Don't Drink The Tea (From Long Island)

Danielle is talking on the phone as I type this, and her voice seems amplified and almost metallic and it's driving me insane. We drank our asses off last night at a friend's house and while she seems to be fully recovered, I have the kind of hangover usually reserved for seventeen-year-olds on their first trip to Cancun. I didn't think this week's Sunday Review would even happen, but here I am, a soldier. You're only getting links though--I have no witty thoughts in me.

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-Got an e-mail from John Madera--the dude who put together the novella project I contributed to. Apparently Time Out New York blurbed it, so congrats to John and to everyone involved.

-via Gizmodo--this is the only thing that has made me laugh today:

-via The New York Daily News--finally someone sticks up for A-Rod. This won't stop the "Bitch Tits" chants at Fenway, but it's a start.

-via The New York Times--here's an excerpt from Colson Whitehead's Sag Harbor. I posted about him recently.

-via The New York Times--it only took Britain 341 years to appoint a female poet laureate. You've come a long way baby! (That exclamation mark hurt, I swear.)

-via CNN--the title says it all: Hysteria Over Swine Flu Is The Real Danger, Some Say.

-via The New York Times--Green Day is back. That picture makes me a little sad though; Mike Dirnt doesn't seem to be aging gracefully.

-via The New York Times Magazine--cool little Q&A with Tom Colicchio. I love how he lists "grated mountain yam" as one of his food aversions. Way to go for the common man's vote, Tom.

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-Bought new kicks on Friday:

Murdered-out Chuck Taylor's will save your soul.

Unless your soul is awash in a combination of gin, rum, vodka, tequila, sour mix, and soda. And beer from when the liquor ran out.

Then there's no fucking hope.

Enjoy Sunday.

JS