Oh, Dan, I'm so relieved. I was worried sick that you might write about index funds. This is the kind of thing that keeps single Manhattan broads with no twins up all night.
I'm frankly still recovering from the Sunday gab shows. Imagine my horror when I realized that that strange clicking sound wasn't Linda Tripp chewing gum, but Ross Perot--who wound him up?--who apparently has stopped orbiting Mars long enough to touch down for a Ginsburgian tour of the airwaves, to declare poor Bill Clinton "mentally ill" and "on drugs." ("Are you saying that he's taking drugs now?" asked Tim Russert.) It ruined my otherwise blissful Sunday morning routine of scouring the Times' style section for first-time brides over the age of 37 whose husbands aren't total losers.
Dan, I'm so grateful that you directed me to today's supplement in the Times--which I had already tossed out, along with the sports section which I am boycotting until the deification of Darryl Strawberry comes to an end. (Though I did enjoy the Times' snappy and sober chronology of the big moments in Darryl's life: Beat wife, snort coke, get thrown off team, beat wife, snort coke, get thrown off team, get cancer.) But about the celebrities who now confess to having read newspapers as children: "I wasn't sure," says Jon Bon Jovi, "whether I wanted to be a baseball player or an astronaut or a rock star." How did Meryl Streep get mixed up with that sorry crowd?
I'm bored to tears with the Schumer-D'Amato race. Once you've had Hillary Rodham Clinton call you a "Jesse Helms clone," everything else is anti-climactic, doncha think? I was, however, riveted by the B5 coverage of the "Pulaski Day Parade," during which supporters of Peter Vallone for Governor dressed up in hunting outfits and waved signs that said "Quack, quack" to "protest" George Pataki's ducking them--how clever--in the debates. Two questions: Whatever happened to real protests? And how did the Times reporter tell the difference between these fucking morons and the rest of the Pulaski Day participants?
As usual, I found my best morning inspiration (though it's already late in the day) on Page Six, where I learned that the author of a book on gay Hollywood has outed Jodie Foster (duh), but believes that Tom Cruise is straight. Right. And Darryl Strawberry is a fine American.
Try to keep your clothes on, Dan. And, I hate Linda Tripp.