ChrisMohney.com

The Matter of My Knob

2008-07-18T08:52:22-04:00

I'd love to do a long post about Jessica Roy, the ~~17-~~ 20-year-old blogger who rocked the New York media crapiverse by calling out a party as lame and the party attendees as lamer. All quite true, and true of most other parties here and elsewhere, as various party attendees and their confederates have claimed. The response by (non-attendee though confederate) Choire Sicha is predictably funniest, though it's odd to see him compelled to fend off a screed by someone [almost] half his age. At least Roy's other victims -- solidly and smugly in the their mid-20s -- finally have someone to feel jaded toward. At this point, I'd like to reiterate that I'm older than Choire and yes, even older than Alex Balk. [Note: Alex would you like you to know he's actually younger than Choire.] But who cares? One thing that reveals all this drama as triviality: a doorknob. Let me show you it, motherfucker.

I'm very excited to say that I expect to receive this beauty -- the "Gainsborough Diplomat" in satin nickel finish -- by Monday. The Tennessee merchant from whom I special-ordered identifies himself as "Christian/Owner/Manager," so you know his priorities are in order. I often joked that when buying an apartment, my wife would buy the actual apartment and I would buy the doorknobs. Prophetic words! But I take the responsibility seriously.

If you're very, very fortunate, you may be allowed to visit us when the apartment is ready, and when all ten -- THAT'S RIGHT -- ten Gainsborough Diplomats have been strategically installed throughout the apartment. We decided to subvert dominant paradigms by placing the knobs on actual doors, just where you'd think they would be. That is, until you touch one, and your startled hand recoils and punches you in the genitals for your temerity. Idiot. You don't turn this knob. You could, but what would be the point? We split up each set to go one apiece on each closet door. They're not attached to anything on the other side of the door! Is this legal? DO YOU THINK WE GIVE A SHIT? We do not, I assure you.

Once you get your tiny, sheltered mind wrapped around that -- the sheer audacity of that act, that choice -- maybe you'll understand why I cannot be bothered weighing in on every little bloggy spat that rolls across the meadow on rickety wheels hand-crafted from too much free time and cheap cocaine. Why bother trying? Maybe you'll say the smartest thing in the room every four or five tries, but consider your audience. They're already looking past you to the next burning bush, of which there is never a shortage.

The Universal Modular Trend Piece

2008-03-26T10:21:14-04:00

"I am an exemplar of the trend in question," says the person, interviewed in a space appropriate to the theme while aesthetically following the trend's parameters, unless the latter is counter-intuitive though true. Background facts about the person explain his/her membership in the trend's demographics. "Now I am describing what it's like to practice the trend," she/he says.

Previously this trend did not exist or was not recognized, until now. Early forms of the trend have evolved and perhaps been identified as something, though not yet as a trend, for this piece shall serve as the official recognition of the trend in full flower. Consider a broad statement about the trend's wide applicability and growing acceptance. Here is an example of the trend in popular culture, like a celebrity or fictional character that may take the trend to satirical extremes. This proves the trend's legitimacy on the cultural radar.

From the general to the hyper-specific we can now imagine a demographic profile that follows this trend, which we will refer to as a plurality. They do things appropriate to the trend. Here is an example of the trendy activities they do to identify themselves. Here is another. Here is another. Here is "partial quote" that sounds real but is not attributable. Here is "another."

"I am also an exemplar of the trend," says another person, "though in a slightly different way, perhaps being from a different geographic area or socioeconomic group." This person follows the trend and has some pithy thoughts about it, which may be paraphrased.

There are also other people who follow the trend to greater or lesser degrees. They are described and quoted in roughly similar terms until the supply of such persons is reasonably exhausted.

But there are also people who do not like this trend. "I do not like this trend," says a person. "Here is why I do not like this trend." Particular anti-trend arguments are presented. The entire legitimacy of the trend as a trend is called into question. Other anti-trend people may also be quoted or paraphrased as a gesture to balance.

"I may have an answer to the counter-trend arguments," says one or more pro-trend persons previously quoted. "Chiefly I have wry, conflicted feelings about following trends generally, but neither am I willing to abandon my allegiance to the trend purely because I have been identified as part of the trend," they say.

