Come On

"Did You Hear About The Morgans?," a romantic comedy starring Sarah Jessica Parker and Hugh Grant, opens today and I'm so glad there's someone coming up with some new ideas in Hollywood.

Warmth

Today it is NEGATIVE ZERO outside and I am dreaming of this coat. Amazingness courtesy of Norma Kamali. Someone please send me $650 to buy it.

Oh Well

This is how gullible I am. Jet Blue has a weird/semi-genius-but-confusing-if-you-are-gullible new marketing campaign called "The Flyers Collection" featuring faux products for peeps who fly other airlines. Except I thought the products were REAL and I became infuriated by them, until I realized...oh, they're not. And now: boy I am dumb.

Thicke's Shtick

I can’t deal with Robin Thicke. His new album is called “Sex Therapy.” I mean seriously? The only time a title of that nature would have ever been even remotely controversial or titillating would be 1987, back when George Michael ALREADY did it. Also, he’s always wearing black button down shirts with maybe one button done, so that’s enough of that.

Desperate Measures

Oh wow Ashley Dupre is the new advice columnist at the New York Post, a factoid that manages to be both horrific and fitting at the same time! To add insult to injury, she was on “The View” this morning explaining that she got into the escort biz because NYC men are so “self-absorbed” and the NYC dating scene is so horrible she figured she might as well get paid for it. Oh really! Granted I hear ya. But working the corner is not the answer. Ashley’s excuse is the extreme version of that friend who whines and moans about moving to San Francisco because she’s “done with the men in New York.” Like in San Francisco they have a special breed/surplus of men who are attractive AND exceptional human beings. Good luck with that one. And good luck to all of the people taking advice from Ashley Dupre.

Spawn

So apparently Kourtney Kardashian has birthed Scott Disick's child and they've named it Mason, which is so infinitely amazing. When I was like six or seven my friend's older sister had a boyfriend named Mason. This was in the Eighties at the height of Miami Vice mania and there was no one cooler. I think he drove a red convertible BMW and def wore linen pants. And in light of Scott Disick's ridiculousness (please note the Gucci belt and Members Only jacket in this pic) and Kourtney's overall vapidness, I think the name they chose makes complete sense. Such as: if it was a girl they would have named it Madison for sure. Can't wait to see what young Mason does with his life. I'm pretty sure it's going to be epic. And by epic, I mean forgettable.

Ick

Oooh you know what creeps me out? Those Gap Kids commercials. I'm not really sure what's happening, besides a lot of screeching and jumping around in various shades of magenta, but I think the girls are renouncing dresses in favor of Ugg-knockoff boots and poofy skirts. Not really sure what the difference is but either way it's jarring.

119: Holla!

Dive bars are on the top of my awesome things list just slightly behind cupcake icing and dogs over 15 pounds. I'm always happy to discover a new one, or in the very least an older one that is new to me, and this weekend I did just that with 119 Bar in Union Square. When we arrived there was a guy smoking a cigarette outside who looked exasperated and told us it was dead boring and we’d be better off going anywhere else. I took this as a challenge and went in anyway. He was right, it was a ghost town, but on a Saturday night in New York this is kind of a relief. Anyway he came back after his cigarette and so did about 800 more people in the next half an hour, until the main room was filled with pretty much every person in NYC who enjoys dancing to bad and forgotten pop music (Ace of Base “The Sign” was a highlight), which is hands down my favorite kind of person. Will def be back again soon.