I may have to give up this little gig. Tina Brown just isn’t giving me enough to work with.

Today’s column, “Granddaddies of Rock-and-Roll,” is launched, straight off the bat, as is Brown’s wont, by reference to a fashionable New York party.

This time it’s the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame induction party held Monday night “at New York’s Waldorf-Astoria.” (Isn’t that place, the Hall of Fame, I mean, in Cleveland?)

You weren’t invited? Not to worry. Brown helpfully notes, parenthetically, no less: it's “to be televised Sunday.”

The column reads like a giddy middle-aged woman’s diary entry. And like there were just like soooo many cool rock stars there, and they all like looked really cool, and it was like cool because I there.

In reference to Prince, Brown writes: “We loved him then because he was so seedy and weird, but in his last six years of hibernation the world has gotten so much seedier and weirder than he ever was.”

Sometimes, in her inanity, Brown nails it, as she did with that observation. Of course, that’s most likely to occur when she writes facing her vanity mirror.