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The most amazing thing about Ted Kennedy‘s death: There are no commemorative newspapers for sale. The Boston Globe is running a special 12-page section today, but so far no Michael Jackson– or Obama-style tributes. This is a slap in the face to the American way of mourning, second stage of which involves opening your wallet and buying something that you’ll have no place for later. Seriously, what are you gonna do with a commemorative newspaper? A framed front page, sure, I can see that, but a whole newspaper—-where’s that gonna go? I’ll tell you: into a shopping bag, then eventually into the bottom of a box that your kids will someday empty after you die. They will glance at the newspaper, wonder what it is, then put it in the tube that shoots garbage out to space.
After the jump: convenience, tragic irony, more
Usually the quality of a Style section piece is in inverse proportion to its use of italics (Q.E.D.), but Hank Stuever‘s piece on Wawa and Sheetz is a minor miracle. Best line: “From behind the eyeholes in a giant goose costume, she says, ‘the world starts to look really different.'”
Dog belonging to Robin Starr, the head of Richmond’s SPCA, dies in her car. Two Augusts ago, Starr wrote an op-ed calling for a long sentence for Michael Vick. There are no easy parallels between Vick’s dogs’ deaths and hers, but I think we can all agree this is tragic irony.
Right now, teams of writers for late-night TV are struggling to craft the perfect lesbian-parents joke. I hope they nail it!
You know that sport where people stand on a surfboard and paddle down the Potomac? Are they at all worried about getting cut in two by the Dandy? Please advise!
Thank you, that is all for today.