I'm baffled. Mystified. And deeply, deeply disturbed.
Everyone knows that publicists are as full of crap as a row of Port-o-sans at the end of a chili festival, and apparently Sloane Crosley nimbly made the leap from publicist to published author by being "The Most Popular (read: most full of crap) Publicist in New York City," but seriously, New York Times, I thought you had some standards.
Please tell me that you don't actually 1099 her for crap like this.
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