You've really got to love one that continues, "The moguls, especially at MGM, meant to entertain and improve minds—or at least wean them from actual books, which, great or not, kept potential customers at home."
Giddons has a refreshing lack of reverence for acknowledged classics.
Indeed, I'm almost sure of it.
Strangers in our office leaning against cubicle walls, spitting into walkie-talkies: "Pedro's coming with a truck. Yeah. We'll need about twenty-five dollies and ten carts. Yeah."
The 9th floor halls of 261 Madison Avenue are lined with red dollies and cardboard boxes. Large, iron dumpsters overflowing with magazines, manilla folders, and 3-ring binders are parked into every corner.
IN New York magazine is moving out. Soon, the floor will belong to only us. For awhile — until we move, and the others come — it will be quieter than usual.
Ho, a fine sally—or should I say assay?
The New York Mets went down last night, down with the rain, while the St. Louis Cardinals showered themselves in so much champagne. Bah.
But what a game it was. One for the history books. Yet such a shame; such a large part of me believes that the wrong team won. But how could that be? How could the wrong team have won? It's not possible. I…
I thought we were a good band. I thought we made good music — music that was beautiful and strong, music that was intelligent and true. I thought our music was special. I thought it was important. And maybe it was. To us, it was, indeed.
Maybe I was too close.
I never really wanted anything, but to be taken seriously. To be discussed.