Two of the world's top human beings, Sarah Jessica Parker and Victoria Beckham, found themselves at the crux of an Internet rumor Thursday. It seems people have decided that these ladies, both of whom like (and are frequently spotted wearing) clothing, are collaborating on a new celebrity fashion line.
As the 2012 presidential election approaches, pundits are talking a whole lot of game about civil rights, the economy, and (big one coming up Thursday) healthcare. Meanwhile, the American people care about one issue and one issue only:
He said that he was 28, had just come out of the closet last year, and he enjoyed pissing on guys and hate-fucking. We were at Barracuda in Chelsea, and after about 30 minutes of talking, he told me that he'd love to fuck me but he has a boyfriend but could he get my number just in case? Sure.
Absolutely no one is watching CNN anymore. The network has just posted figures for the second quarter of this year and, hoo-boy, they are terrible. A 40 percent drop in prime-time ratings since last year. The worst performance ever for a second quarter. Even CNN's mom has stopped watching it though she lies and says she still tunes in, like that kind of coddling is going to help anyone. If things continue on this path, our children will have no knowledge of the Cable News Network as we know it. To them, CNN will refer only to Ciennen, a popular girl from their kindergarten class.
Screenwriter Nora Ephron seems to have passed away, according to this uncomfortably indeterminate column by her friend Liz Smith that just appeared on the internet. Her former close friend Margo Howard also writes on Twitter that Ephron passed away from cancer, and that a funeral is scheduled for Thursday. [Update: We're told it has now been pushed back until after the Fourth of July.] According to the Observer, Ephron's representatives are not commenting on Smith's column.
America's women, once famed the world over for their purity and tended lovingly by husbands in their kitchens to preserve their precious virtue, are now little more than a gaggle of slatternly harlots, screeching for ever-shorter shorts in a neverending quest to expose greater and greater quantities of naked flesh on their soft, supple upper thighs.
If you haven't read any of the vicious reviews for Aaron Sorkin's The Newsroom—that heartwarming new HBO show about a rich white man who finally finds the COURAGE to be an opinionated dipshit on TV—go read them. They're a hater's delight (Dan Rather's excepted), and they must have gotten under Aaron Sorkin's onion peel-thin skin, because he took time over the weekend to be a complete asshole to Toronto Globe and Mail writer Sarah Nicole Prickett. But before insulting her, he of course had to make a grand statement about WRITING and about WHAT AARON SORKIN THINKS OF THE WORLD TODAY:
Fabulously wealthy CEO whisperer and newspaper columnist Thomas Friedman is little more than a human-shaped random word generator programmed with the "Computers and Internet" section of a fourth-grade vocabulary textbook and fitted with a mustache. He writes one single column, sometimes using different proper nouns or cycling through slightly new platitudes, in order to allow a new headline to be written. The Only Thomas Friedman Column That Exists—which ran right on schedule yesterday—opens like this:
The great American pastime of reading musicians' touring demands now encompasses the current crop of electronic producer/DJs under the stylistic umbrella of "EDM." The blog EDMsnob has leaked a host of riders from the likes of David Guetta, Afrojack, Paul Van Dyk, DJ Pauly D and current Rolling Stone cover mask-wearer deadmau5. Some of these are years old, and most of them are not unreasonable at all, but there are amusing tidbits to be gleaned. Here are a few:
Today was Big Decision Day at the Supreme Court, and though we'll have to wait until next week for the long-awaited healthcare decision, the justices threw us a bone by finding the Federal Communications Commission's indecency standards unconstitutionally vague [pdf]. Get ready for some hardcore broadcast teevee fuckin'!
Do you ever watch Downton Abbey and think "That's the life for me," only, for some reason, you are referring to the miserable lives of the drab little servants rather than the opulent, ennui-filled ones of the well-heeled Crawleys?
Andrew Sarris, the charmingly disputatious Village Voice and New York Observer film critic who helped make New York's film community in the '70s and '80s a cauldron of intrigue and joyous rhetorical sniping, died this morning after suffering a fall. He was, as the Times put it, an "intellectual duelist" whose frequent battles with rival Pauline Kael didn't stop him from inviting her to his wedding to Molly Haskell. Kael declined: "That's OK. I'll go to Molly's next wedding." (Haskell and Sarris remained married; she is his only survivor.)
A recent study out of New Zealand, a Middle-earth soaked through to its very core with mead, has discovered that alcohol is often depicted in music videos.
Troubled actor Nick Stahl, who went missing for several days last month, has once again disappeared according to his wife Rose.
Bob Woodward and Carl Bernstein's investigation into the origins of the Watergate break-in—which took place 40 years ago yesterday—is one of the most highly mythologized episodes in the history of journalism. It represents the Platonic ideal of what journalism-with-a-capital-J ought to be, at least according to its high priesthood—sober, careful young men doggedly following the story wherever it leads and holding power to account, without fear or favor. It was also a sloppy, ethically dubious project the details of which would mortify any of the smug high priests of journalism that flourished in its wake. The actual Watergate investigation could never have survived the legacy it helped create.
