Sullivan is right about who else is being outed in this election. And I can trace the beginning of the end to the Reagan years, when an editor at the NYT came charging over to the copy desk after seeing a story on feeding the homeless in DC: "We can't run this! It makes Washington sound like Calcutta."
Goodbye, truth. Hello, Chimp and worse. Karma's a bitch.
But the kicker has to be the most horseshit ever tacked onto a story. How in the world would a writer know what older people were going home to dream about in a city where she can't pronounce the pasta names? (Also like the reference to panini sandwiches. Sorta like frutta fruit. Copy editors need to get out more.)
Finally, a story comes close to revealing why all street fairs are alike. But rather than talking about the unnamed "three production companies," it natters on about whether or not people like the damn things. Maybe they should have killed Metro rather than simply burying it.
as we know it? What amazed me in researching a story this week was how expensive these mass-market restaurants are. Fifteen dollars for an effen chicken Caesar?
For real perspective, though, click through the slide show. Yikes.
How do they cram the genie back in the bottle once they've lost and go back to their multiple homes? Pow's sugar mama can always steal drugs to get her through the night. What the hell are we supposed to do? My friend's casita in Uruguay is going to be as crowded as the A train. . . .
And I found it just after a radically brave cookbook author emailed to say she had just eaten testicles in Paris and when I was just wondering whether to write Pow McSame to ask: Finally, have you no sense of dignity?
Who knew New Orleans was a hotbed of what I grew up eating in Arizona? Be interesting to see how the real deal evolves there with immigration.
to the travesty, but I will say: Johnny Rotten he is not.