Dear Sir, My apologies that this awful news arrives so close to the holidays but I had some difficulty tracking you down. Your friend, Mme. Valentina Velasquez, has died. Her death was sudden, unexpected but painless, if that eases your mind in any way, and I do hope it does.
When you get right down to it, there are really only two kinds of people in this world: those who brunch and those who do not. I don’t mean to generalize here but generally, Non-Brunchers are pretty easy to spot in a crowd. They’re the ones who take 17 different spin
Classic Christmas flicks are like the gingerbread cookies of Yuletide cinema: comforting, dependable and sure to please. But you know what else is comforting, dependable and sure to please? An open-bar holiday party at your office. And nobody thinks that’s a good idea three hours deep into the festivities when Arnold from IT is
If your morning has gone anything like mine, then you’ve spent it scraping dried-up cranberry sauce and mashed potatoes off piles of unwashed plates and wine-stained glasses. Why is it that the scrumptiousness of a Thanksgiving meal is directly proportional to the disgustingness of cleaning it up? Anyway, I’m working
From: Henry Littlesworth To: Marcus Trevan Subject: Your Job It’s over. Fax Me Up LLC is closing shop, effective immediately. Funny I should write this to you over email, the very thing that killed my fax business. Well, Rainforest Online Services killed us, too. Damn devil of a company. People
HEREAFTER the subject of women’s underwear will not be treated in the letter-press of THE LADIES’ HOME JOURNAL. The editors have reached this conclusion for the following reasons: First, the changes in this part of a woman’s wardrobe are not either sufficient or material enough to justify extended chronicle. Second,