Frankly, I can’t believe the amount of mileage Party City is getting out of its license for Lou Bega’s “Mambo No. 5.” Can’t we just be done with this song?
Wherein I chronicle Hitch’s difficult relationship with funny women. At Hitchens’ Footprints. I happen to be married to a particularly funny women, and CH got it exactly wrong.
There was a point in time when I considered that a book contract was probably a better bet for me than graduate school. (How quaint and funny that time was.) I looked up to Verso because of their relationship with CH, and have actually thought about them since as possibly being a good venue for …
I cut into a mango and its fragrance hit me: a jungle redolent with sweet rhythm and baby sloth kisses. This is gonna be a good smoothie. The above is just a smear–an appitizer–compared to the full entree that is following me on Twitter.
My wife and I have been enthralled with our trips into the Hudson Valley, and lo and behold: the NYT is ON IT. I feel like I mostly make travel decisions based on where I can visit wearing my Ray-Bans without getting funny looks.
Well, well, well. It seems Dennis Rodman is even more of the diplomat than anyone expected. I’ve written a bit more on this fresh hell these new developments over at Hitchens’ Footprints.
With quite some difficulty, I’ve written a sort of photo-essay about Hitch’s battle with cancer at Hitchens’ Footprints. Searching for the photos to comprise the post made me re-address the sickening feeling that someone I care about (however abstractly) is feeling themselves erode and expire while still alive. Jacob Bernstein wrote movingly about this in …