three-hole punching makes me bitchy

Even though I only managed to finish about 1/8th of the crossword puzzle (damn you, Will Shortz!) I quite enjoyed the New York Times Magazine this weekend.

EXTRA, EXTRA!
Who knew that Brooklyn is becoming gentrified and expensive, and that there are still crrrrazy artist folk on the Lower East Side?

Damn
I'm kicking myself for never having read Susan Sontag before.

The writer must be four people:

1) the nut, the obsédé

2) the moron

3) the stylist

4) the critic

1) supplies the material

2) lets it come out

3) is taste

4) is intelligence

a great writer has all 4 — but you can still be a good writer with only 1) and 2); they’re most important.

It's quite a shame she kept this journal before the blog era. Then maybe she'd have been able to get a book deal!

Where's Waldo?
Given the whole downtown theme, I feared from the getgo that at least one of the Misshapes kids would make an appearance. For the sake of the Times I prayed I was mistaken. After all, it seemed like only days ago that we'd had to stomach the trend piece on rose wine and its accompanying photos of the alleged tastemakers. When the Lower East Side profile showed not a trace of Princess Coldstare, I was nearly giddy. But when I came to the article on the cultural phenomenon of clothing store as gathering place, fear took over. As I turned each page, my heartrate slowed a couple of bpm's as the glossy remained Leotard Fantastik free. And then, there in the very last picture, just when I'd thought the coast was clear...


Curses!