I am wearing pads of cottons over my baby blues, so damaged are my eyes from watching John Boehner in High Definition last night. That was my fault. I should not turned to a HD channel. I just didn’t think of it, you know? One minute I was chillin’ on the couch, playing with my new Droid3, the next minute this spectacular glow filled the living room, eclipsing the glow from my Yankee candles, exploding forward, washing over me, filling my brain like the juice of a radioactive orange. I shall heal. Worry you not about me. Continue reading
Karyn
133 posts
The way radio used to be
The nation wouldn’t save much if pay for Senators and Representatives were cut in half, pensions ended, and health care eliminated, so that lawmakers had to buy their own health insurance. But it would be a nice symbolic gesture, no? What do I know. I write headlines. Continue reading
I hate feet.
Oh, sure, they’re nifty for walking about. I use mine every day! But I hate them. I hate the look of them. Toenails. Think skin. Heels. I get pedicures every once in a while and I despise the sensation. I feel terrible about thrusting my my feet at someone’s hands and face for filing and moisturizing and painting. It’s a te thing to do to a human.
I won’t wear sandals in the summer. I abhore summer because everyone else is wearing sandals, and I have to see their feet. My husband loves his flip flops and his Jesus mandals. He wanders around our apartment barefoot. Every once in a while I’ll look up to find his foot in his face, his toes wiggling, and him exclaiming, “look at this! Don’t I have perfect arches? Don’t I?” He laughs manically as I scream and wiggle away. You just can’t trust a redhead.
I never walk around barefoot. I like big fluffy socks that make me look like a yeti.
It is one of the reasons I long for fall. The sandals will go away. Socks shall be donned. My cowboy boots will come out. And all shall be right with the world.
The above video sequence is dedicated to the people of Boston, our fashion choices, and boobookitty
Hello. It is extremely hot today. It is going to be approximately 3,000 degrees today in New York City. I am closing all my shades, cranking up the A/C, and building myself an igloo in a kiddie pool. I will sit here naked, watching a marathon of Arrested Development and writing headlines for you. Continue reading
Hello! It’s going feel like it’s over 100 degrees in NYC today. This is the day I have to wear a fucking suit and pantyhose. AND PANTYHOSE. You men who do not cross dress have no idea. Continue reading
I got mad media moguls, batshit politicians, snakeheads, crazed salads, cartoon characters rocking you like a hurricane, and my idol J. Jonah Jameson, who is actually not that far off from how I act when I’m on the anchor desk.
Good morning, sunshines. Continue reading
Do you know what those damn cats did to me today? They conned me out of two breakfasts. First the Papa-Kitty came home from his overnight shift, and fed them. Then the little fuckers woke me up with their sad, plaintive meows, and I fed them, not knowing the Papa-Kitty was home. This, after yesterday’s Drug Incident, where it looked like the Buster and Amelia downed one of my anti-seizure pills, a medical emergency that wound up costing me $125.00. This is why I have to work. So here are your headlines. Continue reading
This happens to me far to often:
“Hey, Newsbunny! Want to come out tonight?”
“I can’t. I have to work early.”
“Oh, C’mon. How early could you possibly have to work?”
“Four AM.” Continue reading
Certainly, I’ve been more bored in my life. Usually, as a journalist, I’m being paid to be bored to death. This time, at this conference on how health care industries can use social media to enhance their public relations and marketing, I had paid almost two hundred bucks to observe massive piles of old news.
There was, of course, the gigantic movie-style screen on the center of the stage of the auditorium of the midtown facility, showing endless PowerPoint slides. Continue reading
It’s just too hot. My shoes melted yesterday. It was terrible. I was glued to 34th St. No one brought me water. I lived off the liquid left in discarded Starbucks cups until the sun went down and I could work myself free and get home and watch reruns of Star Trek: The Next Generation in the cool comfort of my over air-conditioned apartment while writing these headlines pour vous. Continue reading