I'd like to step in to the guidance vacuum left by Oprah when she disappeared. I freely admit that part of this decision comes from my deep concern for the physical and spiritual well being of my fellow man. I somewhat begrudgingly admit that I'm also interested in the billions of dollars Oprah made serving in this capacity.
It's Valentine's Day, the first heartbeat of spring. I am a strong advocate of any holiday that puts pretense aside and encourages celebrators to trade pricey gifts for sexual favors. When affection can be measured in real currency, I always win because my love is deep and so are my pockets.
Bill Murray has become the urban equivalent of Bigfoot -- a mythical figure who generates sightings anywhere people are too drunk to totally trust their memory. Instead of being half-human, half-ape, Bill Murray exists somewhere between celebrities and the rest of us.
You have taken some heat lately from the press for your website, for your spontaneous music career, and for just generally being you. I imagine your self-confidence is a little shaken and that you would gladly wish it all away, if only you knew how wishing for things worked.
You can inject new life into virtually any film or franchise by watching it again, only this time rooting for the bad guys. Really think through the scenario from their angle, and try to break down how they go about taking on the hero. More often than not, you'll find yourself scratching your head, or outright screaming at the screen.
Fame makes a lot of strange bedfellows. Some would prefer you to remember their connections, like Peter Scolari with Tom Hanks. Others would rather you didn't bring it up, like Tom Hanks with Peter Scolari. And there are still others who started out together that you would've never even thought of.
The success of magazines like People, Star and Us Weekly isn't predicated on how interested humanity is in Blake Lively's new dress, the issues sell because dental patients and grocery shoppers want to see if Blake Lively has caught on fire yet.
It was nearly the end of summer break, swim team season had come to a close and Christie and I didn't have summer jobs because all the poor kids took them. We burned the long afternoons under oak trees talking about our futures and which colleges we might like to pretend to graduate from once we were adults.