybe Dennis was going to Trader Joe’s or Sahadi’s. Obviously this either a joke or “art” or both. While taking the photo this morning, some guy pushing a stroller asked me if I’d put the poster up. I did not take credit for this bit of genius. (And neither did I call the phone number. )