23 January 2002

Speaking as a once and future zine publisher and a cynical, embittered observer of the business of journalism (heavy on the business, light on the journalism), I have to say I love this kid and would be honored to split a bottle of Maalox with him. In unfortunately related news, MIchael Wolff’s gleeful-yet-reasoned obituary for Talk punctuates the end of that sentence perfectly (I regularly referred to Talk as the magazine that you felt like you’d already read — “for hip and intelligent people” my ass, it was for the same annoying Upper West Side Manhattanites that any of these vanity-lit projects are), while Tina Herself [tm] claims that the terrorists have won, so to speak.

23 January 2002

22 January 2002

When I was a freshman in college, my roommate and I used to drive around LA until dawn. One night we went exploring the glorious ruins of the Ambassador, which are glamourous even in dereliction. We wandered all around until we got caught by an ancient, ancient guard, who upon finding that we were there to pay our respects rather than to trash the place gave us a tour of a hotel he clearly loved very much. It shimmers in its history. It is magical. Ms. Benjamin is extremely fortunate, and not just in the way that teaches one to appreciate caviar in one’s preteens. Read the story.

22 January 2002