I write, with regret, to inform you that your son Donald has not met the standards for admission to our middle school. His record and his interview indicate that Donald is not sufficiently mature to enter the 5th grade.
I can deal with the interruptions, the noise, even the fact that I'm forced to pee in the closet next to my summer clothes. But if I can't connect to Google, I'm a goner.
This Cyber Monday, instead of hunting for discounted Uggs inside a computer screen, we invite you to join Diane's cause and say "F the Internet." Go outside, meet a friend for racquetball, visit your grandmother at her old folks home or, if she's dead, make that trek out to the cemetery.
Aside from Kevin and his domestic adventures, Home Alone is about a huge collection of bad choices. Seriously, absolutely everyone in this film makes exceptionally appalling choices. Think about it.
What I've been thinking is that maybe we should try to understand people who hear something in Donald Trump that we don't. Obviously there's more than one way to unpack a taunt. What strikes the liberal ear as ignorance, and the psychologist as disinhibitation, strikes the Tea Partier as sizzling wit.
It was one of the greatest Thanksgivings of my life. The reason for us being there was all but forgotten because we were at The Metropole. Secretly, I hoped my mom would screw up the next Thanksgiving too.
When I was a kid, on the day after Thanksgiving my mom and dad would take me to Chicago to see the Christmas lights and decorations on Michigan Avenue. I felt like a grown up in the bustling big city, bumping into ladies in high-heeled boots and fur coats, and men carrying stacks of big department store boxes and fancy-looking shopping bags.