I tried to tell them that we were too old to go apple-picking, but did they listen? No. They made me pack up that Sunday and head out to old Whitmore Farm like we were in one of those subway ads for ZipCar featuring all of those beautiful, multi-ethnic friends. And did I complain when the weather dramatically changed the second we got there and a bunch of ominous clouds rolled in? You bet I did. And I rolled my eyes at the “prize-winning” pumpkin patch, barely stifled a yawn at the cider press, and washed my hands disdainfully after the petting zoo.
Oh what, was that free apple doughnut [...]
This November, when you go to the polls, vote Derek Ferguson for Boyfriend. Derek is a young man who…
Knows the local IPAs.
Agrees that big weddings are outdated.
Always has cutting-edge facial hair.
Will go to brunch with you and all your friends…even when he’s super hungover.
Owns and often uses a typewriter…to write actual letters.
Reads all the right pop-culture blogs…but not before you do.
It always happens the same way. I'm minding my business when, suddenly, a shout: "Look! It's Tim Roth!!!"
No. For once and for all, no. I am not Tim Roth. I am Senator Mitch McConnell.
I guess Tim Roth and I share a passing resemblance. People say we look alike. But it's starting to get old. Every day it's, "I loved you in Reservoir Dogs!" or, "Boy did you deserve that Best Supporting Actor nomination for Rob Roy!" or, "Dude, you're the British Guy in Pulp Fiction! Honey Bunny Guy!" I'm not. I'm United States Senate Minority Leader Guy. I'm Relentlessly Filibuster Executive and Judicial Appointments Guy.
Even as someone who isn't Tim Roth's [...]
And how’re brass knuckles out but live-tweeting’s in?
Sharing 140 strategic characters with your preppie chums, in real time? Posting Vines on how to properly full nelson unsuspecting Greasers? Sounds plenty weaponized to me.
Naturally our gang ain’t savvy on Socs media.
Now if MySpace blogging were still permitted, we’d be aces. Ain’t a crew around can beat a Grease blogging. Give us a pack of Lucky Strikes and we’d knock off 200 pages about tough Stingray cruisers and gold n' silver sunsets, no sweat.
Wasn’t long ago you could blog, swing bicycle chains and wield busted pop bottles—all in open-toed shoes. And if your beef was with a [...]