Writer/editor. New Mexican tumbleweed blown east to skyscraper country.
Right now, I am working on a book about F. Scott Fitzgerald, Sheilah Graham, and Hollywood in the 1930s. It will also contain a lot of drinking, powder blue suits, dances at the Cocoanut Grove, betrayal, gossip columns, crazy ladies, secret Jews, film lot moguls, and Dorothy Parker quips at funerals. If the world is still around then, it should be out from Random House around 2014. So let's hope the Mayans were wrong.
If you want to say hi please do. Or find me in short form, here.
Ella Dreyfus
Grow up, 2008
from Scumbag
I am also crazy about Ella’s work today—she takes puffy kindergarten letters and tosses them up in banal public places to create charged phrases (“immense pain,” “i exist,” “protect myself”); snapping the contrast between our Sesame Street associations and what the words really say. Emin’s patchwork tent, 2.0.
Anyway, I like this one. Grow up. Grow up. Say that on repeat.
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