Before I started my work day (hooray for telecommuting!), I walked up to Murray’s Bagels for breakfast to go – onion bagel with cream cheese and bacon (yes, bacon – I never claimed to be kosher). Sadly, I once again neglected to order any rugelach for an afternoon snack. Oh well – I decided to stop by Rocco’s for one of their amazing cannoli.
Imagine my disappointment to find they are closed and undergoing extensive renovations – as demanded by the Health Department. Apparently, a more apt name would’ve been Ratso’s… Oh well. I read about a new French macaron place on the LES. Maybe I’ll take a walk over there this afternoon…
But one commenter wondered about the appropriate time to drink liquor-enhanced coffee – in the morning isn’t really appropriate for most who work for a living and after work means the caffeine will keep you up all night. Punkahontas had this trenchant observation:
Maybe for brunch? Daytime drinking is like being on vacation! From your life!
Were truer words ever spoken? I think not. And now, I’m going “on vacation”…
SF is slowly but surely improving things for cyclists – and it’s actually a very bike friendly city already! But NYC’s “complete streets” approach is quite amazing. I look forward to SF having things like bike lanes physically separated from automobile traffic; more (and better enforced) dedicated transit lanes; and traffic calming features.
Of course, I’m also very jealous that NYC’s terrain is so flat. No need for The Wiggle!
On the CBS Early Show this morning, I heard a “reporter” start his “report” thusly: “After revelations that her husband fathered a love child, Maria Shriver has not gone into hiding.”
That hussy! How dare she attempt to lead her life and continue to appear in public? I mean, clearly, if she had been performing her wifely duties, Arnie wouldn’t have been forced to look elsewhere to satisfy his needs. What alternative did he have? Really, Maria, if you had any self-respect, you’d just take the veil and withdraw to a nunnery.
Yeesh – the breathtaking coverage of this non-story is horrible. First there’s the fact that it is not actually news. Two public figures who are married are getting a divorce because one of them couldn’t keep his dick in his pants (or wear a condom). So what?
Beyond that is the tone of the reports – both prudish and salacious simultaneously. I mean, Jesus – “love child”? Who says that outside of a Douglas Sirk movie? Though I suppose I ought to be grateful that the kid isn’t being referred to as the “bastard son”.
Other highly important news of the day included “Queen Declines Pint of Guiness” and “Oprah Saluted By Cavalcade of Stars.” I guess maybe the rapture really is coming this Saturday…
I’m tempted to just end the post there, because really how can you top a fucking knitted skeleton? Really you can’t. But I’m happy to report that knitting/performance artist Ben Cuevas is actually rather sexy – and one of his other projects is called Jock Strap and consists of him sitting nude in a locker room while knitting a jock strap for himself. He is “commenting on the notion of woman’s work vs man’s work and appropriate activities within gender bondaries” – which is indeed a compelling and fascinating subject. But he is also naked!
The consensus among the commenters was that there was a decided dearth of things one would actually take from a burning house: family members, pets and external hard drive and/or laptop. And maybe keys and a phone, if you’re super-organized. The other consensus was that the folks who posted the lists were insufferable.
But maevemalone hit the nail on the head with this comment. Every cat owner will agree…
Trying to catch my cat would probably end with me being found as a pile of ashes under my bed, with a handful of singed cat hair in my fingertips. She’d survive somehow, of course.
But to be honest – isn’t that how we’d want it? Also, be sure to read the original post. The comments are hilarious (including mine, obv).
It’s well known that there’s no accounting for taste. This, along with the what often seems like the innate stupidity of many (most?) people, means that there are those who see the name “Trump” appended to poorly-constructed, creatively-financed, architecturally-uninspired and often faux-gilded condos as a positive and desirable thing – enough so that they will part with their own hard-earned (or hard-borrowed) money to purchase one of these tract-Taj-Mahal-ettes.
“The last thing you ever expect is that somebody you revere will mislead you,” said Alex Davis, 38, who bought a $500,000 unit in Trump International Hotel and Tower Fort Lauderdale.
Yes, Mr. Davis – that is certainly the last thing I would ever expect. Especially from The Donald! He positively exudes bright orange pancake makeup trustworthiness.
As flabbergasting as this is, it gets worse. “Trump University” (hahahaha! Try saying that with a straight face!) has been accused of “offering classes that are little more than extended ‘infomercials'”.
“It was almost completely worthless,” said Jeffrey Tufenkian, 49, who along with his wife, Sona, enrolled in a $35,000 “Gold Elite” class at Trump University to jump-start a career in real estate.
You know I remember when “Gold Elite” really meant something. Not anymore, apparently – just empty words.
From Michael K at Dlisted, re. Sarah Jessica Parkers new ‘do:
Normally, I’m into hair that makes a ho look like she’s trying to steal Falcon Crest from Jane Wyman, but SJP is not doing it.
Then there was this apparently-serious opinion piece in WaPo, in which the writer was shocked – SHOCKED! – to discover her completely-unique-one-of-a-kind-never-before-seen wedding dress from 1991 had been literally and exactly copied by Kate Middleton.
I remember well discovering Spy in 1987. The first issue I read had a fantastic write-up on “Yuppie porn” – the objectification of objects. It was hilarious and spot-on – and I suppose especially relevant to me as a shop clerk toiling at Bullock’s in Westwood, where I was quite adept at selling yuppie porn standard-bearers-of-the-time like Calphalon cookware and a teakettle that was lovely to look at but horribly inconvenient to use (I never ceased to be amazed that people would willingly and regularly pay $120 in 1980s dollars for such a thing!)
To this day, I still recall some of the truly excellent/cruel/accurate descriptions they appended to the names of various public figures: hookerish-looking Beverly Hills wife Candy Spelling; actress-singer-dancer-tigress-survivor Joey Heatherton; short-fingered vulgarian Donald Trump; Queens-born casino operator Donald Trump; evil, unconvicted perjurer Roy Cohn; elderly gossip stenographer Liz Smith.
And here’s a cartoon that is as fresh and funny today as it was 20 years ago.