S.E. Cupp

This morning Pastor Rick Warren tweeted that he had suffered a horrific eye injury, was hospitalized for it on Monday, is now home recovering and hopes to regain his sight. For those who follow him on Twitter, and are used to getting scripture quotes from the Saddleback Church pastor, it was alarming to say the least. (more)

Long time no see! Been very busy, working hard on my rhubarb pie business (I didn’t tell you?!), which I’ve started out of my apartment. There isn’t too much rhubarb growing in Lower Manhattan, so it’s required much travel. And I’ve had to recruit several experts to help me get the process down and perfect a recipe. Okay, I’m obviously lying. I can barely add, let alone multiply and divide, so baking is out for me. Plus, I only cook with meat. Here’s what I’ve really been up to: (more)

After recently reading about an artist who created multi-colored bacon in the New York Daily News, I made a discovery that changed my life: There’s a website called  BaconToday.com, which offers “Daily Updates on the World of Sweet, Sweet Bacon.” There you can find sweet treats, like maple bacon ice cream, or read about a bacon marriage proposal. Think no one’s dumb enough to get a bacon tattoo? You’re wrong, and BaconToday.com has the photo. Or buy the Bacon Freak cookbook (subtitle: “Bacon is Meat Candy”). And when the rest of the media is stuck on the goings on at BP and in Afghanistan, only BaconToday.com will give you the story that San Francisco is trying to make Mondays meatless. Oh, the horror. (more)

I just returned from a whirlwind trip to Los Angeles, where I was taping panel discussions for the “Curb Your Enthusiasm” episodes airing on TV Guide Network. When “work” means sitting around a table with Susie Essman, Rich Eisen, Dave Foley and Jo Koy, talking about whether sex is the ultimate consolation or if Koreans really do eat dog, as Larry David asserts in the series, I’m not sure we shouldn’t redefine the concept of “a job.” I was just happy not to talk about BP for a minute—the rest was icing. And for the record, alcohol, not sex, is the ultimate consolation. (more)

Good evening, from the Oval Office. (more)

Last week I went on a much-needed vacation. When I tweeted as much, I was bombarded with a number of apoplectic and judgmental queries, wondering why, exactly, I needed a break. It seems as though because I get to hang out with Michael Waltrip at NASCAR races, flit about the networks in high heels feigning outrage, speak to college students (read: drink with college students) and pen horrifically self-indulgent diary entries about, well, nothing of any consequence, that my job isn’t the kind of thing one needs an occasional respite from. I assure you, this is all very hard work. (more)

The Daily Caller’s S.E. Cupp and TV’s Andy Levy, who plays ombudsman on Fox’s “Red Eye,” brought a little New York City down to Dover, where they took in a NASCAR race. Huge racing fans themselves, they were like two kids in a candy store (or two fans at a race). But steadfast reporters that they are, they put aside their giddy anticipation to answer a few time-honored questions, like: Is Michael Waltrip a boxers or briefs kind of guy? Turns out, neither. And, What do camouflage suspenders actually camouflage? And finally, What exactly is pit stall etiquette? Spoiler alert! Sitting on the tires is frowned upon. (more)

If you’re like me, you can’t get enough of all the juicy gossip surrounding Japan’s Prime Minister Yukio Hatoyama, who’s stuck with an embarrassing 24 percent approval rating. The reasons are myriad, and his certifiably insane wife is definitely one of them—she says she gets energy boosts by “eating the sun.” But the nail in the coffin may be the shirt he recently wore to a cookout, which caused a national uproar. Yes, seriously. (more)

First, dear readers, I want to apologize for neglecting my Daily Caller Diary the past week or so. There’s no excuse, really, but that won’t stop me for offering one (or two). In addition to obsessively monitoring the Amazon rankings of my new book, I also wrapped up a grueling and rewarding journey of discovery in pursuit of my graduate degree. And it only took six years! After successfully defending my thesis (coming to a bookstore near you one day soon!), I am officially a Master of Religious Studies. Please address me accordingly—that means you, too, Mom. (more)

So, the new book, “Losing Our Religion: The Liberal Media’s Attack on Christianity,” comes out on Tuesday, April 27. You’ll understand if I use this opportunity to share with you, my beloved diary readers here at The Daily Caller, some exclusive highlights. In particular, the really, really funny ones. (more)

