Last week I was driving down the Merritt Parkway and hungry and was like "Oh, New Canaan! I think my cousin lived there once?" And then we drove around and around finding no food anywhere. Main Street in Stamford, though! They have good falafel.
This is maybe the most time I ever spent in the area between the Pez Visitor Center and Mamaroneck.
485 versions of "Last Christmas" can not be worse than, say, every awful goopy version of "White Christmas." Or "Santa Claus Is Coming To Town." Also, "Little Saint Nick" is worse. And that one where Old Fart McKringle or whoever says "It's the holiday season, so hoop-dee-doo." That's the worst.
My favorite part is how "Little Girl Likes Squeezing Her Father's Balls" is the first related story.
Wow, I don't think I've ever seen British people spell the word moisturise before. How wrong-looking!
My guess is that she left because she got sick of people constantly snapping when they agreed with something.
This is basically a fourth-hand story, but a crazy uncle of a friend once made up a really elaborate lie about how Norman Mailer used to spend his afternoons outside of his apartment passing out free hot dogs. He called them Mailer's Nailers, and now I cannot think of this man without thinking about hot dogs.
I like how "How Do Men Fake Orgasms?" is the first related story.
And candlepin bowling. Pond hockey and candlepin bowling.
Oh, thank god. I saw the headline and feared it was Counting Crows revival time.
I'd appreciate it if more Awl pieces used the "if you like it then you should maybe talk to it instead of putting a ring on it" tag, because that just made me snarf my coffee.