Wolcott and me
There is no greater stylist of the English language writing on the World Wide Interwebs today than Vanity Fair‘s James Wolcott. So to be quoted by him is akin to having Thom Yorke stroll past you on the sidewalk, humming one of your tunes (or, for our older readers, the equivalent of Bruce Springsteen pulling you from the audience to dance awkwardly for a few moments in his video). I don’t really go in for the fanboy thing (ok, not much), but if there’s one thing I appreciate it is a good turn of phrase, and Wolcott cranks out three or four every time he sets fingers to keyboard, so consider this me screaming and throwing my bra onstage. Um, as it were.