Litany of disappointments

• I read that Tucker Carlson is joining the cast of "Dancing With The Stars." That's a step in the right direction, but they still need to tweak it a bit before I decide to tune in. Lessee... Tucker Carlson, Dennis Miller, and Terry Bradshaw in "Genital Mutilation With The Stars." That I'd watch.
• When I began this blog a year ago, I fully expected it would catapult me into a dizzying social stratum, like so: within weeks, I am perfunctorily reciting details from the latest book/magazine/mook launch party. God, how wearying it can be to snort cocaine from Sabina Sciubba's navel every. Fucking. Night. John Ashbery constantly leaves me twenty-minute voicemail rants about expired soy milk. One morning, I apply raw meat to my black eye and chuckle, remembering the previous evening's playful cuffing with Jim Jarmusch & Cynthia Ozick. Sure, it got out of hand, but it was a fun time. A good memory.
• The disappointment really hadn't hit me until I learned that Dana, when she shut down #1 Hit Song a few weeks ago, received some Omaha steaks in the mail as a retirement gift. Now, I know for a fact that I wouldn't get any God-damn steaks in the mail were I to close up shop here. I might get one wizened strip of marmot jerky, tops.
• And my car was towed this morning for a fee that exceeds the car's blue-book value by an order of magnitude. What good is a blog if not for impotent lamentations?