Remiss as I have been of late in all matters concerning A. Fascé (enjoy that opener, bucky; its probably the best apology you’ll ever get outta me), I had heretofore neglected to check out WFMU’s most excellent blog, recommended to me by that party. As a result I nearly missed this piece of writing, recommended to you wholeheartedly.
Still figuring out what to do with this thing (yes, I mean the blog), but meanwhile you can spend some quality time with Mobile PC’s list of the all-time Top 100 Gadgets or, as I prefer to call it, Angela’s storage unit.
Repeating to myself, internally and very slowly: My co-host was never an editor. My co-host has always been a writer. If I take this “co”-“writing” thing as a metric, I’m going to be in jail within a week.
Having what we’d call a Bad Job Day (on all of them, including the contract / freelance stuff) — Suzy Kolber, phone your office. So screw it. I will instead meditate on what sounds to me like the perfect job. Had I known this existed when I was young — assuming it did — I could have spared myself a good decade of annoying interactions with editors, reporters, product managers, labs rats and UPS. Though probably not so much with the UPS; can’t have everything I suppose.
My august co-host is appalled, but I’m absolutely roaring over this article. Not that it’s news that some of these people are more mooch than media, but will this list now engender a backlash among Real Journalists, since even the founder says that Real Journalists don’t accept such gifties? (For the record, I am a real Journalist, or, as I tell flacks who tell me “not to worry” about returning test units, Sweetie, if I kept all the crap I’ve been easked to look at over the years, I wouldn’t have room in my house for me.) Anyone willing to bet that 50 percent of this swag ends up on eBay? Anyone? Anyone?
Ach. Thank heavens there’s just one more night of this (and just three more nights of DC as a whole) — traffic, slush, dim-witted Republican girlies dragging the hems of $3,000 dresses through same while public schools in this town go without books. All the pomp and fireworks makes me think of what wise women know (and giggle about) re men who wear big buckles and drive ostentatiously expensive sports cars. In other words, it’s clear that Dubya has a tiny, tiny… problem with legitimacy. Again.