Did you hear that they no longer publish Parade Magazine, America’s greatest guilty pleasure since 1941? Feels like a bigger loss than it probably should.
My buddies boost me, understand me, inspire me, disappointment me. It’s like owning a Welsh rugby club.
My buddy believes that the most-satisfying scene in movie history is the one of Steve Martin and John Candy lugging that trunk down a snowy street. Cheers to all that -- and more.
Call it Cupidity, a system of beliefs, kind of a pedagogy, that encourages kind gestures.
Is L.A. the loneliest and most brutal of American cities? Kerouac thought so. What do you think?
Finding love in L.A. is like finding iridium in rocks, quite rare but it happens. Iridium comes to Earth in meteorites. So does love. Be careful is all I’m saying.
For Halloween, my granddaughter dressed like Frida Kahlo, inspired by her own passion for Mexican Cubist painting. Or perhaps Catty Cakes just liked the pom-pon hat.
Look at me in the Ditka sweater vest I wore for Halloween. I look like a giant tube of testosterone, no? OK, no.
I love my granddaughter. I love goal-line stands. I love Karen Carpenter. Love is love.