Rhonda Westenberger, her sister Evelyn, and their five dogs are all safe and sound after a scary house fire — and they have their baby to thank for it.
How do you respond to a New York Times piece that illustrates, in depth, the essential un-usability of your hot new $100,000 high-performance electric sedan? If you're Elon Musk, Tesla Motors CEO, you do what any good tech executive does when he wants to appeal to an audience of geeks: You dump a lot of data.
The cold hard truth is that kids who major in business are generally considered to be kind of dumb. Not by us, mind you, but by, you know, people in the world of business. "A business major is a big fucking waste of time," is the consensus opinion of those people that business majors will soon be asking for jobs. Now, the penchant for "telling it like it is" when it comes to majoring in business has come to an unlikely place: business school.
Getting dumped on Valentine's Day. Happens to the best of us.
To market its brand of "Stress Protect" deodorant, German skin and body care company Nivea (or, rather, their ad agency) came up with a hilarious marketing "prank" wherein innocent people are transformed into wanted criminals through the use of fake newspapers, public service announcements, and breaking news broadcasts.
Mistakes. We all make them, it's understandable, forgivable, a part of human nature even. But when there's a particular irony to said mistake, it makes it nearly impossible not to mock that mistake, and there's nothing more ironic than an institution of higher learning misspelling its own damn name.
Atherton, CA.
Jonah Lehrer, promising young golden boy of Gladwellian think-journalism, has had a bad eight months. Caught plagiarizing himself last June; soon after, caught fabricating quotes, and forced to resign from his plum gig at the New Yorker, and rapidly cast out of the chosen fold to wander the wilderness as a sort of fallen angel. Even the Knight Foundation, which just this week paid Lehrer $20K for his big mea culpa speech, is already saying that it regrets doing so. Some are urging him to donate the money to charity. All in all, his no doubt meticulously-planned return to the spotlight has fallen flat.
It's obvious that you're what's hot right now. Producers blowing up your phone, agents fighting over you (publicly, too; how embarrassing — for them), maître d's practically mauling themselves on strategically-placed fici (plural of ficus) to get you the best table at restaurants with the word "bungalow" in their names. And all those texts from Famous Serial Dater/Oscar Nominee? Sooooo annoying. You're a serious artiste (you wear glasses, even!), not a flavor-of-the-month starlet.
Randi Zuckerberg is writing two books — one to guide you, and one to guide your children.
Twenty-year-old Mark is the Bill Henrickson of a polyamorous compound of inflatable pool toys. One of them, Leila the Dragon is "like a wife" to him, with some of the sweetest eyes and smile that, quite frankly, Mark has ever seen. Like his fellow looner, Dave who was profiled last year on Nat Geo's Taboo, Mark keeps a pure, non-sexual relationship with the inanimate objects he loves.
Bad: You've got a song stuck in your head. Worse: It's "How Much is that Doggie in the Window." Worst: It's been stuck in your head for the past three years.
FreedomWorks, the influential Tea Party political action committee, has fallen on hard times since its former chair Dick Armey staged a literal armed coup in an ultimately unsuccessful attempt to wrest control from president Matt Kibbe. It's a shame, too, because they were doing such good work—like making experimental films featuring a panda performing oral sex on Hillary Clinton!
The first rule of seafood is, "if you see food, you eat it."
