This is not likely to end well. The cinetrix has succumbed to her annual indulgence and picked up the Hollywood issue of Vanity Fair. How she loves to hate this issue with the white-hot intensity of a thousand suns. She reads it straight through and looks at all the ads. [2000 was an especially good year because she was in LA when it came out, and the LA edition has, if it can be believed, even more ads. They had to shift my seat on the flight home, for ballast.]
Already I'm off to a sterling start, and I've only reached the first page of the contributors. You see, Sofia Coppola is a contributor this month; she took a picture of Bill Murray. I was willing to let her statement, "I wanted to capture his Marcello Mastrioanni aspect," go until I spotted the photo credit for the picture of her: Jim Jarmusch.
Fuuuuuck me. I am back to hating her again. [And the bindery error that slotted this page and a Dooney & Bourke ad in twice in a row in my copy is not helping.]
You'll be hearing a lot more about the crimes of VF today, I'm afraid. Just think of it as one of those "blogger watching the Grammys in real time" efforts and indulge my rage. Thank you.
