
Katha Pollitt and Andrew Sullivan
Katha,
Geez. News from the workers, eh?
I remember diligently doing a few cover stories at the New Republic on the future of labor. Even with campy, WPA-style illustrations, they were always the lowest newsstand sales; and everyone at the editorial meeting would groan at the very thought. Still, I love John Judis. (He used to alternate with Tom Geoghegan as the only gifted writer who could stay awake thinking about labor's new renaissance.) Perhaps the problem is that we don't know how to cover the story more inventively. The best coverage of what it's like to be a corporate drone is a cartoon strip, Dilbert, which runs in gazillions of newspapers, and is often far more eloquent about the real world of labor than a dozen NPR stories.
I also have to say that the notion that a strike in Denmark is not simply more important but more interesting than a real live car chase is really a novel idea. Next time I'm in New York, I'd better not go to the movies with you. What next? Finland's oil workers: a five-year retrospective. You really do miss the Soviet Union.
Off to the gym. It's a real Washington institution. A hole-in-the wall on 18th Street is home to Maureen Dowd on the Precor, Jane Mayer pumping her extremely taut bod upstairs, and David Brock on the free weights. All this and several straight muscleheads and a handful of sprightly, roidal queens. Today is legs day. My crazy straight workout partner, Bryan, is trying to get me to squat over 360 pounds. I maxed out last week at 355. I'll do laundry later.
later,
Andrew
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