Saturday, October 02, 2004

James Wolcott used to be one of my big brain crushes, back in the day, when he was a punk Village Voice TV critic, under the influence of some blend of helium and Pauline Kael. Then, he got a little stodgy. I think Vanity Fair does that to you. The magazine, not the book. Is it the shift from newsprint to coated paper that does it to you? Friction, baby. It always matters.

The book is awesome. I want William Makepeace Thackeray for my super dead boyfriend. I'll be saying that for a while.

But now Wolcott has a blog, and that makes all the difference. He's able to zip from Janice Dickinson's hooters to Wilhelm Reich in two paragraphs.

And that's hot.


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