I am not a radio star.

And so video has little effect on my career. But this is absurd!

I have been the subject of at least 100 insults by moronic bloggers over the last few months. But this is the ultimate. First, just look at that disgusting suit! The haircut’s obviously the work of a Ukrainian shearer. Also, I am not normally accompanied by drums and strings. And hello! Walter Duranty shaves!

Get it right. That’s always been my motto.

Posted 21.09.2010 by Pultizer Prize-winning New York Times correspondent Walter Duranty
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My weekend with Nick and Bloomie.

Spent Friday night at the office closing these two fine pieces:

Message to Muslims: I’m Sorry. I love editing Nick’s stuff. You can put any damn thing you want in one of his columns and it only improves it. It’s like decorating a fencepost. I had the most beautiful closer! Get this:

I’m apologizing to all of you, my Muslim friends, and not only that, I’m offering reparations: Next Friday, my house in Scarsdale for some bacon n’ brew!

Copy took it out. I get a memo: “The New York Times does not use ‘n” as a contraction of ‘and.'” What rectum starch. Trying to lighten up Kristoff’s dim sanctimoniousness is like buying desk lamps for Stevie Wonder.

I also worked on this one:

Bloomberg Pushes Moderates in National Races. Like it? Of course, if you’ve been following me, you can spot my edits. Love what I did to the baggers in this one. Love it.

I love that Billy Barty mayor, too! In fact, so does Billy:

Mr. Bloomberg added, “It isn’t like people are going to gravitate towards one of these boomlet — splinter might not be quite the right word, since it might have other connotations — but the small nouveau parties.”

Eventually, the mayor said, “people go back to the major parties.”

And sure enough, I went back home to a very major party Saturday night for Mark Ronson. Huge. We all thought he was on his way after Amy’s Tweet. Barty was there doing his Bloomberg impersonation with Tweed. “I am not an adviser; I am not an analyst,” he said. “You know, I am a doer.”

We’ve all seen this riff a dozen times. Tweed always asks, “What do you do, Bloomie?”

Then Barty picks out the tallest woman in the room – Saturday night, it was a tipsy Mable Walker Willebrandt – and rubs against her leg. “I do her!”

It’s a killer routine, but you have to be there.

Speaking of, Ronson was a no-show.

Posted 20.09.2010 by Pultizer Prize-winning New York Times correspondent Walter Duranty
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