Historical precedents and contemporary cultural significance of the trend may now be explored, albeit fatuously.

To conclude, produce the best quotable exemplar of the trend -- preferably someone not quoted before, to save the best for last -- and have him/her sum up the trend's appeal. Oppose this with a similarly well-spoken anti-trend person; position them such that the best quote ends the piece, regardless of stance. This will create the illusion that readers are being left to make up their own minds.

Repeat every five weeks.

Mourning Julia Allison

2008-03-07T11:02:46-05:00

Here is the Julia Allison post I've been resisting for months, illustrated with a photo of her cute dog. Back in the dark days of November 2006, I wrote a Gawker post entitled "Field Guide: Julia Allison." The post was written at Nick Denton's vehement insistence, but he immediately kvetched in the comments that my depiction of Julia as an obsessive attention-seeker was pointless because, duh, that's what she does. Of course, now Nick himself makes fun of Julia's self-promotion mania, mocking her branded birthday party and agreeing (with Julia, and with me from 2006) that she really should be more discreet. Julia herself still complains about the "Field Guide," since it repeated (multiply sourced) anecdotes about instances where her famous flirtatiousness may have crossed (or blurred) a line. She even brought it up during this past January's "liveblog" clusterfuck on Gawker:

When Gawker did the "field guide" to me, which accused me, amongst other things, of being a hussy who steals women's husbands, I cried all day.

And then, a few comments later, Julia followed her usual form of inadvertent reflexive self-analysis:

I think it's fairly obvious that the comments which hurt the most are those which hit closest to the truth.

Julia asked several people (me included, long after could I do anything about it) to remove the "Field Guide" because of its prominence in Google searches on her name. Still in the top 10 apparently. But given all the abuse she's endured in the past three months, Julia must be longing for the relatively genteel days of the "Field Guide." And now she's passed another blogging milestone and formally blogged about her decision to quit blogging.

I actually don't wish Julia Allison ill ... never did. When writing the "Field Guide" I talked to perhaps a dozen of her friends and associates, and that was a pretty representative number back then; she was nowhere near as well known. In fact, shortly before the "Field Guide," I asked then-new Gawker bloggers Doree Shafrir and Emily Gould to stop posting about Julia (and her then-sidekick Brooke Parkhurst) quite so much. But I omitted four or five salacious stories from the "Field Guide" because they were vague, unconfirmable, or transparently motivated by the animus of the teller. I didn't mention these omissions to Nick Denton of course, because by then I'd learned he has no problem floating anything provocative, regardless of provenance or propriety. (Later at Valleywag he prodded me to consistently refer to a Silicon Valley venture capitalist as a Nazi aficionado because of the guy's hobby of launching German WWII rocket models).

Julia's not stupid nor vacuous nor untalented. And of course she's attractive. But her super-power is that she's super-friendly. She's totally disarming in person, which is how she's leveraged most everything she's ever done. Many of those who hissed hair-raising character assassinations into my ear when I wrote the "Field Guide" can now be seen cheerfully sharing a party photo with Julia while commenting how much they just like her, darn it all. And I generally agree she's a nice gal who just can't seem to learn from her mistakes. I don't think she's nearly as interesting nor as contemptible as most people who write about her, but I never wanted to make her cry.

A Job No Less Real than More of the Same

2008-02-26T19:22:09-05:00

So I quit Gridskipper for the third time; the most recent two quittings were within a month of each other, and the first didn't take. Hence the second and more successful quittance. Someday I'll relate the entire teapot tempest there, once the dust has settled from tremors that maybe haven't even started yet. Enough obscurity! Though I'll still be an editor at large on Gridskipper, now I run the website and guidebook stuff for BlackBook magazine. Today I ate a savory cheese muffin for lunch and enjoyed almost six hours of meetings. Screw you, blogs!

Meanwhile, this space will mostly be reserved for longer or more substantive crap. Much less substantive crap can be found on the Tumblr, which I still seem to like.

So excited!

2008-01-23T14:48:34-05:00

Exterminate rational thought!

