O, for those lovely mornings in Connecticut! Say friend Mark, do you remember the scones and the coffee and the milk — and the saunter across the lawn to retrieve the NY Post!
O, the proud vulgarity of those headlines! The freedom of a free people!
O, for the subtle study of the hierarchies of celebrity worship — the intrigue and court-like circles of obscurity and silliness and sin! How accurate their nameless information, how true to life their tales of intrigue…
To wit, that eternal child Master Ben Affleck is chasing the ladies again, not that they’re likely to outrun him:
“A publicist close to the situation told The Post”
O, for that blessed world, enchanted world, where every situation has the publicist it deserves nearby!
“I can’t believe that a girl from nowhere New York ruined a Hollywood marriage,” said the publicist close to the situation.
The American dream yet lives while there are marriages to ruin. A girl can aspire on wings of controversy — female pride unleashed! Notice that representatives for that Mad Men actor insisted, to be clear, not only have they not dated, they’re not even friends — only acquaintances. As nice as Americans are, especially Famous Americans, sometimes you need to set things straight. It’s a price to pay, one supposes, for being a li’l homewrecker…
O, tabloids that contain our mores and recall to us our trespasses, that we may trespass more effectively — if I have one reproach to make, though the girl is called Shookus, nothing is made of that. Falling asleep on the job drunk, I suppose, is still in fashion at the tabloids, and as a drinking man myself, I condone it.