Done Dirt Cheap
By 
Hello! It’s your old friend, Elizabeth. How are things? Uh huh? Yeah? That’s nice. What’s up with me? Thanks for asking. I’ve published a few things recently that maybe you would be interested in, depending on what you’re interested in. Let’s cook:
Let’s start with this story I wrote for the New York Times magazine about how rock docs and biopics have been sanitized. Have a taste:
It’s not that I want to see the nasty stuff for fun; a lot of it is depressing, idiotic, cruel or seriously criminal. The question is what is actually true and how much we care about it. Once you’ve heard about enough toxic behavior, the familiar pileups of sex and drugs start to feel less like a thrill ride and more like a dull narrative cul-de-sac.
And I also reviewed this new Everly Brothers book by Barry Mazor for the Washington Post.
Two often overlooked, fractious, world-changing brothers had managed one last feat that had always seemed impossible: They had, for a time, become friends.
And then for my golf buddies, I wrote about the un-good vibrations and strange press conference that preceded Scottie Scheffler’s most dominant major title triumph so far, at the Open Championship for the Ringer. He’s getting stranger and stranger. He’s getting better and better. Don’t believe me? Check out this slice:
Whoa! What was happening here? This was heady stuff, reminiscent of Bill Parcells’s troubled maxim: “There is winning, and there is misery.” Was Scheffler burned out? Had he tired of his own dominance? Had he been brushing up on his Samuel Beckett? Public intrigue around those comments quickly built to a fever pitch in the days leading up to Thursday’s opening round. What happens when the heavy favorite to win the year’s final major says, essentially, that it won’t be all that fulfilling if he does?
That’s about all I’ve got right now for you, but there’s really something for everyone, as Sondheim says, especially if you share my highly specific interests.