Love's a bitch, ain't it? No matter where it happens. At least we know now what they're doing up there in space with our tax dollars.
They gonna run a background check on the Dalai Lama over at Emory? Poor guy's in exile it seems. And what about Salman Rushdie? I know that dude's up to no-good.
Showing posts with label Salman Rushdie. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Salman Rushdie. Show all posts
Tuesday, February 06, 2007
Friday, October 06, 2006
The Atlantic Station Verses
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Speaking of overweight and overwraught, raise a glass to the king of elitist, name-dropper prose when you hit the bar for happy hour tonight. The NYT master, R.W. Apple, died Wednesday. (Apple's on the left.)
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Labels:
Buckhead,
Emory,
literature,
Mon Dior,
R.W. Apple,
Salman Rushdie,
writer
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