Sizzling temps in the City. Weeks of air conditioned whirring leads to pondering.
How can Catholics continue to go to church? Where are you Francesco? Don’t say you’ll hold those accused or covered it up accountable. Boston’s Cardinal Law just died in the Vatican’s lap of luxury. A generational epidemic with no cure-ate in sight.
Why would Broadway talent & Melania impersonator Laura Benanti take part in the Luann de Lesseps Real Housewives Countess Cabaret Show? Sad.
Why do professional women on television continue to dress like they are at the beach or going to a hoochi afterhours club?
Will Tiger ever win another major? Still mourning his runner-up finish at the PGA a week ago. Broken record alert! He needs new blood on the bag. Ditch Joey.
Why is Trump having a Hamptons fundraiser in the middle of the day on a summer Friday? Because he is Trump the ultimate traffic troll.
Chug your favorite brew. All day. It’s Miller times. Elizabeth Warren graces the cover of New York magazine this morning with the headline, Front Runner? Ocasio-Cortez and Bernie are in the heartland preaching free everything. Meanwhile, Tweeter-in-Chief is threatening war with Iran. And Michael Cohen is no Ray Donovan, breakfasting with Al Sharpton at the Regency.
Over in Torino, Italia, la famiglia Molinari, the Millers, are celebrating Francesco’s British Open win. A 35-year old’s solid steady showing. Navigated the gourses between the frat house boys and the geezers to hoist the coveted claret jug. Tiger came close. For a minute.
Howling rain. A Summer Nor’Easter hitting NYC. Lashing the dormant air conditioner as cool fresh air wafts in through narrowly cracked windows. Only people to be seen outside along Central Park West tonight are hunched over with inside-out umbrellas.
Gusts may pick up at the British Open final on Scotland’s coast tomorrow. Looks to be survival of Carnoustie’s Caddy Shack. American millennial housemates. Little rat farts are dominating the links. Spieth. Kisner. Johnson. Fowler. Could a geezer ever break wind?
Gale Storm was a Fifties actress. No. Not Stormy Daniels. Gale played My Little Margie where she looked older than her father on an old timey tv show. She also later had her own eponymous sit-com. With Zazu Pitts. That’s correct.
British Open at Carnoustie in Scotland. Down the road from Trump’s Turnberry. He should have stayed there and never gone to Helsinki. But. Back to golf. Nick Faldo’s former winning caddie Fanny Sunnesson will be on Adam Scott’s bag. That’s a pair to watch. Nick picks Jon Rahm to win. Others are going with Rickie Fowler, saying it’s finally his time. Could this be Tiger’s true return to greatness? Probably not. Hope springs. Rory. Rosie. Phippy. Dustin. Justin. I say a random unknown will take the claret jug.
So. Set the DVR for 1:30 AM. Coffee and pot bunkers await.
Catapulting into summer from a cool wet spring. Ninety degrees today. It’s on. Curtis Strange gave great commentary of the U.S. Open at Shinnecock where the windy course vaulted many stars out of the weekend and made Phippy whippy. In the end, Koepka survived with a back-to-back trophy hoist. Strange enough. The last one to do that was Curtis.
The Affair is back. And. Another show features the Colletti Winery. If you find it, you’ll know. Jump to book-treks. Social Creature by Tara Isabella Burton. Ghosting. Literally. A psychopath with social media savvy can get away with murder. Fooling narcissistic Manhattan millennials with Facebook tagging, photoshopping. Yup. Hiding homicide never easier.
Sports are becoming less and less watchable for spectators. Especially on TV. Baseball’s pitching switches and glitches make for hours of dead airtime. NBA is okay in the last 2 minutes. Shoot. Shoot. No plays. Tennis in the era of grunting is only endurable on mute.
Then there’s golf. The so-called Golf Channel barely covers parts of major events including The Majors. Silly wasted delays to wait for network coverage. If you can actually see it live, more and more young golfers tap dance, check their stats, yip around up and down for so long that Nick Faldo can read an entire Shakespeare drama between shots. Why aren’t they on the clock. Ruining the sport.
So. Yeah. At least it’s too nice a day to stay inside anyway.
A Tiger woke this morning. Lots of circles on his card. 6 under through 9. And he barely made the cut. Still. The island green always looms large. Phippy did not. His tighty white dress shirt strangled the swing. J-Rod jinxed the Bronx Bombers by showing up at Thursday’s game against the BoSox. But. They are pretty. Mother’s Day lobster shopping between squalls. Yay.