Summertime, oh summertime, when on Sundays, pointless galleries seem to make some sense. So, voila! Now go do a cannonball.
Edvard Munch's latest muse endeavored into quite an extravaganza Friday — his words, not mine — which hit one of its most surreal moments when Starbury himself jumped into a pool. That was around the middle of the afternoon. When I tuned in later that night, he was back to blabbering, and it was like nothing had changed, even after eight hours. Maybe he should consider politricks.