Guess which one quickly became laden with joke posts like this: I saw Rod Stewart, Tim Biakabatuka, Master P and a disheveled priest playing hacky-sack outside of the Wendy’s at Five Points. None were wearing any pants. Guess which one had its link taken down for a while, no doubt to expunge, oh, most likely this post: I met Mitch Albom at Vipers the other night. He was making up stories and pretending to listen to people when they talked to him. He told me it’s a lot harder writing for the Freep now that he has to stick to the facts and can’t embellish crap anymore.
Someone always wants to stick it to the Man, eh?
Just to show you the so-called MSM does a lot right, though: This story, a depressing but somehow comical look at the culture of passed-out and shitfaced teen drinking.
Day three of Super Bowl week. I am catching the excitement. I mean: the excitement! It was so exciting today. I got my hair cut. My hairdresser is precisely the demographic for this week — young, pretty, hip.
“Are you catching the excitement?” I asked.
“I guess I’m not star-struck,” she said. Not going to the game, not interested in the parties, not even. She’s too busy trying to plan her wedding. We discussed Em and Kim’s recent nuptials, and agreed Kim made the right move by going back to brunette.
Others are pretty star-struck, however. “I hear Hef has the house at the corner of Jefferson and” I-can’t-remember, one of my neighbors said. While I guess it might be amusing to drive past the house and hope for a glimpse of Hef in his jammies, I…don’t think so.
Posting may be a bit half-hearted this week. Getting adjusted to a new routine, and as usual, it’s happening in a crush-busy fortnight.