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You Shall Know Their Verbosity

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Or at least their voluminousness: What with the elections, the issue close of the magazine where I work, the story I was writing for same, the reading of the Roz Chast compendium, candy corn, a family episode, getting all my shoes repaired, Heartbreak House, the world suddenly lousy with enraging words and phrases, and the Grey Gardens DVD extras, legitimately New Yorker-related links have been piling up like so many leaves in a drainpipe. But like the rains that swept the city today, taking care of the last few hangers-on among the branches, so shall the next few posts dispose of these links, which are kind of tormenting me with their unpostedness. Telltale heartthrobs, if you will.
While you’re waiting, my friend Lisa Levy, who’s working on a very impressive book, reviews Courtney Love’s scrapbooky memoir for Salon.


It’s weird, because she’s nothing like me, and nothing like anyone I know, but I find Courtney Love immensely likeable (when she’s not flashing her boobs or babbling incoherently). I think she’s got an amazing energy — maybe just too much of it to handle all by herself!
I’m a little scared to read the diary though — but I guess it’s in keeping with her personality to publish her autobiography in such “warts and all” format. And why not? With all the people crowding the world, why suffer alone?

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2008 Webby Awards Official Honoree