Like obesity, alcoholism and voting Republican, laziness now has a genetic explanation. Maybe. The research is still as preliminary as the draft of your great American novel but, according to Time, an unimprovably named scientist, J. Timothy Lightfoot, has "identified 20 different genomic locations that work in tandem to influence activity levels in mice." The alpha rodents ran 5 to 8 miles a day on the treadmill (the equivalent of the 40-50 or so miles that Barack Obama runs), while the betas did more creative things with their workout equipment, such as turn it into a bed or toilet, or use it to get a better look at the weird machines monitoring their every non-movement. As ever, my money's on the inquisitive fatty.
Here's the lead to Page Six's item today about Dr. Pepper's Guns N' Roses PR stunt: "TIRED of a world in which Americans idolize wannabe singers, and where musicals about high school students pass as rock 'n' roll, Dr Pepper is begging Axl Rose to finally release this year his 17-years-in-the-making album, "Chinese Democracy." Such powerful language! Now here's the lead to the press release announcing the same event:
"Hello there. This is Michael Freidson, deputy editor at Time Out New York. I'm writing with a few questions. Can you please take a moment to answer, for an urgent feature story?," began an email spammed to a group that Michael Friedson identified as "New York's top opinion-makers" on Tuesday. Judging from the questionnaire that follows, Time Out has decided to eliminate the use of troublesome freelancers by just having their sources write their articles.
Joe MacLeod, America's best newspaper columnist, proves his mettle today by phoning in a column nearly entirely composed of Gawker comments about his last column. "This fucking gawker gets people to click on their shit and they make money on that, with ads, so that's, like, stealing from me, so even more-plus, I don't have to write anything this week, har!" We can only aspire to such transparency regarding our equally strong desire to not work! You win this round, MacLeod. [Baltimore City Paper]
We recently launched a sneak attack against daddy-author Neal Pollack's adorable 4-year-old son, Elijah. Or more accurately, we launched a sneak attack against author Neal Pollack shamelessly exploiting Elijah for his own literary ambitions. Pollack responded. Fark weighed in. Facebook profiles were updated. Pollack expressed a realization: That his constant blogging of Elijah exposes the little tyke—or rather, the trite twee petite-bourgeoise portrayal of him—to public scorn. One might think this would prevent Pollack from sending little Elijah back into the baby mines. But then one would be wrong.