is off the Dining desk and headed to the NYT Magazine. Readers of my book will know my hatred for a nauseatingly glib NYT Magazine piece he wrote in 1996 about David Foster Wallace. Editing at the magazine has hopefully improved since then, so perhaps any remaining penchant for nauseating glibness will be held in check.
My favorite part of Keller’s memo on the subject is this:
Frank will become a writer-at-large on the staff of our Sunday magazine, where he will have license to follow his appetites—his journalistic appetites—wherever they lead him.
At the words “journalistic appetites,” I imagine Keller leaning forward and licking his lips leeringly.
