Speaking as one who has abused privilege a long time, I tell you, it's great to be alive.

I've been to Paris. And it ain't that pretty at all.

And if California slides into the ocean, as the mystics and statistics say it will, I predict this hotel will be standing until I've paid my bill.

I mean, I haven't been completely lacking in some enjoyment of Chuck Berry or Buddy Holly. But I just didn't pay attention to that period of music, obviously.

There's nothing romantic, nothing grand, nothing heroic, nothing brave, nothing like that about drinking. It's a real coward's death.

All I can say is what I've always said: If you break your leg, stop thinking about dancing and start decorating the cast.

Little old lady got mutilated late last night, werewolves of London, again.