why i love the observer

Because an article can start like this:

Those few who find themselves in a position to knowledgeably discuss the attendees of the Bridgehampton Polo Club games often talk in code. New Money. No Money. The Real People don’t come anymore.

The interpretation of this code might lead one down some very dark social alleys. Still, more objective comments might be made about changes in the world of polo. In 2002, the pert and highly evolved Natalie Portman gave out the trophies to the sweaty, hunky winners. In 2003, it was down to Kim Cattrall.

On this Saturday just past, July 16, the first day of polo season, the very first match of the 10th Annual Mercedes-Benz Polo Challenge, none other than Victoria Gotti materialized out of extremely thin air to offhandedly dispatch trophies to the tasty riders.

And end like this:

The Scholastic Inc. embargo on the new Harry Potter book had ended that weekend, and so a messenger arrived in the Hamptons from Manhattan at midnight with 125 copies—75 in the trunk and 50 in the backseat. At exactly the same time, a car bomber in Baghdad, one of a series, propelled himself into a group of Interior Ministry soldiers, killing three and wounding 10 civilians. Ms. Rowling’s book, by the way, is reportedly very good.

Sex and the City, class warfare, Natalie Portman, real warfare, Harry Potter, Growing up Gotti and polo horses all in one article? Thank you, Observer.

Also, the Observer laments (second half of the page) the limited summer options of the non-superrich:

Jerry Seinfeld’s always got that “Yeah, I sure hit the jackpot, didn’t I? You caught me, guilty as charged!” look, too. He’s like, Wow, gulp, I really did it and now I don’t have to do anything for the rest of my life. I got my health. My sports cars. Hot wife and kids. Huge triplex in the Beresford; $50 million country house. The future’s looking real good, just wide open and I’m only 45. Think I’ll buy another Porsche today, take a dump inside, then blow it up.