In which we are left to our own devices

Today one of my favourite writers on one of my favourite sites wrote her farewell post, as she moves on to bigger and (hopefully) better things .

Molly Lambert may be the greatest writer on the internet, and maybe the greatest writer in America. She has an ability to identify not just what it is, but why it is, about life/emotions/art/culture/cities/eras/Fleetwood Mac. She is the master of high readings and writings of low culture, and of low readings and writings of high culture. She takes it all apart to put it back together.

Molly Lambert writes about Jack Nicholson's sexiness and lack thereof and she gives voice to the anxieties of being the sole female in a boys club, and she does so with precise wit and a true heart. She writes in the voice of a smart woman writing as a smart woman (as opposed to the latest trend of smart girls writing like dumb girls), and she writes it fun. She doesn't need to write sentences in all-caps because everything she says is meant to be heard.

Molly Lambert understands the internet because she's growing with it, and because she is making it. Molly Lambert understands America because she's growing with it, and because she is making it.

A couple of years ago, Molly Lambert commented on a post here, and told me I should think about writing for This Recording. I haven't taken her up on it, but that comment means as much to me as any other success I've had in my short time stringing words together.

Best of luck, Molly. Open up, everything's waiting for you.