With the Super Bowl looming, Starshine reminds us what football’s really all about: The outfits.
Starshine Roshell
Writer & Columnist | Santa Barbara, CA
With the Super Bowl looming, Starshine reminds us what football’s really all about: The outfits.
Starshine takes a cold, hard look at what’s going on beneath women’s blouses.
Starshine chats with Bella DePaulo, Summerland resident and visiting professor at UCSB, about her new book, which explores the social stigma that America’s happily single faces.
Now that Shindig Season has passed, let’s resolve to be better party guests this year by learning when to set down our snifters and say, ‘So long.’ Too many promising soirŽes run aground when guests–caught up in the evening’s convivial climate–continue to gab and gargle long after their host has started the dishwasher, thanked them for coming, and opened the front door with optimism.
Business trips sound enticing to this work-at-home mom, but kidlessness – it turns out – has its price.
Dearest Friends and Family, We hope this holiday letter finds you merry, gay, and all the other pleasant emotions the season demands of you.Whew! What a whirlwind year it’s been for us. The baby is quite active these days. He likes to bang his head on things and spin around until he falls down. We assume this is because he’s so smart, and he’s trying to slow his poor little brilliant mind down to a more comfortable level.
Starshine gets to the bottom of what makes all those mall Santas tick. She finds that there are three types of Santa, and delivers the goods on each.
We all know diamonds are the world’s hardest natural substance, but the jewelry industry doesn’t seem to believe it. Judging by the sappy ads popping up on Monday night football, in men’s magazines, and on billboards along Highway 101, diamond peddlers seem convinced there’s nothing more dense and impenetrable than a man’s skull.
There are not a lot of things we, as a society, can learn from Rob Lowe. The Montecito resident can’t teach us how to act or build our dream home without infuriating our neighbors, but he sure has one valuable lesson: If you’re famous, for god’s sake don’t tape yourself having sex.
It started out as an innocent evening, with plans to meet a girlfriend for a local book-signing. But when it was over, there were feathers on my chest, lube in my hair, and a new place in my heart for stripper poles.