"Julia Warhola was born Julia Zavacky on November 17, 1892, in Mikova, in the former Czechoslovakia."

"Initially, she didn't want to marry Andy's father, the first Andy -- Andrej, born November 28, 1889, also in Mikova. Her father beat her into accepting the proposal; she was further persuaded by candy that Andrej offered. When interviewed by Esquire in the late 1960s, she said, 'My Daddy beat me, beat me to marry him.... I cry. I no know. Andy visit again. He brings me candy. I no have candy. He brings me candy, wonderful candy. And for this candy, I marry him.' Candy, trauma: these were the alpha of Julia's marriage and the omega of her son's art. Julia loved candy, and so did little Andy.... In his fanciful The Philosophy of Andy Warhol (From A to B and Back Again)... he recounts that his mother gave him candy bars as reward for every page completed in a coloring book.... Tom Wolfe reports Andy refusing food at society dinner parties and declaring, 'Oh, I only eat candy'...."

From "Andy Warhol" by Wayne Koestenbaum, a book excerpt published in the NYT on September 16, 2001. 

I ran across that this morning because, eating candy, I was researching the accuracy of a quote I'd long remembered, "I only eat candy."

"In 'Selected Amazon Reviews,' Killian adds yet another Kevin to the list. This Kevin spends his evenings with his wife curled up on the couch..."

"... with their two cats, Ted and Sylvia, watching Katharine Hepburn movies, or knitting, decorating cakes, and hanging pet-themed ornaments on the Christmas trees, as in his five-star 2007 review of Pet Pawprint Hanging DIY Keepsake Ornament. But Kevin Killian in the review section was not the real Kevin Killian, at least not exactly. Did Killian have children, as he claimed in several reviews? No. Did he enjoy fine foods? No. (According to friends, he lived on a diet of only microwave meals and Tab.)... Did that twelve-color set of ballpoint pens really trigger a memory of attending school as an American boy in rural France, where his classmates had 'beautiful pens that were almost family heirlooms?'..."

Writes Oscar Schwartz, in "A Portrait of the Artist as an Amazon Reviewer/Between 2003 and 2019, Kevin Killian published almost twenty-four hundred reviews on the site. Can they be considered literature?"

That's in The New Yorker, where they are not too careful about whether to put a question mark inside a quotation mark, and the answer to the question is no.

Killian was writing Amazon reviews as a sort of art project. Here's an Amazon Associates link to a book that collects his reviews — "Selected Amazon Reviews."

But back to the New Yorker article:

In the mid-two-thousands, when Killian was at his most prolific as a reviewer, it was becoming clear that Amazon was contributing to the destruction of the type of creative life that he enjoyed. Was this his way of queering e-commerce, subverting the platform from within? Wayne Koestenbaum argues, in his foreword to the collection, that Killian’s reviews “Occupy Amazon” with “a radical-faerie insouciance. . . . He enacts a cosmophagic critical practice, doing a Sontag but without the severity.”...

I bet you weren't expecting "queering e-commerce," "radical-faerie insouciance," and "cosmophagic critical practice"! I know I wasn't.

Anyway, the fun times at Amazon are gone now:

Since [the mid-two-thousands], Amazon’s review section has changed dramatically. Each product page now features an A.I.-generated summary of the existing customer reviews, smoothing out the heterogeneity of human taste into an algorithmic average....

[Killian] knew that the form he had chosen to work in was an ephemeral one, and that the company on whose Web site he had left so much of himself would not hesitate to wipe “content” that did not contribute to its bottom line. “Selected Amazon Reviews” is insurance against the erasure that Killian courted....

Courtney and the Pamela Anderson Roast.

I finally got around to watching the Pamela Anderson Roast I'd taken the trouble to TiVo. As you may remember, I wanted to watch it because of the fuss that was made over Courtney Love's behavior. Well, the show was excruciating, with second rate comics making one bad anatomical joke after another. It was supposedly a charity event for PETA – man, I remember when a politically correct operation like that would not sully itself with rank sexist material – and many, many of the jokes connected the kind of animals PETA cares about with the animal names that are used as slang for a woman's genitalia. So the show was utter crapola but somehow everyone wrote about Courtney, because apparently it's so fun to attack her. Interestingly enough, it turned out that Courtney had the best control over how to do a celebrity roast right. Everyone was holding a drink and badly faking high spirits, but she outdid them all, convincingly displaying a roasty attitude. When it was her turn to speak, she did her part perfectly. She played the rocker who deigned to stop by to give Pamela real rock cred because she loved her. She did her lines and her moves and then she kissed Anderson's high-heeled foot. Well played, Courtney! Chez Althouse, we love you!

UPDATE: Putting Pam and Courtney side-by-side made me want to spin out an analysis similar to the comparison between Jackie Kennedy and Liz Taylor in "Jackie Under My Skin" (by Wayne Koestenbaum). You have two icons and one is pure and idealized, the other is tainted and dirtied. In the Pam/Courtney comparison, both represent sexuality and self-indulgence, but Pam has some how made what was dirty into something utterly polished and glossy – essentially fulfilling the Playboy dream. Courtney is the real-life version of sexual indulgence: this is what trying to live that fantasy will really make you look like. Well, now I'm thinking of another book.