To All the Good Boys and Girls of Earth, Elfish Season’s Greetings!
It sure has been an elfishly busy year up here at the North Pole, and we sure do have a whole elfish bunch of holy-jolly, super-duper surprises, in a whole elfish bunch of different elfish shapes, colors, and sizes! Read more at The Huffington Post.
I’m not sure where to begin with any of this, so I may as well begin with the opening line of an email that I sent to my friends.
For reasons that I could not explain in 10,000 words or less, on January 4 (i.e., if all goes according to plan, later today), I am moving down to the Pacific Coast of Costa Rica for three months or less, spending the first month earning my yoga certification.
I have now spent more than three months down here and feel that if I were forced to point to any one reason for remaining in this place, and to describe that reason in 10,000 words or less, it may as well begin with the pain coming from my neck. Read more at The Huffington Post.
Like many a city-dweller engaged in the journey from one place to the next, it seems as though I’m in a constant state of motion. If you were to see me heading west on 23rd Street, and then dashing across the park, and then jumping down the stairs — two, sometimes three at a time — of the N/R Station outside the Flatiron, you might think I was just another harried citizen, running typically (read: insanely) late for an appointment, annoyed by any impediments or hindrances he might encounter along the way — specifically, the tourists outside of Eataly.
The thing is, I’m not late. I walk fast. Very fast. Even for a New Yorker. And so, to this day, I continue on — my eyes to the ground, my head bobbing from side to side, a pair of 1987-chic, grey Sony headphones plugged into my iPhone, a perpetually overstuffed tote bag slung over one shoulder — at velocities just short of a run.
Such would be the end of my story if it weren’t for one small detail: I’m no longer in New York. Read more at The Huffington Post.
If too many cooks spoil a broth, then how many fashion designers does it take to cause a meltdown? Just one, and her name is Sp*rkle.
This past Saturday, at the opulently spledorifically magnificentesimal Villa di Waterloo Station du Palais-Royal de Lincoln Center d’Oyster Bay Expressway, the who’s who of the crème de la crème de la crème (de la crème) of the crème de menthe of the écureuil dans un chapeau particulièrement adorable of the fashion world gathered to bask in the certain radiant glow of magic and delight and whimsy that is Sp*rkle.
People not of the fashion world (kindergarteners, botanists, Jacobins) certainly might remember Sp*rkle from her tweenage heartthrob days, that former Mouseketeer turned singer-songwriter, turned songwriter-actress-director-producer, turned producer-stunt-coordinator-caterer-DJ-taxidermist-ping-pong-champion (non-sexual), turned several dozen other hyphenated things, too. For those living in a cave — especially caves that don’t receive Women’s Wear Daily — her name had been buzzing around the runways and editorial offices, and certainly not just because of the asterisk in the middle of it. No, this was because Sp*rkle had recently decided to take a stab at fashion. Read more at The Huffington Post.
Are you a family searching for an escape from the hustle and bustle (or current lack of electricity and running water) of city living? A young novelist, seeking the isolation and inspiration of the rural countryside? Or perhaps a group of spring breakers and/or recent high school graduates and/or documentary filmmakers, young and nubile and in no way expecting anything out of the ordinary, out for a weekend of beer and sex and fun?
Then look no further than this fabulous, one of a kind Victorian mansion, located on several prime acres of remote fog-shrouded swamp-forest that, for some peculiar reason, doesn’t exist on modern maps. With its soaring ceilings, mahogany finishes and original fixtures (666 of them in all), you could positively, inescapably get lost in this 13 BR, 13 BA gem! Perfect for children, pets, living entities of just about any kind, it’s the luxury of peace and quiet (which in no way arrests or obstructs the laws of nature as you know them despite any anecdotal evidence to the contrary) that you truly deserve! Read more at The Huffington Post.
Ladies and gentlemen, my fellow Americans. Remember me? That’s right, it’s President Bill Clinton. No spooky holograms, no wooden chairs. But enough about Paul Ryan.
