Vanessa Grigoriadis misses the point…again
It’s a shitty time to be a writer. Magazines and papers are crumbling left and right, freelance money is evaporating, superb writers (and hangers-on like myself) are reduced to Net-dwelling bloggers. And yet, Rolling Stone keeps giving cover stories to Vanessa Grigoriadis, a writer who never met a subject she couldn’t condescend to. Her latest victim is current RS cover girl Taylor Swift. Now, Swift is easily the most important and groundbreaking mainstream country music artist since the Dixie Chicks, and arguably the most important female pop star since Avril (consider that Kelly Clarkson and Miley Cyrus owe a Avril a debt that Taylor does not). She is deserving of a penetrating, insightful profile, but Grigoriadis is hardly the person to deliver it.
Drew Peterson wishes you a Happy Valentine’s Day!
If Drew Peterson was a movie villain, he’d rank among the legendary and the complex, on par with Hannibal Lechter and Keyser Soze. But he is real, or at least tabloid-TV real. He has repeatedly, shamelessly, and often compellingly capitalized on a very real tragedy, however. And because he is so obviously a sociopathic narcissist, the court of public opinion has already convicted him as a murderer as well (which, let’s be honest, he probably is). If he’s never brought to trial, he may have gotten away with the perfect crime, not once, but twice (special thanks go to his police department buddies), and he will continually flaunt this, under the unconvincing guise of insisting innocence. Unlike, say, Scott Peterson (and how weird that Drew named his daughter Lacy?!?) or Casey Anthony, Drew Peterson is an expert media manipulator: an alarmingly detached, inappropriately avuncular camerahog, who has parlayed tragedy (a tragedy he may very well have created) into celebrity. He is as much showman as psycho. Ruthlessly toying with your treasured concept of reasonable doubt, he knows that, deep down inside, despite all ostensible evidence, you don’t know if he’s guilty, but he does. He is almost joyously fucking with America, and we keep coming back for more. His antics, while morally reprehensible, are consistently watchable—when this man is on camera, it is tough to look away.
Take this interview from Friday’s TODAY show (bumped to the second hour due to some pesky plane crash that killed 49 people instead of two), with 55-year-old Drew and his 24-year-old new fiancee, potential wife number five and potential victim number three, who called off the engagement just last week, and quickly returned to the fray once Drew no doubt upped the fame-and-fortune ante. (Not for nothing is this her first television interview.) You’ll stay for all seven unsettling minutes, because bad humanity often translates to great television.
Not since the Laredo compound have I seen a young woman make such believable autonomous statements. Note that the betrothed couple’s hands are more clenched than locked, and Drew is watching, almost coaching, her every response with a fixed, penetrating, easily enraged gaze. The interview plays more like abducted and abductor rather than future husband and wife: the gun to her head is palpable. If this was a movie, this scene would be artfully chilling. But it’s not a movie, it only plays like one—and that makes it more chilling than even the most artful of cinematic thrillers. Welcome to the 21st Century!
Happy Valentine’s Day! If these two crazy kids can find each other, then how the fuck are you single? (And if you are single, please e-mail me, as I am spending Valentine’s Day blogging about Drew Peterson.)
