Actual front page headline from this morning’s New York Times:
In ‘Sweetie’ and ‘Dear,’ a Hurt Beyond Insult for the Elderly
Yet another piece of piercing investigative journalism from The Grey Lady.
Last week I sent a text message to R, esq., asking him if the horrendous market gyrations have had any effect on his accounts. He texted back:
Here’s what I get for trying to invest: Fucked. Rubes and the market don’t mix.
The irony is that we were led into this meltdown by a group of people who were supposed to be the finest minds in the business. You could paper Madison Square Garden with all the advanced degrees from Wharton, Duke, Yale, etc. It turns out those guys didn’t know SHIT about investing. Or they knew but ignored what they were taught at those august institutions. I can’t decide which is worse.
I was blasting the radio while driving The Daughters around this past weekend and they started a chant from the back seat. It began quietly and then it rose to a shriek. “No jazz! No jazz! NO JAZZ!”
They’re just a couple of punks who don’t know anything about music. Yet.
I finally saw Knocked Up over the weekend. I liked it. The best line:
Life doesn’t care about your vision.
Boy howdy! Judd Apatow got that right, didn’t he?