Handler says i must thicken my skin. She tells me I am not going to make it in this business if I let people push me around, if I get upset easily when someone I've written about is angry with me. She asks repeatedly if I am listening to her.
"You are one of the worst journalists I've ever met," she declares when I can't repeat back to her what she has just told me.
We are sitting in a back booth in a Japanese restaurant in Brentwood, Calif., facing each other over plates of sushi. Handler picks off the...