Echo Park author Sarah Miller has an amusing piece in the Times opinion pages Sunday about John Edwards' former extra-marital squeeze, who rented the room Miller had vacated in a Benedict Canyon home. Miller remembers Rielle Hunter as a little strange.
Rielle padded in and out in Ugg boots and flared yoga pants, and in a voice that contained strange elements of surfer-ese and lockjaw, gave unasked-for information about her life's journey and personal health. She would tell us how she'd had an amazing yoga practice that day, or give an elaborate description of some braised root she'd eaten for lunch. I think I said to my friend once, "What a wack job," but that was the extent of my relationship with Rielle.
Then, one afternoon about five years ago, I arrived for a party at the house. For better or worse, I have a near-perfect recollection of what followed.
I had barely poured myself a drink when Rielle came bounding up to me. Her eyes weren't just glowing. They were kind of spinning in her face. I am almost sure that she was not drunk: This was how she always looked, only at this moment, she looked more that way than usual. "Hi, sweetie" she said, laying two fingers on my wrist. "It is sooo amazing to me that I am living in your room."
What amazed Hunter is that Miller had written a published essay in the room, and now that "energy" was transferred to her. Or something like that.
Also on the weekend Op-Ed pages: Tim Rutten argues that Edwards getting caught in a lie by the National Enquirer "ratified an end to the era in which traditional media set the agenda for national political journalism." And Meghan Daum is back from her book leave.