Taught them how to drill a penalty kick, finesse a 5-iron. Now my daughters are teaching me how to babysit my cherub-faced granddaughter.
Who even cares about today's crop of movie stars, the whole boring lot of them. Our actors have never been less interesting. A giant gob of forgettable goobers.
Know who she reminds me of? Helen of Troy. And Mary Queen of Scots, during the Reformation, the good years, before things got all complicated.
Hemsworth quit meat for movie kiss? “Because he wanted his breath to smell like lavender, empathy and light?”
When White Fang hears his car, her whole body starts to quiver, tongue to tail.
In LA, everyone blows through red lights, even the cops, and the proper response to “Good morning” is “You sure? Just wait, dude.”
Toss these babies on the little grill to meld, weld, fester, ferment, gurgle, kiss, cuddle and waba-waba, till they become the finest beach dessert you ever had.
My takeaway from all the spittle, all the invective, was that we don’t know what we have till it’s taken away – like electricity, for instance.
Like most men, my father had no feeling in his face, so that when he ate ribs and buttery corn, he’d appear to have applied it externally, as you would an aftershave.
I’ve now seen “Top Gun: Maverick” 57 times. Obviously, I don’t just like old stuff. I’m also into new stuff that resembles old stuff.