In the light of the $78-million price tag attached to the royal wedding, mainly attributed to British taxpayers, and due to its potential cost of $47 billion to Britain’s economy, I must state the obvious: It’s entirely unfair that celebrities have to pay for their own weddings, and dare I say, their own homes too.
Now, before you get your knickers in a bunch, allow me to explain…
As with many markets around the world, the British have been subjects of an historically feeble economy. High unemployment, a weak consumer, and rising inflation, all crave one thing: a strong investment.
The other night, much of the world was oblivious to the horrible suffering endured by 1 billion people, and I'm not talking about the poor and disenfranchised.
I’m talking about the estimated worldwide audience that watched the Oscars telecast …
In hopes of conquering such strife, back in February, I called for a metaphoric colon cleanse of society - “
Fodder-Free February.” The mission was a month-long moratorium on famous people who are well suited for passing through our bowels.
It would be a month free of banal celebrity gossip. (Luckily, I chose the shortest month of the year.)
When I was five years old, I wanted to marry a rabbi or a shoe salesman when I grew up. A rabbi, perhaps because I’m Jewish (I really don’t remember why), and a shoe salesman, because, d’uh, I’m
Shoeish.
From the time I was little, I was already very left wing socio-politically. I may never have been statistically the right height for my age, but as a child, I was not usually my actual age either.
Every time I saw
a homeless person, I was confused. How are there not enough places for people to live? Every time I met a fat kid, he’d become my best friend. How could others be so mean to him? Every time I could get my little brother in trouble for climbing out of his crib, I would. How could a big sister not be even a little bit mean to her baby brother?
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