seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Russia
seen from Singapore
seen from United Kingdom
seen from Indonesia
seen from China
seen from United States
seen from Malaysia
seen from Ireland
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from France
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Canada
seen from United States
seen from United States
Tonight’s the night my friends. The new (old) musical, “The Nutty Professor,” from the one and only Jerry Lewis is making its world premiere at TPAC’s Polk Theatre. Love him or hate him, you’ve got to admit that it is pretty impressive for an 86 year old to begin a new venture.
Stuffy scientist types insist that there’s pretty much no way that dinosaurs ever existed alongside humans, but isn’t it fun to imagine it? I’ll never forget the shocking hilarity of seeing that scene in “Jurassic Park” where the guy gets eaten right off the toilet for the first time.
On any given Sunday, you can find me reading the New York Times in my pajamas sipping a hot cup of black coffee, carefully plotting what I will be having for dinner. I just adore my Sundays and I always end them with a decadent meal. I never think twice about my calorie intake on Sundays, indulging in whatever I’m taken by at the moment.
It doesn’t make me feel as bad about being a wretched chef when I stop to consider the science of cooking. There’s an actual chemical reaction going on when you prepare your favorite foods, which explains the connection between last night’s meal attempt and my barely scraping by with a C in high school chemistry class.
When it comes to furnishing my abode, I’ll take what I can get. Right now in my living room I have my grandmother’s French settee, an old papasan chair from college (cigarette burns and all), an ottoman I picked up at an estate sale in Belle Meade, and the obligatory flat screen television. I’m not at the point in my life yet where I need to drop loads of cash to make my house look like a page from the Pottery Barn catalogue.
For me, children are like a big shot of tequila—I’ve really got to be in the mood to deal with the potential consequences. Otherwise, I simply cannot be exposed to either.
Typically, I really poo poo those “paint and sip” classes that have been popping up like poisonous mushrooms these days. I am certain that they’re featured on coupon websites all the time because no one wants to pay full-price to paint a palm tree and drink white Zinfandel with their girlfriends.
Yesterday I received an unexpected package at my doorstep. I guessed that it was a care package from some far-flung former flame, but imagine my surprise when I realized that its contents weren’t quite the surprise I’d expected.
