WHEN BEST-SELLING author John Grogan worked upstairs at the Inquirer, people always confused him with Owen Wilson (”Wedding Crashers”).

The poor (but no longer poor) Inky columnist would sit in the cafeteria and people would walk by and say “What’s Jackie Chan like?” “How’s your brother, Luke?” “How’d you break your nose?”

Oh, that zany Inky lunchroom humor! That reminds us of the time when an entire staff of entitled clockwatchers ran a once-great paper into the ground until its most recent famous alumnus was a guy who wrote a book about his fucking dog.
DN: Hello Mr. Wilson
Previously: The Dog Ate My Columns: Why John Grogan Is Kind Of A Pussy

This entry was posted on Tuesday, August 21st, 2007 at 9:22 am.