Dead to me

I don’t think it can be scientifically proven that each new edition of Vanity Fair is not in fact a copy of every Vanity Fair ever. Every single issue contains:

1. A celebrity interview for me to ignore. I already know more than I need to about Cher, thank you very much.

2. Disconnected ramblings from Graydon Carter, who has been dead to me since Spy magazine folded.

3. One good, well-researched article about an actual news topic: – the Bernie Madoff scandal, the real estate meltdown, Wikileaks, Goldman Sachs. Bethany McLean’s reporting on business and finance is excellent.

4. The obligatory story about the Kennedys. Jackie as a fashion icon. The real story behind the Bay of Pigs. Jackie’s childhood. Jackie’s career as an editor. This month it’s JFK’s inaugural: “The Bash that Launched Camelot!” By now they have to be scraping the bottom of this well-worn barrel. Next month, maybe . . . oh, I don’t know . . . “Camelot on a platter: Jackie’s state dinner menus”?

5. The inane “My Stuff” feature. I don’t think anyone on the planet needs to know which toothpaste Rihanna uses.

6. The obligatory one-page feature on a European socialite who recently launched her line of: 1. children’s clothing, 2. luxury spa products, or 3. gourmet cupcakes.

7. The obligatory feature on a 40-year-old “celebrity” crime, complete with black and white photos to convince us that the victims, defendants, or both were indeed famous in 1972. You’d think they’d stop now that Dominick Dunne is not only dead to me, but actually dead.

8. The obligatory feature on an actress whose career peaked in the ‘60s. Is there really anything more to say about Elizabeth Taylor, Angie Dickinson or Marilyn Monroe? Stop it.

9. A two-page jumble of tiny pictures of rich people at parties.

10. Something from Christopher Hitchens, which is generally worth reading.

Of course the cover is always graced by a celebrity. Approximately 30% of their covers feature Angelina Jolie, with 30% of the photo featuring her cleavage. This month’s issue arrived the other day, and on the cover is . . . hey, it’s not Angelina Jolie! It’s . . . Justin Bieber. Covered in lipstick smears. With the breathless promise of a full feature interview inside!

Vanity Fair, you are dead to me.

Noooooo!

This is just wrong.

Sarah Palin vs. Bag of Hammers

There’s one question that has been nagging sentient Americans since August of 2008 (Thanks sooo much, John McCain): Is Sarah Palin dumber than a bag of hammers? Let’s check the facts:

1. While hammers have been known to draw blood, particularly in my clumsy hands, they have never used the loaded phrase “blood libel,” and thus could not have used it in the appalling context of the shooting of a Jewish congresswoman. Advantage: hammers.

2. No hammer has made millions of dollars spouting the same platitudes over and over. (Tom “The Hammer” Delay doesn’t count, as he is not an actual hammer and will not have access to hammers for the next three years or so.) Advantage: Palin.

3. Hammers do not read newspapers. Neither does Palin. Tie.

4. Hammers are useful, serve a necessary purpose, and when not in use, lie quietly in tool chests and junk drawers. Advantage: hammers.

5. Hammers do not have Twitter or Facebook accounts. Advantage: Palin.

6. Hammers don’t use Twitter or Facebook to post inane ramblings, veiled slurs and made-up words. Advantage: hammers.

7. Hammers don’t spend half their time courting media attention and the other half attacking the media for all the attention. Advantage: hammers.

The hammers have it.