Lots of people keep diaries. Lots of diary-keepers even write things down in multiple diaries, spanning years—thoughts that are meant for them alone. And yet, some of these diaries see the light of paparazzi cameras and heck, congressional hearings. Like this one:
Grabbed Tracy Gorman behind the Xerox machine today and she got a little pissed. What's the big deal? I was smiling while I did it. She made this big stink about it and it took me about two hours and a couple of thousand dollars to calm her down. I have one question — if she didn't want me to feather her nest, why did she come into the Xerox room? Sure, she used that old excuse that she had to make copies of the Brady Bill, but if you believe that, I have a room full of radical feminists you can boff. She knew I was copying stuff in there. I had my jacket off and my sleeves rolled up, revealing the well-defined musculature of my sinewy arms which are always bulging with desire. I know what she wanted. This didn't require a lot of thought.
Best Friends Forever is a Minneapolis-based band comprised of, you guessed it, best friends. Jessica Lee Seamans and Briana Jennifer Smith met when they were in fifth grade and have been playing in bands together for over a decade. They started out with a Smashing Pumpkins cover band, experimented with instrumental math rock, and then formed Best Friends Forever in 2003.
Advertisements for dinner-related items are almost always loaded with gender weirdness. The doting mom cooks for her nuclear family, and they love her for it–thanks to the help of whatever fantastic instant food item is being showcased. This is such a well-worn commercial trope that we often don't notice it unless it is absent, which is (sort of) the case with the latest campaign from Stouffer's: Let's Fix Dinner.
Of Katherine Heigl's box office currency in Killers–the disappointing rom-com action flick now bombing in a theater near you–Time magazine's Richard Corliss had this to say:
[Katherine Heigl] has come close to the traditional definition of a star: someone who will get people to pay to see her in bad movies.
The article goes on to deconstruct why the derivative spy rom-com isn't performing up to expectations, which weren't particularly high to begin with. While some exploration of seasonal box office precedent–early June is the largely the time for gross-out comedies–is legitimate, Killers misses the mark for one specific reason: the filmmakers' failure to understand what constitutes successful use of the "So I married a secret agent" trope.
I had the occasion to visit Juneau, the capitol of Alaska, last August, and within five minutes of seeing the city, declared that McCain's people must have lost their continence when they landed there, knowing that no way was this Sarah Palin thing going to end up well. Because honestly, the place is so small, so isolated, so everything that Washington, DC isn't, that there would have to be armies of people on hand to get Ms. Palin up to speed on how to run a vice presidential campaign. And in hindsight, it's a lot to expect of anyone that teams of condescending DC staffers wouldn't produce some bitterness. Just maybe not the kind of bitterness Palin is dishing out in her ghostwritten memoir.
Then I started pinpointing where my discomfort rested: though people—including me—sexualized Mr. Gore (on Twitter, at least) either as object of lust or of sexual derision, rarely did I hear anyone say the same either way about Ms. Gore.