Snitchens Snucks

Christopher Hitchens gets up my nose. He's a blow-hard in a way that so few good writers are and, apparently believing his publicists' hype, he makes himself more and more ridiculous, treating each new by-line as a chance to extend himself further out on the decreasingly credible limbs of his opinions. And the pain in my personal rear is that he's published in so many vehicles I otherwise enjoy reading: Slate, Vanity Fair... So, I got a little guilty pleasure from this take-down of a more-objectionable-than-usual Hitchens piece in the most recent Vanity Fair. Feminists do indignant rant better than most -- especially when they are, coincidentally, right -- and this is some primo ranting slathered with In Dig Nation. (Trademark. See new blog title coming soon!) The light-hearted ranters are, as usual, even better than those genuinely pissed off. Anger, but, you know, with jokes. The best response is probably not to respond, or to send Vanity Fair a quick note saying that you respect them less in the morning because they're sleeping with Hitch. (Or, in this case, as you'll read, apparently blowing him.) But the analysis buried within the invective/slings/arrows/used tampons hurled at Hitch is really quite wonderful. Not fine rhetoric finely wrought, mind you, but still a ripping good read. I post all this, of course, only to prove that my reading is broader than the reading list at left. I'm trying to broaden myself. You know, blowjobs, Nabokov interpretations, and alcoholic ranters. Not that Flame-Haired Angel doesn't already have all those bases covered, mind you. ..