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It's disappointing to me that you follow up an excellent article about open adoption with a breathy drug diary more worthy of Page Six than Salon.
The author ignored the obvious signs of addiction, and instead chose to revel in the lavish gifts and cuddling. I'm glad that she, in retrospect, is ashamed of her passivity. I guess you can't blame her for accepting nights in La Sirenuse, Barneys pajamas, and soulless garden abusivparties in Southampton.
In retrospect, I'm ashamed of my passivity with my boss, but he just keeps on sending those paychecks.
Salon has been slipping in recent weeks. The overall quality has been decent, but there have been a few articles here and there (including the carbon nanobot freakout from yesterday) that have betrayed a startling lack of editor oversight. In the end, I'd prefer that Salon take risks like this, but this one definately failed.
Ho hum. A rich girl's carefully constructed life is thrown into sylishly-tussled disarray by her faux-serious problems with a rich drug addict. I may as well be reading about Paris fucking Hilton's problems.