What an honor it is to be back here tonight, in front of you, as plain old Bill, president before that other guy who nobody — and I mean nobody — wants to talk about, especially the Republicans. And remember the ’90s? That wonderful time when I was president, when everybody was watching The Real World, doing the “Macarena,” earning heaping gobs of cash, when our biggest worry was whether or not we’d be spending our budget surplus on tax breaks or NATO Allied Command Operations air strikes against Ken Starr and the old Office of the Independent Council. Back then, we didn’t even have cell phones to call those things in. Now we have cell phones and iPhones and GPS and TiVo and all sorts of other newfangled devices. It boggles the mind. Read more at The Huffington Post.
The United Kingdom of England, Scotland, Wales, Northern Ireland and Denmark (long story) is most honoured, indeed, to be hosting the 2012 Olympic Games. From the same people who brought you William Shakespeare, Winston Churchill, Magna Charta (Google it), an assortment of castles, palaces and royal cousins, Westminster Abbey, Downton Abbey and One Direction comes the grand and glorious spectacle that is the 2012 Opening Ceremonies, all in celebration of the sweeping cultural contributions and peaceful international presence of the British peoples, paying no particular attention to our military history from, say, 1604 to 1948.
For those of our foreign guests, dignitaries, officials and athletes arriving from over 150 foreign countries (i.e., anywhere east of Bexley) who were able to avoid any ongoing airport, bus, catamaran, plane, train or automobile strikes by choosing an alternate means of transportation (e.g., dirigible, catapult, British Airways) and thereby managed to make it inside the United Kingdom despite the best efforts by the agents of Her Majesty’s Immigration Services (all six of them) to keep each and every one of you out, welcome! For those of you stuck at some point along the way, please be patient. With time, the problem will surely resolve itself. Read more at The Huffington Post.
Some wonderful news! To mark the release of all seven volumes of Harry Potter in eBook format, the Norton Library, in conjunction with David Cameron’s Big Society and J.K. Rowling’s No Child-Actor Left Behind initiative, is pleased to announce the release of its very own, definitive Norton Critical Edition ofHarry Potter!
Produced with the British Government to offset any economic fallout from hosting the Olympic Games, painstakingly researched by some of the best literary minds at Oxford and Cambridge because on-location filming of the Harry Potter series is over and tourists just don’t visit like they used to and please help us, and compiled under the watchful eyes of our Norton editors now that all interest in Dryden and Milton has dried up because everybody’s spending their time and money on ridiculous new contraptions upon which to play that even more ridiculous Angry Birds Guitar Warcraft Move Dance Dance game or whatever it’s called while they’re all hopped up on Skittles and Pepsi-Cola even though it’s three o’clock in the morning and some people have to go to work the next day and are trying to get some sleep, we’ve completely lost track of this sentence. The point being: Child actors don’t feed themselves, and Ms. Rowling’s castle needs a bigger moat. Read more at The Huffington Post.
After a year and a half hiatus, AMC is pleased to announce the return of its hit television series Mad Men. It’s the same critically acclaimed show that audiences know and love, following the trials and tribulations of love, life and work in the 1960s, though this season, there’s going to be a whole lot more, including musical numbers, celebrity judges and real housewives of pretty much everywhere.
The Emmy nominated and Golden Globe award-winning cast returns for the two-hour season premiere, with John Hamm, Elisabeth Moss, January Jones, John Slattery, Christina Hendricks, Justin Bieber, Taylor Lautner, Ricky Gervais, Michael “The Situation” Sorrentino, Sidney Poitier, Hulk Hogan, Joan Fonda as the ghost of Ida Blankenship, and Kim Kardashian as the kind and gentle king of the sea, Flipper. After the mid-trimesterly season finale, occurring approximately 17 minutes into the fourth episode so that cast, crew and caterers can re-re-renegotiate their contracts, the regular players will be joined by more than a smattering of zombies, muppets and teenage vampires. Look! It’s Lindsay Lohan! What’s she doing here? Hard to say. Read more at The Huffington Post.
A series of tweets based upon the trials and tribulations of life at Downton Abbey.
