Could someone please explain to me what year it is?
We’ve written two pieces this week about how cute Julia Stiles is looking — even in something that ought, ostensibly, to wash her out. What next? Am I going to be hired to write a piece about the new hot band, Smash Mouth, or about this weird thing, “THE INTERNET” or about how one day you might be able to check your email from a phone?? And if we have, in fact, traveled back in time to a place where someone wrote regularly about Julia Stiles, am I allowed to pop over to my apartment in Westwood to tell myself to stay away from certain boys, or is that going to make the space-time continuum collapse in on itself? I mean, I’d like to save 1995 Me from some problems, but I don’t want to, like, rend the fabric of the universe or something.