Part of moving to another continent requires violently attacking your nostalgia, because you (read: I) don’t want to pay cash money to ship a dirty Cabbage Patch Kid with no shoes to another country so it can continue to sit at the bottom of a box in the back of your closet.
Last week, my lucky spouse got to take a trip to the local city clerk’s office — jackpot! — to obtain a certified copy of our marriage license because I could not, for the life of me, remember that I’d married him.
Kidding! Of course I remember. We actually needed it for a bet.
I just found out that Richie Sambora is no longer in Bon Jovi.
(I know, it happened several days ago. I’m not good at keeping up.)
I guess this it what it’s like to feel your childhood shrivel up and die.
If I find out that Little Steven had a fall-out with Bruce, I’m moving to Canada.
It’s sweet that people are tweeting and Facebooking and blogging and actually saying things aloud in real life about the quality of their fathers and/or husbands: namely, that said father and/or husband is the BEST FATHER EVER.
I feel a little guilty posting these photos, because exposure to them will likely shatter that reverie.
I’m sorry that you’ve been legally demoted from “person” to “incubator.” As always, New Jersey welcomes you.
Parts of southern New Jersey are barren wastelands similar to what I image North Dakota is like, so you should feel pretty comfortable here.
The New York City marathon has been cancelled this weekend, which I’m sure is a terrible inconvenience for many runners, almost as bad as having no power or water or food, or having one’s house washed into the sea.
I know there are some who wanted the marathon to go on to declare the RESILIENCE OF THE CITY. Hear, hear, I say! By giving in, we have allowed the ocean to win. How will we declare to Neptune that He Is Not the Boss of Us? Let the runners traipse over New Yorkers’ shattered lives to prove a point to nature!
Apparently, Australia has fire tornadoes. Swirling, 100-foot high vortices of fire.
You know where there’s never been a fire tornado? New Jersey.
I’ve been home for fewer than 12 hours, but have already been to a diner, consumed a tuna melt, and run into someone from my hometown while doing so. The only thing missing was a Coca-Cola Slurpee nightcap.