Doug Henwood wrote,
>I had no idea I was so close to fame! As I was walking down Broadway
>yesterday morning, I noticed an encampment of reporters, cameras,
>spotlights, and microphones on 84th Street just west of Broadway, the
>building just outside my livingroom window. (It also happens to be the site
>of a former farmhouse where Poe wrote "The Raven.") Turns out that's where
>Lucianne Goldberg, the most famous literary agent of last week, lives. The
>hacks and their gadgets are there just in case she emerges and issues a
>statement. They were there, spotlights blazing, when I went out at 3, when
>I came back at 4, when I went out again at 5:30, and when I came back at
>10. God, I love the working press.
How fine the line between press, porno and papperazzi. Come to think of it,
what line?
Let's imagine a scenario in which the President of the United States is
killed, along with his porn-star girlfriend, when his limosine slams into a
underpass support post while fleeing a pack of papperazzi hoping to capture
a telephoto shot of the president and friend in *flagrante delecto*.
No, no. Let's imagine a porno flick in which the above scenario is the
skeletal plot upon which the panting, grunting, slurping content is draped.
And why has no one mentioned the eerily hilarious coincidence that "Deep
Throat" was the Woodward and Bernstein code name for their Watergate informant?
Regards,
Tom Walker
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