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Sure, you can get a column at the Washington Post simply by marrying Ben Bradlee–but apparently you can’t keep it forever. At least not if it’s as awful as Sally Quinn’s weekly pile of drivel known as “The Party.” Word has now come that the Post, mercifully, has euthanized the column after a few brief months of life.
Quinn described “The Party” as being about “getting everyone together to have a memorable time.” Your guests would leave feeling “uplifted, affirmed and embraced.” I described it as the worst column in the history of humanity. Among the issues covered by Quinn were whether a husband and wife should be seated together at dinner parties and the “spirit of entertaining.”
The decision to kill “The Party” seems to have been taken after Quinn’s column last Friday. “I’m going to discuss a drama unfolding in our family, and I’m discussing it only because others have made it public and messy,” she wrote. “It’s a conflict that I hope readers can understand — and avoid in their own lives.”
And what was the high drama tormenting her family? Quinn continued:
Our son Quinn Bradlee is marrying Pary Williamson in Washington on April 10. My husband’s granddaughter Greta Bradlee is getting married the same day in California.
In the past few days there have been a spate of negative stories, both online and in print, about the “dueling weddings.” It’s been hurtful to all four of these wonderful young people. This “dueling” characterization couldn’t be further from the truth.
The unfortunate result of the dates being the same was an inadvertent mistake on my part.
Quinn went on to explain in great detail her mistake and her anguish — believe me, you don’t care to know — and so readers of her column will now be sure in the future to double check dates before scheduling weddings for their children. That’s what they call “public service” journalism.
The wedding column apparently was too much even for Post management, and the decision was made to kill “The Party” before the newspaper suffered further embarrassment.
So, so long Sally. You will not be missed.
More from Ken Silverstein:
Commentary — November 17, 2015, 6:41 pm
The Clintons’ so-called charitable enterprise has served as a vehicle to launder money and to enrich family friends.
Years ago, I lived in Montana, a land of purple sunsets, clear streams, and snowflakes the size of silver dollars drifting through the cold air. There were no speed limits and you could legally drive drunk. My small apartment in Missoula had little privacy. In order to write, I rented an off-season fishing cabin on Rock Creek, a one-room place with a bed and a bureau. I lacked the budget for a desk. My idea was to remove a sliding door from a closet in my apartment and place it over a couple of hastily cobbled-together sawhorses.
Average number of bacteria living in a pound of U.S. mud:
Canadian doctors saved a baby from drowning in his own drool by using Botox on his salivary glands.
A black bear named Pedals, famous for walking upright on his hind legs through Rockaway Township, New Jersey, was reported killed by a hunter, and a hiker in California was attacked after he interrupted two bears mating. It was a “pretty good bear attack,” said the local police chief.
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"She never thanked me, never looked at me—melted away into the miserable night, in the strangest manner I ever saw. I have seen many strange things, but not one that has left a deeper impression on my memory than the dull impassive way in which that worn-out heap of misery took that piece of money, and was lost."