Isn’t it wonderful how we’re friends! Save that you’re the friend who fetches tea, empties my chamber pot & bathes me. #DowntonAbbeyProblems
First cousins make for excellent bedfellows! (So long as there’s a sizable country estate in play.)#DowntonAbbeyProblems
Please feel free to call us by our given names, the Right Honourable Robert & Cora, Earl & Countess of Grantham. #DowntonAbbeyProblems
Ain’t no roses like the Dowager Countess’s Roses. #Fact #DowntonAbbeyProblems
Read more at The Huffington Post.
We’re so happy you’ve decided to spend Thanksgiving dinner with us! In order to ensure the dinner proceeds as smoothly as possible, we ask that you please take a moment to complete the following questionnaire. Mark your answers clearly with a Number 2 pencil, and return this form to your hosts at your earliest convenience. Gobble, gobble!
□ It’s complicated
□ To be resolved during the course of the dinner
Read more at The Huffington Post.
Late last night, and based on my Twitter feed alone, I suddenly realized that while there sure are a lot of former New Yorkers down in Florida — mostly the old and infirm, driving along our highways in tank-like cars, at speeds that barely approach those attained while riding a bicycle — there doesn’t seem to be a lot of Floridians up in New York. This is a sorry state of affairs, especially with a hurricane approaching our fair city. And as we begin to batten down the hatches, and as increasingly shrill anchorpersons fill our airwaves with talk of tropical weather patterns, I can’t help but wonder: Who will be the voice of reason, the bellwether of calm and clarity, during these dark and stormy times? Read more at The Huffington Post.
This is CNFMNSTV, the most reliable source for up-to-the-minute financial news from Wall Street and around the world, with far more letters than any other cable financial network, and hosted by our crackshot team of economists, gurus, and wizards — literally. Reporting live with your mid-day market report are anchors Stewart Brownberg and Andrea Chavez, Wall Street analyst Vince Robertson, and Udurtar-gul-ana, our CNFMNSTV Babylonian bārû-priest.
BROWNBERG: Welcome to Lightning Brunch, where we give you behind-the-scenes coverage and in-depth analysis of today’s financial headlines, mostly through the art of restating the obvious.
CHAVEZ: Aligning bad news with bad developments and good news with good developments.
BROWNBERG: All the while striving to ignore any nuance to the naturally reactive cycles of free-market economies, but always bearing in mind our ethical responsibility not to further exacerbate or in any way worsen the current financial predicament, especially through the shallow pursuit of hype or ratings, by willfully cultivating any sense of PANIIIIIIIIIIIIIC!!!!!!!!!! Read more at The Huffington Post.
A Brief Working Theory as to the Socio-Semiotic Lexicographic Post-Structuralist Aesthetic Paleographic Mechanisms of Twitter, afterWittgenstein. #Glee
1 Twitter is everything that is the case.
1.1 Twitter consists of tweets, which are general statuses of states of affairs.
1.2 The general status of everything is is that is the case.
1.21 The general status of everything is not wasor will be; there is limited past and no future to a tweet.
1.3 The status is the totality of the tweets.
1.4 The status is determined by the tweets, and by these being all of the tweets, though there are a few more coming through right now.
1.41 Would everyone please stop tweeting for a moment; I know that Glee is on, but I’m trying to have a rational thought here.
Read more at The Huffington Post.
In our family, to think of Roger Federer as anything but the greatest player in the history of the game of tennis is nothing short of heresy; to extol his virtues would be like trying to fit one more angel on the head of a pin. And this was it, Federer versus Robin Soderling at the 2009 French Open, a historical event on par with witnessing Lord Nelson versus Napoleon at Trafalgar, Henry V versus Charles d’Albret at Agincourt. Now, Federer’s grail, his first win at the French Open, lay in sight, and with that victory, a chance at canonization like Saint Sampras before him. The red clay at Roland Garros never looked so promising.
And then, during the second set, with Soderling to serve, a man wearing a red shirt leaped from the bleachers and descended onto the court and ran up to Federer and put a hat on our hero’s head. My father was following the match on a very high definition television, a device which renders all sporting events and nature shows so immediate that fifteen minutes in, I get a headache and have to remove my glasses. Thus, I was in the next room, watching on a far less resolute screen, as security guards chased down the spectator. Then a more familiar disruption of play took place: The phone rang. After years of such calls, I already knew who it was, and already knew not to pick up the phone. Read more at The Huffington Post.