OK, it was a hoax: Times Regrets: A Correction as a 'Dating a Banker Anonymous' Girl Comes Clean
Sitting in a West Village coffee shop near her apartment, cofounder Laney Crowell, clad in jeans, snow boots and black pullover, says that what the Times described as a “support group” of about 30 women is actually a full-blown parody — and it’s at least partly fictionalized. There is no real support community, no regular meetings and the blog is written by Crowell and her lawyer sidekick Megan Petrus, who concoct entries out of a mixture of their own experiences, stories of people who email the site, and anecdotes of girls they meet socially. They don’t fact check the emails, or the gossip, and the posts are embellished and exaggerated for added laughs. At times, details are plucked from thin air to give the stories a satirical edge.
I stayed behind after my appointment to talk to the doctor again. I'm pretty sure I pissed him off, but he says he'll consult with my migraine specialist. But given the speed migraine guy works at, I'll have a few more ER visits before they even talk. I'm just not urgent anymore. Visibly depressed, according to the pain guy, but apparently not urgent.
So what did Bobby Jindal choose to ridicule in this response to Obama last night? Volcano monitoring, of course.
That combined with the reference to Katrina apparently indicates that the lesson of Katrina is that the government shouldn't waste money monitoring hurricanes and leave rescue and relief efforts to the private sector.
Harry Lee is still around? He was sheriff of Jefferson Parish when I was a student in NOLA. And I graduated 25 years ago.
And am I terrible because Bobby Jindal's name makes me think of an old Kay Kyser song (I've got spurs that Jindal, Jandal, Jindal....)?
I'm with Rachel. WTF, dude, uh, sir?
Harry Lee is still around? He was sheriff of Jefferson Parish when I was a student in NOLA.
He died...last year? Couple of years ago? Sheriff of Jefferson Parish to the end.
At one job I had in Boston, I regularly corresponded with a man in the San Francisco office. Once he left me a voice mail consisting entirely of him singing a couple choruses of that song.
When I did TV news monitoring, I did a lot of work with NOLA. One of the local reporters went across the river to report on something, and she and her cameraman were hassled and the cameraman arrested for something. The next night, she was wearing something khaki, and the anchor said, "Oh, going across the river again tonight? You're dressed for combat."
Argh, argh! Dear coworkers, would you just send me the last couple of things I need? I understand that they are taking a long time to complete, but I don't understand WHY.
