"Povich was assigned to a team of Australian producers. They were contemptuous of any reporter who wouldn’t knock on a grieving widow’s door. (They accused such wusses of “knocking on the grass.”) When A Current Affair couldn’t book the principal from a big news story — and it rarely could — the Aussies would scream, “Get the cousin!” The show was crude and unpolished. “Sometimes the producer would run down with a newspaper and have Maury read stuff, because we were short,” said John Tomlin, a supervising producer."
"My SATs were good, since I’d pretty much jerked off to standardized tests ever since the first one I took in elementary school. Fill in a dot and get a prize? Yes, please. Amid the ambiguity of the shifting playing field of adult life, I often wish I could just fill in a dot and have someone say “yes” and hand me a chicken leg, or “no” and slap me with an old fish."
"In February both Loeb and Ackman attended Vanity Fair’s Oscar party in Los Angeles. A person there reported that Ackman went up to Loeb, said hello, then added about Herbalife, “Look, you really shouldn’t have done that,” to which Loeb replied, “Why? Why shouldn’t I have done that?” Ackman said, “It was really wrong.” Loeb replied, “No, why? I made $50 million. What’s wrong with that?” The two men no longer speak."
"The book is a narrative reconstruction of the behind-the-scenes machinations of the campaigns of Obama and Republican nominee Mitt Romney. It details Romney’s search for a vice-presidential nominee. “Project Goldfish,” as his vetting team called its operation, was so secretive that researchers referred to the five finalists by aquatic names — New Jersey Gov. Chris Christie (Pufferfish), former Minnesota governor Tim Pawlenty (Lakefish), Sen. Rob Portman of Ohio (Filet-O-Fish), Sen. Marco Rubio of Florida (Pescado) and Rep. Paul Ryan of Wisconsin (Fishconsin)."
"(Football is the nation’s No. 1 obsession, followed closely by a middle-aged person yelling about football, and then a football just rotating noiselessly on a tray.)"
"I forgot to mention that it’s also a very funny book. And Bombay is a very funny city. At one point during this trip, as Suketu’s taxi idles at a red light, a 14-year-old kid tries to sell him a pirated paperback copy of Maximum City. Suketu asks him what the book is about. “Oh, all of Bombay is in this book!” the young street salesman says. “Well, how much do you want?” Suketu asks. “Six hundred rupees!” the kid says—about $9. “Six hundred? Do you know I’ve written it?” “Fine,” the kid shrugs. “If you’ve written it, you can have it for four hundred."