Sunday, October 06, 2002
Trapped in a car with wholesome Midwesterners, or How I spent my Saturday afternoon
Eric's parents were in town yesterday, which meant a lot of wholesome, Midwestern-type fun that I got dragged along for. The fun included a) driving around the town of Helena, Alabama endlessly, trying to find a craft fair that ultimately did not exist and b) driving/hiking around Oak Mountain State Park (which we had to pay $8 just to get into...an outrage, if you ask me) trying to find a waterfall, which would have been worth the effort had I not been wearing flip-flops at the time.
I shouldn't complain though, because they did take me to brunch at my suggested restaurant, a darling little place called Crepes Egg-Cetera where they play Frank Sinatra and have a little coffeemaker on every table. I don't think the Chaneys were digging the Crepes Egg-Cetera vibe, however, because as my mouth was watering over the choices of raspberry crepes and cheese blintzes, they were bemoaning the lack of meat and/or eggs on the menu.
Ah, touché, Mr. Marciniak
This is probably the type of thing I would say if I were to sit around in a wood-paneled library, talking about golf and fountain pens. Which I don't. And neither does anyone else I know who reads Esquire. Which suggests to me that Mr. Needham has never actually read his "guilty-pleasure read," or if he did, it was in 1938.
I'll admit that his Esquire slam was not as harsh as some I've heard. (Laurie Abraham, executive editor of Elle, told us when we visited her magazine that "Esquire is the loser of the magazine industry." She explained this by saying, "It's good journalism and everything, but they're just hemorrhaging money." Now we know, if there was ever any doubt, what Elle's priorities are.) It's just that I don't think it would be such a bad thing for ol' Ed to pretend that he actually has some class by admitting to reading Esquire.
Oh my sweet Ryan Adams
I must now begrudgingly give Rolling Stone props for including that absolutely adorable picture of Ryan Adams in its Q&A section. He is so utterly smoochable. Next time, though, I wish they would put him on the cover instead of a shirtless Keith Richards, who has not been even remotely smoochable for about 30 years.
Eric's parents were in town yesterday, which meant a lot of wholesome, Midwestern-type fun that I got dragged along for. The fun included a) driving around the town of Helena, Alabama endlessly, trying to find a craft fair that ultimately did not exist and b) driving/hiking around Oak Mountain State Park (which we had to pay $8 just to get into...an outrage, if you ask me) trying to find a waterfall, which would have been worth the effort had I not been wearing flip-flops at the time.
I shouldn't complain though, because they did take me to brunch at my suggested restaurant, a darling little place called Crepes Egg-Cetera where they play Frank Sinatra and have a little coffeemaker on every table. I don't think the Chaneys were digging the Crepes Egg-Cetera vibe, however, because as my mouth was watering over the choices of raspberry crepes and cheese blintzes, they were bemoaning the lack of meat and/or eggs on the menu.
Ah, touché, Mr. Marciniak
This is probably the type of thing I would say if I were to sit around in a wood-paneled library, talking about golf and fountain pens. Which I don't. And neither does anyone else I know who reads Esquire. Which suggests to me that Mr. Needham has never actually read his "guilty-pleasure read," or if he did, it was in 1938.
I'll admit that his Esquire slam was not as harsh as some I've heard. (Laurie Abraham, executive editor of Elle, told us when we visited her magazine that "Esquire is the loser of the magazine industry." She explained this by saying, "It's good journalism and everything, but they're just hemorrhaging money." Now we know, if there was ever any doubt, what Elle's priorities are.) It's just that I don't think it would be such a bad thing for ol' Ed to pretend that he actually has some class by admitting to reading Esquire.
Oh my sweet Ryan Adams
I must now begrudgingly give Rolling Stone props for including that absolutely adorable picture of Ryan Adams in its Q&A section. He is so utterly smoochable. Next time, though, I wish they would put him on the cover instead of a shirtless Keith Richards, who has not been even remotely smoochable for about 30 years.
Subscribe to Posts [Atom]