1. New yellow wedge sandals with a peek-a-boo toe. My preciousssssss. [stroke stroke]
2. Woy and I were texting yesterday while I was at Texas Roadhouse eating my weight in bread (BREAD!) and honey cinnamon butter and he was somewhere feeling sad that he wasn’t at the Van Halen concert, and Dionne Warwick entered the conversation (don’t ask) and then he texted two words that unleashed a flood of previously dammed (not damned. DAMMED.) memories. “SOLID GOLD!”
The memories are foggy, but I remember something about giant loads of disco cheese, right? Big giant disco ball? Sequined gold shorts on dancers? Andy Gibb? The life’s dream to be a Solid Gold Dancer? Is any of this ringing a bell?
3. Speaking of disco cheese, Billy P, Bill Peduto, wrote and informed me that the Rangers will lose tonight because the Rangers are LOSERS, and lo and behold, he has proof!
If you had to vote between that and the Penguins BMW commercial, which would you say most makes you want to spray Bactine into your eyeballs?
4. Millions in uncounted change sitting in a warehouse somewhere, future revenue from the drink tax, and the Port Authority needs a loan. Yeah, that sounds about right.
5. The Duke of Fug and the Earl of Gross went and did a very non-fug and non-gross thing.
6. Myron Cope’s son is 40, autistic and cannot speak and was the inspiration behind the Terrible Towel. I had no idea. I think I need to read his book, right?
7. The Buccos of Suckitude beat the Mets 13-1 yesterday. I am so confused.
8. Something went boom! under the ground in downtown this morning and I swear I felt it. I reached for Saucy thinking she was vibrating. Let’s hope it’s not a Graboid. If it is a Graboid, I just want you to know that it’s the BOYS’ job to kill it.