Someday, reader, because life is cruel and enjoys mocking me, I will meet Chris Pine. I will run into him at a party, or get stuck with him inside of an elevator, or see him in the street, or be seated next to him on a plane. And when this fateful, horrible day takes place, the inevitable truth is this: I will throw pasta at him. I will not be able to help myself. Something about him just demands it. I don't know how to explain.
Browse links
US residents can opt out of "sales" of personal data.