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Dumbest Writer Ever Visits the Chelsea

I’ve been ignoring Chuck Klosterman’s book, "Killing Yourself to Live," and the hundreds of cookie-cutter reviews it received.  Finally, Ed Champion writes an inspiring review. 

"…but the hell of it is that Klosterman is too dumb and too indolent a writer to actually do the legwork. He doesn’t bother to call up the Hotel Chelsea in advance to find out what happened to Room 100 (the room where Sid Vicious stabbed Nancy Spungen), let alone track down any of the surviving employees who might have had some insight into how the infamous couple lived. Instead, he berates Chelsea manager Stanley Bard for politely telling Klosterman that the Cheslea didn’t want to be involved with Klosterman’s story (perhaps because Klosterman is utterly dumb, ignorant and tactless in his approach, asking the desk clerk point blank if anyone has stayed in Room 100, a room that was long ago turned into an apartment). So what does Klosterman do? Like a small child denied his second scoop of rocky road, he badmouths both Bard and the Chelsea."

Ed’s review gave me an ideal.  All of those other important blogs have had their "Hot Babes This" and their "Hot Babes That" contests all summer long.  Now, that Fall is fast approaching, it’s time for us to have a contest: The Dumbest Writer to Ever Visit the Chelsea.  Send your nominations along with a short reason stating why that particular writer should win the title of DWEVC to "chelblog at yahoo.com."  I"ll post a list of nominated writers on the blog.

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One response to “Dumbest Writer Ever Visits the Chelsea”

  1. former resident Avatar
    former resident

    I don’t think you should give another moment’s thought to chuck klosterman. Look at the links on both sides of this blog. Look at Chuck Klosterman. Pffft.
    He wanted to exploit the story of a sad young couple for a glib story, and had no sense or appreciation of the real history and spirit of the place, the true darkness there as well as the light. Stanley was right to send him away. Stanley’s always been weirdly protective of and paternal about his residents and guests, even his dead guests, when it comes to their privacy. That’s one of the reasons his tenants love him EVEN WHEN THEY’RE SUING HIM! Or he’s suing them. I once saw a shouting match between him and a gay couple over some sort of rent dispute that was going to court, and after both sides had their say in the lobby, Stanley turned to one of them and asked, very calmly and with genuine interest, “How is your show coming?” “Good, Stanley, thanks for asking,” the guy said, with a kind of bemused affection, as if they hadn’t just been in a pitched battle moments before.
    There is not a hotel keeper in New York who can match him when it comes to real service. Even short-stay guests can tell you stories about reserving a low-end room and being spontaneously bumped up into a better one at the same price. A writer I know from San Fran checked into a cheap room–a nice, small room, clean, not fancy — and got bumped up into Julian Schnabel’s place on the 10th floor, a two story apartment with huge windows and a roof garden. Stanley and Jerry love to pull stunts like that when there’s a vacancy and they take a shine to someone. At what other hotel can a young writer on a budget check into a cheap room and end up in a famous artist’s penthouse?

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