We do learn that Keef’s book is rude toward Mick Jagger, but we knew that from previous news stories. What else ya got, Keef? “When Marlon Brando propositioned him and [his girlfriend Anita] Pallenberg, Mr. Richards remembers replying with this: ‘Later, pal.’” O-kay.
Second lead: “Taylor Swift is Angry, Darn It.” Who she? Can I be bothered to find out? Nah.
• Sunday Styles. This section is new since I ceased being a Times reader, which probably dates my loss of interest.
The “Millionaire Matchmaker” Patti Stanger, part Helen Gurley Brown, part Vince Lombardi, brings her take-no-prisoners brand of dating advice to New York. Ready for the new rules?
Not really. I’m an old married guy, and even when I wasn’t, I hated the whole dating business. Isn’t arranged marriage ever going to make a comeback?
What else? “In a new column, a defense of women’s right to long hair, even if it’s gray.” I feel my will to live draining away. Let’s move on.
• Metropolitan. Another new section (to me). The whole thing this week is about the subway. The New York subway! The stinking, deafening, dangerous, rat-infested, overpriced subway, whose employees operate in two modes: snarling and sleeping.
There are so many sins of subway etiquette that it is difficult to rank the effrontery. Are the nail clippers the worst? The people consuming smelly Big Macs? Or how about those who tote their yappy little dogs?
As loathsome as the subway riders mostly are, the worst is the subway itself. Shut the whole thing down and bring in the crew that built the Hong Kong subway. It’s clean. It works. It’s cheap. You can’t eat moo goo gai pan standing in a subway car. And Hong Kong’s dogs know that excessive yapping, or drawing attention to one’s doggy self by any other means, is deeply unwise.
• Business. “Should BP’s Money Go Where Oil Didn’t?” Florida resort owners want compensation, even those who never saw one blob of oil, because tourists were scared off, anyway. Should they get it? My answer would be the one Calvin Coolidge gave to farmers who showed up at the White House complaining they couldn’t make a living: “Better take up religion.”
• The Magazine. Whoa, this has totally changed. Where are the ads for military schools and fat camps that used to fill the back pages? Nothing here but realtors and that infantile quizword. (It’s not a crossword, it’s a quizword. A crossword has CRYPTIC CLUES and is DIFFICULT.)
The rest is all girly stuff. “Calling Mr. Mom (Why women won’t have it all until men do, too)” … Melinda Gates, yecch … “How we demonize fun-loving women” (Translation: “Why do men want party-hopping celebrity sluts to go to jail?” Yeah, go ahead, take away even our fantasies.) … “Monetizing Motherhood” …
Sorry, I can’t separate the pages anymore; they’re all stuck together with estrogen. Have they killed off all the men in Manhattan?
• Real Estate, Sports. Zzzzzzzzz.
Hey, wait a minute—didn’t there used to be a Jobs section? What happened to the Jobs section? Oh, right—there aren’t any jobs.
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