Linkarrhea, April 22nd

Whenever a Wall Street exec rages about possibly losing their right to be greedy, I am reminded that these are the same people who believe loving and supporting the country with economic patriotism (i.e. paying their fair share of taxes to support wars and the country’s infrastructure)  should stop at their wallets but somehow, be all up in mine.  [The Rage of the Rich, NYmag.com]

I’m convinced that Gawker and Wonkette are paying Meghan McCain a healthy stipend to star in the reality show, I Want To Be The Paris Hilton of Politics.

This would be a very bad, bad idea. [Reality TV World]

Et tu, President Obama? I wonder if you were living in New York, would you still think Mike Bloomberg is so great.  A mayor who gave New York two new stadiums while schools and housing needs  continue to go waiting.  The bum rush to go for a third term by milking FEAR. Yes, it is a miracle that everyone is pretending to be cool with our diminished status in light of the economic meltdown but that’s not thanks to Mayor Mike.  It’s simply because we are being narcotized with bad reality programming.

This is an open call for a needlepoint class.  I want to make needlepoint pillows but need a class that meets on the weekends.  Please post leads in the comments!

I want Prince to play in NYC this summer, but I don’t want to have to pay $1000 to see him!

Peggy Noonan’s response to torture is a pile of insanity. [The Daily Dish]

If Miss California had said  ‘It is my  religious belief that gay marriage is wrong, but I have put my faith in the separation of church and state and believe in letting the states decide on these matters,’ she would have won! Instead she told the world ‘I’m a bigot and I’m proud of it!’

Pic via.

Linkarrhea, December 11th

What Drunks Crave, a new show on NBC brought to you by Ben Silverman

Tina Brown is being disingenuous but it’s okay because she’s rich. [Gawker]

Sometimes people talk too much. [KNX]

Worst party ever.

Delicious new restaurant in Brooklyn.  Beet risotto.  Butterscotch pudding. Yum. [Thrillist]

If the banking industry needs to be bailed out by the government, its executives shouldn’t expect a bonus. Silly Mr. Thain. [The Independent]

What is Tuesday Morning?

What happens when governors do meth and crack at the same time. [US News & World Report]

I want to see The Curious Case of Benjamin Button.  Gut feeling that it will be emotionally satisfying.

I have a bet with my bf that Tim Tebow will get the Heisman Trophy.  There’s a massage in it for me if I’m right.

Have you ever put snot in your boss’s food?

That’s what Gawker is reporting that an assistant did to editor (US Weekly, Star) Bonnie Fuller’s food.

I have never ever put bodily fluids in a manager’s or co-worker’s food… is this a new workplace trend? What happened to going to Human Resources and explaining the problem? What happened to looking for a new job to escape a crazy boss?

What happened to drowning your sorrows with your co-workers in a bar?

Snot in food is not the answer!

Because Tallulah is a believer in karma, my workplace revenge schemes have been limited to the old cc trick. You know, trading emails back and forth with a lazy and/or stupid co-worker and to finally resolve the issue including a senior manager on the email thread, resulting in the lazy and/or stupid co-worker to slink away because their buffoonery has been revealed for very important eyes to see.

I know lame, right?

Okay, what’s the worst thing you’ve ever done in the name of workplace retaliation?

A Salon.com reader on Sloane Crosley’s essay The best laid plans:

Ugh. Boring and trifling

The point of this twee twaddle is Sloane Crosley is a pretty young thing who works as a publicist for a major publisher and knows how to work connections, but, surprise, when she’s not flacking or reviewing she’s got very little to say. If this collection of wispy non-events is any evidence, her book must be a nearly obscene example of a comfortable privileged life inflated to book length.

She takes SEVEN paragraphs to describe a failed eight word pickup line in a library.

I’m sure executive types find her ability to spin wittily about banal experiences refreshing, but if I’m going to read self-obsessed anecdotes, I want a hot mess like Elizabeth Wurtzel. This makes Prozac Nation seem like freaking Balzac. Sloane is the anti-Wurtzel – trying to seem dynamic in her complete lack of shading. It’s excruciating.

And that’s probably why she’s got a book – on Riverhead, no less, which really seems enamored of the bankable white girls. Of course she’s smarter than Margaret Seltzer and writes about stuff which is beyond verification. What evidence can there be of not hooking up with a guy in a library?

Except there’s her claim to have a spatial learning disability. Gawker has expressed doubt about this though it’s all speculation: http://gawker.com/news/diagnoses/whats-really-wrong-with-sloane-crosley-327295.php

Funny how she doesn’t mention it in this essay.

Source.

Dear Common…

Don’t listen to Hamilton Nolan @  Gawker!

You make all the money you can endorsing as many cheesy corporations as possible.

Then get your off shore bank account and then

buy yourself a little island

and rename it CommonLand

and then invite Hamilton Nolan to play basketball with you on your island.

(Why basketball? Because what black man  who raps doesn’t love to play basketball?)

Don’t worry…he will come and love every minute of it.

Cheers,

Tallulah

P.S.   I See The Bitch In You warms my wretched  little heart.