What could I possibly have to bellyache about today? It’s my day off, I’m hanging out with my son, and I saw
I can’t be there to witness the near-mutiny when (and if) Leilani starts today’s dance party. Or at least a slowly building chant of “We want Sal! We want Sal!”
I can’t be there to annoy Franki with my stealth salutations. Two words Franki: Scrabble Rousers.
I can’t bellyache to Joe about all the delinquent copy. (And no, this post doesn’t count. It’s one thing for me to calmly type into the computer and then have you read it with the safety of distance; it’s quite another when I’m at my post, screaming as if I’m the Colonel Nathan Jessup of copy editors.
That Wade Tatangelo managed to turn a preview of tonight’s Neil Diamond concert into another free advertisement for his vices. Like here, in his recap of Beer Fest. And here in his review of AC/DC’s latest, wherein he equates good times with booze and blow. (Though I’m totally down with the three-way fucking part. Good call.) But I have to hand it to him: He manages to turn a mark of shame into a badge of honor every time. Damn you, Tatangelo!
Gary Shelton’s lede grafs. I’ve been reading the St. Petersburg Times sports columnist for many years now, so I guess I should be used to the fact that his introductory paragraphs frequently read like Zen koans. But they still bug the hell out of me.
This article appears in Oct 22-28, 2008.