The Dream That Broke My Heart: My Brief, Beautiful, and Utterly Absurd Love Affair with Miley Cyrus

It began at Canter’s Deli, of all places, because where else would one find true love at dawn? The air smelled of pastrami and ambition. And there, across the room, stood Miley Cyrus, wearing an oversized leather jacket and a look of unmistakable destiny. Our eyes met over a plate of lox and bagels. Sparks flew. Probably crumbs, too.

If Marilyn Had Been a Car, She Would Have Been a Ferrari

I AM FLYING OVER THE TOP OF L.A. in the world’s greatest sports car, clocking speeds well above 100 miles an hour then quickly braking to a fraction of that to keep the Ferrari from sailing off a winding curve on Mulholland Drive and into a canyon below — and it’s like orgasming in a dream. I am either about to wake up or go the way of James Dean, hypnotized as I am by the Ferrari’s spine-tingling engine sound as enchanting as the seductive sirens of Greek mythology.