The ass, she is dragging today. I stayed up until midnight watching I Love New York, the VH1 show starring New York, the woman from two seasons of Flavor of Love.
There's been some talk, mostly regarding children, about whether TV works like a depressant. I'd make the case that it depends, on what you're watching, how long, who with, what mood you started out in. All I know is when New York went swimming in Mexico with the dolphins, with her big fake hair and big fake eyelashes, and she caught a faceful of water, and she said, "That son-of-a-bitch dolphin splashed in my face!"? Mucho enjoyment.
I'm always amazed that people can write about money in an interesting way. There's Liz Perle's Money: A Memoir, and on Sunday, I saw a series in the Washington Post about some D.C.-area folk who are trying to meet their financial resolutions.
As Whitesnake once wondered, "Is this love ... that I'm feeling?" so one can wonder about happiness. Defining what happiness is is surprisingly tricky. You could write a whole book on that subject alone.
As it turns out, someone already did. Darrin M. McMahon makes the case in Happiness: A History that happiness on earth is a relatively new concept, and that pleasure being part of happiness is an even newer idea. I'm looking forward to reading this. I Love New York has a reunion show, but until then, I believe I'm free.