Quite suddenly, I find myself hopping into my Zipcar (I feel so obnoxious showing up the garage down the street and telling the attendant, ‘I’ll have the Nissan today,'” or, “I’ll have the Prius today,”) and driving an hour, one way, to get my new alleged teaching gig.
I find myself needing songs.
Continue reading
I can smell the hosiery in the air. You see, I am in Target. And I have a target.
If the Fat Ladies don’t pounce on their hosiery needs now, when summer is not yet officially over, there will be no tights. You Skinny Minnies don’t understand. You don’t understand why I am here, growling, in the second week of September, ready to drop 200 hard-earned bucks on tights and fight to the death for the the privilege of doing so. I seize a choice red cart, slightly faded from spending too much time in the sun outside at the OK Carridge Corral, and head in. Continue reading
Sure, kids are cute.
I mean, look at them. With their dolls and trucks and…whatnot. Look at them, in their overalls and their little dresses and curls and skin as yet undamaged by the sun and all this shit we insist upon spewing into the atmosphere. I just don’t want to clean up after them. Continue reading
I got an instant message from one of the young writers in the newsroom yesterday (Saturday).
This one will tear your heart out, she wrote, sending me a cut of a boy, born less than a month after 9/11, speaking in Saint Patrick’s Cathedral on Saturday — a message to his firefighter father who died on that terrible day. Patrick Mate Lyon told that packed church, and all the cameras and microphones and pens taking notes he wished he could have known his dad. Continue reading
There may be New York plates on the cars I drive now, but I am a Boston Driver, born and bred.
Let me be clear for those who have never had the pleasure of driving with us Masshole license holders: We will kill you. My husband, who is from San Diego, is terrified to drive with me. He says he gets frightened when I yell at other drivers. First off, I say, if the motherfuckers didn’t deserve it, I wouldn’t have to yell. Second, it’s not like the motherfuckers can hear me. Continue reading
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WBvbzQfMNik
Newsrooms are not constantly bubbling cauldrons of activity, contrary to what you may have seen in the movies and TV. Most of the time, us news types are sitting around bitching about how nothing is going on.
Then the alarms start going off. Continue reading
Moammar Gadhafi’s son is, it appears, NOT in rebel custody after all, and is saying ‘neener-neener’ to the rebels. Continue reading
Our top story this morning is your beloved Newsbunny’s left eye being swollen shut after the Stray Cat Attack. Little Furry Bastard. You realize, of course, this means war.
There are other things going on. Continue reading