New Yorker dance critic Joan Acocella is allll hot 'n bothered over Paul Taylor dance company star Michael Trusnovec. "Every one of Trusnovec's muscles is worked, while every cell in his brain seems to be pulsing with the music," she marvels. The entirety of the little Critic's Notebook piece is very lusty and makes me want to meet her. She also manages to throw in a little subliminal message about her "large rack." [New Yorker]
Hey, MrHippity, lay off her! In my former life I used to spend a lot of time hanging out with dance critics. Joan Acocella was the smartest among them, and the best writer too. (Well, there's Clement Crisp, but I never met him.) And curiously sexy as well, unlike the rest of the breed.
The fundamentalists were right after all, dancing just primes you up for some good sexing.
Remember when the New Yorker made it a point to hire really good writers?
This woman is horny and a bad writer. What a deadly combination.
Joan Acocella is the tits! I couldn't care less about dance (well, I do like [male] dancers' bodies and manbulges) but I always make a point of reading her columns in the NYer because the writing is excellent.
