Somewhere, rich people are bemoaning the fact that August used to be for the Hamptons and no one would even THINK of getting married at this time of year. It's all the same to me, honestly, but if rich people are unhappy, that's a win. Anyway, let's look at their dumb weddings.
The best thing about love is how unbearably trite it is. I mean come on. Everyone thinks they were destined to meet.
Part of me wants to bemoan the destructive notion that one can't be both independent and unapologetically in love, but you know what? Fuck it. I'm glad they found one another.
So, if this is the first time they met, how did she know he was Turkish? I mean, props to her, obviously, but, just, how? Had she been speaking Turkish to random dudes in Champaign for months before it finally worked?
Has any verb ever done more savage work to casually reduce a whole marriage to a narrative inconvenience?
Talk about damning with faint praise. Dude was over 60 when he said this, but all she could do was be tops for that year.
Maybe this should be the New York Timesiest Sentence of the Week? I don't know. Lots of competition this Sunday.
Alright, that's all for this week. Here's a song I'm working on about the Fourth Amendment as it applies to pedestrian and automobile stops. It needs some better instrumentation, but, you know, it's something. https://www.instagram.com/tv/CEK7wLLJvHc/?igshid=dq8q3xxsvsk8