Newport bachelor eats at college cafeteria for 40 years, donates

Depression-era Omaha is where a pre-teen Lindsay collected dandelions to sell as chicken feed, earning a few pennies each week to buy bread for his family.

Walking to school one morning, a skinny, starved Lindsay picked through a neighbor's garbage can and emerged with a not-quite-empty jar of peanut butter.

"Bruce eagerly ate the peanut butter and would never forget how delicious it tasted," according to a self-published biography of Lindsay's life written by a friend.

Now, admittedly, eating from a garbage can � and being so desperate that you enjoy it, no less � might make any reasonable person a tad frugal. For Lindsay, though, financial security became a real obsession.

Even as things began looking up in the 1940s, after his family had moved to California, there was no way he'd let impulse buys send him back to the poorhouse.

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“Wishful Drinking” Puts the “Dis” in Dysfunction

As a teen, she witnessed the parade of stepmothers who came in and out of her father's life, one not much older than herself. In her 20s she rocketed to fame in Star Wars, had two failed marriages to the same man, wrote the very successful novel and subsequent screenplay for the scathingly funny semi-autobiographical Postcards from the Edge, and got admitted to rehab for the first of many times. A drug addict and alcoholic later diagnosed with manic depression (now called bipolar disorder), Fisher today at 52 could be considered the poster child for survival.

The sarcastically self-effacing actress and scribe refuses to tag herself with that label, however. She also venomously disparages tell-all celebrities while telling all on her own self and family. Fisher's seemingly absurd history - truth being far stranger than fiction - could easily devolve into self-serving 12-step confession.

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Teen, alleged abductor made hundreds of calls - court

Howard suggested taking her to the hospital "to see if I had depression or something".

While on the road trip he told her to text her friends and let them know she was alright.

Following the video screening, the teen was questioned by police prosecutor David Pawson who sought identification of photographic items found in the glove box of Howard's car.

Asked who a packet of condoms belonged to, she said: "They are certainly not mine."

A length of cable and some binding tape were, she assumed, Howard's. But she didn't know what they were there for.

Howard's lawyer, Craig Tuck, accepted a prima facie case had been established and entered a not guilty plea to the abduction charge.

Howard was remanded on bail for a callover on December 11.

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Sebastian Stan

Answer, if that depression was great like this one: Attend a screening of the latest teen sex comedy (or is that teen-sex comedy?) at the Tribeca Grand.

This past Sunday it was Sex Drive, an oddly restrained little composition in the American Pie school whose craftsman-like simulation of raunch almost made up for its workmanlike impression of heart. The thrill might be gone (surely as much the Daily Transom's problem as the film's), but the mileposts were reached with unimpeachable alacrity: virginity, semen-involving hijink, astonishingly attractive best-friend girl understood as edgy due to darkness of hair, improbable set-up of road trip leading to sex-opportunity (sexportunity?), execution of said road trip, sight gag involving an elder gentleman's scrotum, an imbecilic Seth Green as Amish mechanic, complications to said road-trip and said sex-opportunity, mutual realization of unspoken more-than-friend status with best-friend girl.

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