The COASTER Correspondence

MORE OF THE VERY EXPENSIVE WORDS OF Edwin John Coaster, CONTRIBUTING EDITOR

VANITY FAIR

Dear Graydon:

I have taken to heart your request for ideas for premium subecriber-cxi~ content for VF.ccmi. There is cxie idea that Jess and I are especially psyched about, a new sectic*-i called VF-NSF~. It would be a place for us to run coutent that is too risque or provocative for the free part of the site. (NSFW is an aboreviatiari used by bloggers for l'bt Safe For Work. Bloggers are individuals who post their own material cxi the Web cxi dedicated sites called Web Logs.) VF-NSFW would include such features as -Hot digital shorts of our nv~re desirable caitribitors. For example, we have B-roll of Sebastian Junger peeling off his wet suit after paddling class-four rapids cxi the Futaleuf.u River in Chile. We also like the idea of a live video chat with a subnissive Christopher Hitcheris, where he would ctiey viewer casmands. Our research s1~s that nen readers really want this. -A video versicn of your ntzithly editor's letter, with you reciting it in unedited form, before copy and legal have taken out all the "fuck"i "fuckin"s, and "hose nrinkey"s. -A steamy episodic series called "Ed Asats." This xld be a scripted reality sIx~', in the vein of "Laguna Beach. Each week we'd have a new three-mimute episode that follows around the editorial assistants and interns as they hook up with each other and bitch about the editors in the cafeteria. This might also work well for the new VF-to-Go~ cell-phcxie content that Menicheschi wants. We need saneone to be VF-NSFWs "host," intro-ing and outro-ing the segments with smart, sexy patter. We thought Bth Evans i~ild be perfect but he turned us down. But hey, what about another rascally V.F. contributor who has made a remarkable recovery fran a stroke? Do you think Ed Coaster would be gama?

WHILE YOU WERE AWAY

Vanity's the Fare at NYC's Most Exclusive Boite By EDWIN JOHN COASTER from New York

I m tucKing into my snort riDs, when-excuse me, ma'am!my elbow accidentally tucks into the short, lovely ribs of Kirsten Dunst, brushing past my table en route to hers. Over in the red banquette to my left are moguls Barry Diller and Ronald Perelman. In the next banquette, a familiar-looking man broods over his salt-encrusted dorade. Yes, it's Bobby Dc Niro. Welcome to the world of the Waverly Inn. In this pokey set of rooms in the auld West Village, Graydon Carter, the editor of Vanity Fair, has opened a sepia i~hted place that harkens back to he days of speakeasies and "Joe ent me." But instead of uttering uch a cryptic passphrase, the way r~r,werful Rlamorous, Good luck if you're a ple~ You call the listed reservatia line, but all you get is a record ing. You send an e-mail to semi-secret address but are re buffed by a form-letter response. Ah, but should you be so lucky to have a "connection" to Mr. Carter and get a table-as my editor friend David Zinczenko and I did-it's easy to make a reservation thereafter. The myste rious Mitteleuropean manager can be bought with Percocets and bundled Deutschmarks. Stocking up on these essentials, I've lately been privy to Manhattan's most fabulous floor show, baiting Jen nifer Connelly's husband into a the