Sorry for the non-existent blogging lately. The company I work for is moving, which is a real pain in the neck. Anyway I have no profound political insights to impart so I’ll leave you (for now) with some of Paris Hilton’s prison diary:
DAY 1: Arrived late Sunday night. So tired. Asked if I could check into my room immediately. Quite possibly the rudest concierge I have ever met. I told him he was fired. Not the effect I’d hoped for. And no, I did not register under the name “Little Miss Whore.” What kind of hotel forces you to strip and delouse (maybe Marriott?). Although instead of a robe I got a fabulous orange jumpsuit with a cute number on it. Nothing to do at night. I’m told (as there was, like, no information in my room) that there is no bar or lounge area. I wish I’d brought flats.