Weekend Reading Roundup
Once Notre Dame officially rendered itself dead to me, I got to watching some boxing last night. Wanted to see how friend-of-Oasis Ricky Hatton would bounce back from his whupping at the hands of Floyd Mayweather last time we'd seen him. And he bounced back solid, knocking the hell out of some kid from NYC named Paulie Malignaggi. (He showed a bunch of heart, but his cornermen threw in the towel in the 11th.) The best part of the non-pay-per-view event? The undercard. Because there was a dude named James "Mandingo Warrior" Kirland on it. And Mandingo Warrior is just a bad-ass nickname, innit?
But what isn't disturbing is that, despite my greatest fears, seems that, according to an Inky story today, the Catholics did in fact turn out for Obama; apparently abortion isn't all that of an important issue when your 401K is roughly and 80.25K.
And, despite my other greatest fears, it seems as if the Secret Service is all up on the security tip for January's inauguration with a little help from John Q. Philly Law.
On the polar opposite of fear comes the story of an 18-year-old in Nepal who may or may not have spent the past three years meditating in the woods without food or water and who may or may not be Buddha Reincarnate.
And here I thought Buddha was roomy, like Mrs. Lippman.
Congrats to Caroline Tiger and new hubby Jonathan Dunsay for landing the Times' wedding Vows feature. (Also in the Times, a headline that makes me wonder whether we may soon have our first execution.)
And to the New Yorker (which has a feature on the best BBQ in Texas) for scoring some face-time with Prince, a brief story in which I believe the dude who likely copulated with just about everything under the sun at some point during his Purple Reign takes a swipe at gay marriage.
When asked about his perspective on social issues — gay marriage, abortion — Prince tapped his Bible and said, “God came to earth and saw people sticking it wherever and doing it with whatever, and he just cleared it all out. He was, like, ‘Enough.’”
As for GQ (which has a piece about bindle-packing that I can't find online), I cannot tell a lie: Every time I see another picture of Megan Fox with that "Brian" tattoo near where her unmentionables tan-line should be, I smile a little broader. (Because my name's Brian and she's, well, as vixen-y as it gets these days.)
But this was their Men of the Year issue and they earn props for shouting out Rafael Nadal, Danny McBride, (ancillarily) my college pal Jeff Pearlman, David Simon and The Wire's writing crew and Brandon Flowers from The Killers (new album drops Tuesday, yo). The whole roster can be seen here.
Don't miss Teddy Kennedy's heartfelt thinkpiece on Obama, or DiCaprio holding court on OCD.
Is it true you had a recurrence of OCD after shooting The Aviator?
I never actually had OCD. I know I did say that at some point, but I didn’t. I studied this. OCD is us reverting to a reptilian part of our brain where we have to organize everything. It’s about cleanliness and protecting the home nest. That’s why you see rodents running around and picking things up and constantly organizing.
Finally, from the guilty-pleasures file, the new subscription to Entertainment Weekly taught me that:
-- Anthony Kiedis will soon have an HBO show based on his wildass childhood in Cali,
-- Daughter, but thankfully not a look-alike, of Cabin Boy is joining the SNL ensemble, and
-- the conductor of the Soul Train is back in a jam for spousal battery. For shame, Mr. Cornelius.