Ever suspected that by and large journalists are witless hacks with no particular qualifications for their jobs besides knowing how to operate a keyboard, a telephone or a hairbrush? You are — again, by and large — not wrong. Observe, if you dare, the native behaviors of this clutch of baby journalists. (Suppose there’s some way of finding the nests and spraying the eggs with oil?)


ACK! I knew it — whatever this recurring cold is, I’m catching it at the office. The interns use my computers when I’m out and they’re giving me cooties. If I tell the office manager, do you suppose she’ll okay the purchase order for a pack of antibacterial wipes, or will she tell me to simply boil the interns ’til they’re germ-free?

Margaret Schwartz over at PopMatters is in her thirties and noticing that, well, we’re all getting sort of culturally invisible. Embrace it, Margaret! Fly! Be free! Sneer at low-rise jeans and laugh at teenage conformity obsessions! Buy that copy of Freaks and Geeks on DVD! Quote the Blues Brothers! Life begins now!

Some female people read Cosmo or Vogue, but my tolerance for vapidity is awfully low so I have to read Daily Candy — fashion and shallow consumerism in doses small enough to inoculate me against, say, 10-page fashion spreads in Time Out New York without actually sucking any major portion of brain cells from my head all at once. Some days are worse than others, though. I think I speak for anyone likely to be reading this blog when I quote DB Weiss: In the unlikely event of an afterlife with presiding deity, the geek chic set will get theirs.

Ken Layne cracks wise about the benefits of getting your news early from the Net: “If I wanted to read a bunch of LA Times articles from Friday, I would’ve done it Thursday night.” Heh.