The other night I was on the Joy Behar Show with Ron Reagan. The whole exchange made me wonder, is he altogether there? While talking about Sarah Palin, I suggested that the reason she fascinates so many average Americans is that she’s a self-made woman. Where the left tried to tell us for eight years that George W. Bush was a nepotism experiment gone wrong, Palin became a wildly successful person all on her own. To this, Ronny scoffed and tried to tell me that the only reason we’re talking about Palin is because McCain plucked her out of obscurity and vaulted her into celebrity. Does anyone else see the irony here? Ron Jr is a guy who was raised in Los Angeles by famous parents, got kicked out of prep school, dropped out of Yale, and only now has a career in political punditry because his anti-conservative views made him a mildly interesting novelty act. And he has the balls to criticize Sarah Palin’s career arc? I love guys like this, who are so disconnected from reality that they enthusiastically serve up totally nonsensical drivel—with pride and a shit-eating grin! (more)

So, let’s get right into it. I’m getting ready for the release of my newest book, “Losing Our Religion: The Liberal Media’s Attack on Christianity,” out April 27 by Simon & Schuster. To that end, my Daily Caller editor’s exact words were, “Please promote the shit out of it in your column.” Thus: watch a salacious promotional video here, pre-order your copy here, get an autographed copy here, and go here to see where and when I’ll be speaking, signing and appearing. (more)

I slept on my pullout sofa the other night, just to mix things up. It was fun—felt like a vacation from my bed. It’s taking every ounce of energy I have not to surgically examine the fact that the only kind of getaway I can manage these days is one in which I travel a mere 17 feet and it’s over in about six hours. (more)

At a time when professional athletes are making headlines for increasingly troubling (and sometimes bizarre) reasons, it's easy to lose sight of the fact that some are pretty great guys — stand-up fathers and husbands, productive members of society and genuinely good role models. I sat down recently with Curt Schilling, hallowed Red Sox pitcher of the famous bloody sock, and his wife Shonda, who, for years, have preferred to make headlines for their charitable work than for any scandalous trysts, drug arrests or juicy controversies. (more)

Last week I went to my first Radio and Television Correspondents Dinner in Washington. It was everything I expected it would be—bad hair, liberal mudslinging, awkward jokes, and sleazy sexual innuendo. And that was just Joe Biden’s speech. Otherwise, I had a blast—in the Fox suite I chatted with Rep. Michele Bachmann about health care and Catholicism, and Alisyn Camerota about the disturbing appeal of the Real Housewives franchise. Ran into Ed Schultz, Tracy Byrnes, Steve Hayes, Megyn Kelly and Harris Faulkner, and tried my best not to drool on Charles Krauthammer. The take-away? Never wear a strapless dress—my only concern all night was trying not to flash Roger Ailes. (more)

What an awesome week for all kinds of crazy. If aliens had landed on our planet, they would have watched as: the world’s most celebrated movie stars snored through a bizarre, seventeen-hour interpretive dance at the Oscars; Rep. Patrick Kennedy lost his effing mind on the House floor; Glenn Beck and Eric Massa out-crazied each other over some exotic birth ritual called “kill the old guy;” and a Pennsylvania woman opened a dating service for lonely jihadists. Slip into a straight jacket and follow me into this padded room, Crazy, because you just had the best week ever! (more)

Big news is, I finished and turned in my graduate thesis this week. It took me six years, which is twice as many as I spent in college. If I could drink New York City and live to tell about it, I would. (more)

Every day, someone sends me a puzzling e-mail in which he tells me what he’s had for breakfast. And it’s not within the context of a larger narrative, or because I’ve asked him what he eats for breakfast, or to agitate some kind of Hegelian dialectic—nor is it particularly friendly. It’s simply declarative: “Today I had a corn muffin.” Or, “Today I had a Spanish Omelet.” I’m not sure if this is his attempt at engaging me—does he want to know what I had for breakfast? Or if it’s just his way of documenting his eating habits. In any case, it just isn’t the kind of information with which I can do anything of real consequence. Yet, for some inexplicable reason, I keep them all. (more)

It’s been an excruciatingly long week. It began with the Daytona 500, where Tony had a less than stellar day and I spent an interminable 16-hour caution drinking with Andy Levy. For the rest of the week, I’ve been a shut-in, toiling away on my master's thesis, due inexplicably soon, drowning in Durkheim and Freud and Geertz, reminding myself to eat and bathe, and assuring myself that any of this actually matters. I can sum up my fragile state of mind in one sentence: My mother wished me a happy birthday, and I said, “When is it?” (more)

I've been planning my trip to this year’s CPAC, and am mulling over the idea of greeting everyone I see there with an inappropriately enthusiastic high-five, just because. I share this with Rep. Thaddeus McCotter, and he suggests we modify it to a low-five instead. Even better. He’s right, as usual. (Read his “We The People” pamphlet, and see what I mean.) (more)