To the woman from New Jersey on the 151 bus yesterday. It is not necessary to scream out the name of every building on Michigan Ave. as you spot it. You are on a bus, so please use your inside voice. Otherwise we will have to brand your forehead with the words “obnoxious tourist.”
To her daughter who blocked the aisle with her baby’s stroller. Newsflash. “Public transportation” means that this vehicle will actually transporting the public. This is not your personal SUV.
To the four idiots attending the Bonnie Raitt concert last night. People paid to hear the artist, not you guys talking loudly in a drunken stupor. We have enough bars in the city who would be thrilled to have you.
If your name isn't on this marquee, then please STFU during the concert.
To the musicians who keep dying. Stop it. Seriously. Between Davy Jones, Whitney Houston, Donna Summer, Barry Gibb, I’m exhausted from reading breaking news bulletins about death. Yeah, I know it’s inevitable, but can we please space these out a little more.
To the peeps at Saturday Night Live. The season ender with Mick Jagger as the host was hilarious. Especially the karaoke bar skit where the cast tried to sing Rolling Stones songs and Mick butchering Satisfaction. Well played.
To Ralph Lauren. Was it necessary for you to discontinue the 600 thread count Regent line? I think not.
To the person who invented Pinkberry mango flavored yogurt. I love you.
To the person who invented M Burger’s chicken sandwich. I love you, too.
To my musician friends, who gave me two weekends of amazing concerts, I love you the most.
