Oooh, Michael Wolff's got a big Judith Regan analysis in March's Vanity Fair! Let's skim: Judy's not an anti-Semite, just a crazy person . . . perversely, she's a hero in a way . . . the last over the top tabloid personality . . . has a problem with authority . . . Rupert Murdoch's gone soft . . . Jane Friedman's a diva too in her own right . . . Yawn! Frankly, we were a bit more entertained when we read these tidbits last week, in Vanessa Grigoriadis's New York profile which also tilled this increasingly barren patch of earth. But wait! Turns out, Wolff does have something new to say: while Grigoriadis only crossed paths with Regan in a job interview, Wolff's had much more personal experience of her crazitude — they were school chums. Lucky Michael was even privy to Judy's bedroom secrets — and unless you stop reading now, soon you'll share in his good fortune.
On several occasions, we almost got involved. Aside from her being with my best friend, I sensed, even then, that it was not a good idea to be on the descriptive end of her running commentary (from Judith, I know things about the intimate behavior of other men—when they cried, how they begged, where they like to insert sharp objects—that may have altered my fundamental view of humanity). Years later, she told The Washington Post that I was gay, that I had a thing for her college boyfriend. I got off easy.
Congrats, Michael. We, on the other hand, may never get off again.