It's been a couple hours and I've only accomplished three pages on Damien Hirst. He is the kind of twat that you can read half a page about and know all there is to know. That doesn't mean I don't want this piece for my living room:
Shout out to Josh for having Rosh Hashanah sex with a real-life JuicyCampus celebrity! You make me so proud.
Oh, and check out the new issue of French Playboy with supermodel Lily Cole. Even though I have no French fluency, this is one of my favorite magazines on the planet. Just not for the articles.
I guess I'll talk about Liverpool for a bit. NYU took us for a weekend adventure to this post-industrial urban wasteland. It was pretty awful but it's always fun to leave town with the anticipation of getting into trouble. Liverpool seemed to have some weird strain of racism left over from it's early days as a slave trade hotbed. One gift shop sold blackface minstrel dolls right alongside Newton's Cradle and chintzy plastic snowglobes.
Here is Kate on the beach.
Oh and I met the prezident. He seemed to be having some difficulty figuring out his little "rainbow box" (his words) so I offered him a relaxing whiff of carcinogenic bliss.