When I see the glory, I ain't got a worry
Too cool to get a link from Vanity Fair's James Wolcott concerning this post. A short while after escaping the clutches of Columbia House in my teens, I started buying punk records in the late 70's. The like-minded of us tried all we could to understand the significance of the music that we enjoyed so much, and I remember going down to the local county library just to check out the latest Village Voice for the vital insights from Wolcott, Christgau, et al. (btw, screw Rolling Stone; I gave up when they tried to often to wrap their reviews around the latest Derrida deconstructionist B.S.)
So to follow up on my most recent post on PRT; Mr. Wolcott, you've got the job in Manhattan that I have always secretly coveted. Mass Transit? I would crawl over broken glass to work in that environment, assuming I had the talent to start with.
My list of the top writers on the web: