Not only is it packed with details about Rufus’s drug binges (“He sat on the toilet for four hours before crouching in the corner, wearing a red Miu Miu peacoat”), it paints his dad, the folk singer Loudon, as a illustrious candidate for a place on the list of the Worst Semi-Notable People Ever.

Here’s Loudon, talking about art:

Now we’ve stumbled onto the big, important question: Is it necessary to feel like shit in order to be creative? I’d say the answer is yes—unless you’re J. S. Bach.

And talking about parenting while doing art:

‘You know, Pounie,’”—Pounie is Martha [Wainwright's] family nickname—”‘I think I had to do it this way. I think I had to let you guys go in order to be Loudon Wainwright, and I’m sorry, but I think I had to do it that way.’”

And his feelings on love:

When Loudon wrote his first song about [his ex-wife] Kate, it was not some sappy declaration of love everlasting, but something murkier, perhaps tinged with envy, called “Saw Your Name in the Paper.”

In conclusion, make your own conclusion! What do I know about parenting? See you in the comments section.

-War: This book is probably the best book on Afghan that I’ve read (and I’ve read more than 1/3 of them). In terms of Afraq works, though, it is incredibly moving and resolute; it exists in a solid, informative place between The Forever War (dreamy (nightmarey?), yet perhaps too impressionistic) and I Lost My Love In Baghdad (amazing details but somewhat disturbingly of an overshare. See: McChrystalgate.) Also, better than its movie, though that is good as well.

-Diana: A triumph dressed in royal purple. Truly something to admire in all respects: reportage, scope, elegance, dish. As my confidante H says: “Isn’t it all juice? For the most covered woman in the world, it’s all new! 10 yrs later — it’s practically impossible.” And yet.

So my associate “RH” and I have compiled a list of those who rightfully deserve to crown their heads with the thorny laurels of Best Writer In America. Our list cuts across gender, race and age, because those things are of no essence to a good writer. Thus, we proudly present: the 20 best writers in the world under 115 years old at this cultural moment. Enjoy, and leave a comment with your pick if necessary.

1) Sally Quinn
2) Lynn Hirschberg
4) Everyone at Vanity Fair
5) Kingsley Amis (dead, but alive in our hearts)
6) The Russian correspondent for the NYT
7) Everyone at The Boston Globe
8 ) Michael Patrick King
9) Emily Nussbaum
10) Richard Lawson
11) Kazuo Ishiguro
12) Henry Alford
13) Lisa Scottoline
14) Sam Tanenhaus
15) Gore Vidal
16) Lindsay Buckingham
17) Gore Vidal
18) Kathryn Chetkovich
19) Souleye
20) (tie) Paulina Porizkova/Erica Jung

So it was with great expectations that I read the Sally Quinn profile in this month’s Vanity Fair. It did not disappoint. Here, I have excerpted the most wonderful parts.

Her ascent at WaPo:
In her employment interview, [Ben] Bradlee asked the 28-year-old [Quinn] if she could show him something she’d written. “Mr. Bradlee,” she told him, “I’ve never written anything. Not a word.” When he told his colleague editorial-page editor Phil Geyelin about this, Geyelin replied, “Nobody’s perfect.”

Ben Bradlee on Sally:
She brought a new kind of energy and pizzazz to [the paper],” says Bradlee, still dapper in a Turnbull & Asser striped shirt. “And she just was on a roll! She was the best thing in the Style section for a while.” (emphasis mine)

Sally on Bradlee:
“I was completely dazzled by him,” says Sally. As she tells it, in the middle of Watergate, when the Post feared it was being spied on, she confided to a friend: “I said, ‘I’m just madly in love with Ben Bradlee and I don’t know what to do about it. I feel like I should tell him.’ And he said, ‘No, no, no. You can’t do that or it will be a disaster. You have to put your country first.’ ”

Sally’s revenge:
She didn’t take slights lightly. After Christopher Buckley referred to her 1986 Washington society novel, Regrets Only, as “cliterature” in Vanity Fair, Sally telegrammed her friend Tina Brown (then the editor of V.F.) a disinvitation to Ben’s 65th-birthday party.

Maureen Dowd’s Yogi:
After an astrologer told Sally that Quinn would benefit from yoga, she had lunch with New York Times columnist Maureen Dowd, who recommended her own teacher, Pary, whose students included David Gregory and Rahm Emanuel.

Anyway for proof that life is cyclical, one year ago today I wrote about how Vancouver’s Olympic mascot looked like a joint, and I said I was going to invent a pregnancy test that shoots out flames when you’re pregnant. And now, here, today, yesterday, on earth, London has revealed its 2012 mascot, which slightly resembles … a pregnancy test. A pregnancy test with legs. That shoots out flames when you’re pregnant. And you can also smoke it.

So, in other news, it’s summer! Summer is cake. I love it every year just the same. Pax aestas, people.

Oh p.s.! I wrote this piece on graduation speeches (Barb’s the star of the show, naturally) for the best website besides the one I work for.