I got a sense of this from reading the blogs all week, not from watching the teevee on my small screen, but once again, I suspect the "pros" are missing a story. A big story while NYC Friedman whimpers about getting left in Beijing's dust.
and the snark gets written for you. (Christ on a crouton, though, I think we were still living in the DOA when I wrote about the salad anti-diet for Health magazine, and that was 16, 17 years ago when I had to file stories by modem if not Fedex.)
I'm bored with the houses, but points for two lines: "knocking back pints of hope" and McLame is "a man so small that he could live without problems in a Ferragamo shoebox."
And there's this.
And there's this.
To think all those stories were written on the restaurant boom in DC and not one connected the dots . . . I have not read the book, but the inaccessible excerpt in Harper's last month was pretty devastating. And NYC wonders why elevators in public housing can't be repaired? Okay. I'll calm down. It has made restaurateurs rich and "Washington chef" a less laughable phrase.
If you aren't nervous, you aren't paying attention. Has no one in the Sullied House read "The Road"? Let alone the only thing that got me past 9/11, rereading "On the Beach"?
Forget universal health care. This country, thanks to the antediluvian son of an asshole who has resisted science at every opportunity, can barely keep up with research anymore. And so parents who care desperately are left to rely on the kindness of strangers. Cookies, anyone?
I almost didn't link this because I find him and her so pathetic. But if we turn away, we may have to look at them -- half-clothed or not -- for four long years. During which the Trend Casserole might decide to have a big fancy wedding.