This Is Not Me

2008-01-18T12:34:15-05:00

Thank you, two people who emailed and one person who IMed, who together constitute three-fifths of the readership of the Columbia Journalism Review: I am not Chris Mooney. If I ever say something like "Yes, dear reader: the Bloggers Guild of America may be on its way," I beg of you -- kill me.

Sugar La La's: Three Tracks from the Vault

2008-01-08T18:38:48-05:00

This will be of INTENSE INTEREST to a narrow subset of people, and of no interest to anyone else. But here are three unreleased studio tracks from 1990s Southern pop-punk band the Sugar La La's, whom I idolized in my feckless youth (they once watched along with me as my car fell into a sinkhole).

"Free Love" (4.1 mb)

"Everybody Hates Me" (4.6 mb)

"Into the Night" (4.6 mb)

Now of course these songs sound wildly different from the ecstatic experience of live La La, but them's the breaks of slavering over a long-busted band. Tracks courtesy Scottamus.

Observed, and found wanting

2008-01-04T10:36:29-05:00

Leaving the Waverly Inn on a cold night, I ran into a paparazzo lurking outside the door, giant camera raised. Seeing me through his viewfinder, he lowered the camera and grunted out a disappointed, "uh ... oh," then stepped out of my way, averting his eyes in disdain. The two of us stood alone on the sidewalk, awkwardly, while I searched for a cab. No TMZ for me.

10 Reasons 'The Wire' Is Better than 'The Sopranos'

2007-12-31T15:19:02-05:00

I watched The Sopranos from the beginning, and came late to The Wire. I regret the error. Don't get me wrong --I am one of those viewers who insisted that even at its worst, The Sopranos was still one of the best shows on television. I'll tell you right now that I did not like the ending, no matter whether or not Tony got whacked. But what you should know, if you don't already, is that the fifth and final season of The Wire starts January 6 on HBO. And while I anticipated the final season of The Sopranos with little more than resignation and a willingness to see it over with, I'm looking forward to this last season of The Wire with nervous anticipation and serious, sincere, enthusiastic excitement. And when I think about what The Wire accomplishes in comparison to The Sopranos, it's easy to see why the former beats the latter, hands down. There are more than ten reasons, but here are my best of the moment.

1. Lance Reddick's walk. The actor who plays Maj. Cedric Daniels deserves a special Emmy just for his methodical, measured, inexorable locomotion. He's like a precision android with a titanium spine. Sure, both The Wire and The Sopranos are full of characters with strange and amusing physical tics, but if I could bio-graft Reddick's walking style into my own body, I'd be a happy man with excellent goddamn posture.

2. Baltimore. My wife and her family are from Baltimore, and it's putting it mildly to say that they don't move in the circles frequented by characters on The Wire. The show has made me fascinated with a city that otherwise seemed like not much more than a portly cousin to DC a few miles closer on the train. What physical character of setting ever manifested in The Sopranos? The anonymous suburbs of North Jersey? Those sets might as well have been in Vancouver.

3. Omar Little. Why is this character so awesome? Sure, he's cool and menacing and tough, and Michael Kenneth Williams is a genius of understatement. But Omar's also frighteningly smart, patient like the cobra, a true believer in his "code," and possessed of a tightly wound but genuine passion and affection for those he loves. And did I mention that he kisses boys on the mouth? Which leads to ...

4. The gays. Yes, Omar is gay. And other than his thug adversaries mentioning it as one of the many reasons they'd like to kill him, you can tell they've lumped his gayness in with his entire mystique -- his alien, legendary, scary rep in the streets. He's the most intimidating badass gay stickup artist you're likely to meet, and so what? Then let's mention Det. Kima Greggs, also gay, much to her het colleagues' dismay on the force. And yet she's got the same problems with her significant other as the very straight Irish drunk pussyhound Jimmy McNulty -- so much so that they cover for each other when one is cattin' around on her/his old lady. And I can't tell you how much I loved the very brief glimpse of hardass Deputy Commissioner William Rawls toasting the fun in a gay bar, looking quite relaxed and in his element despite the shock to the viewer. On The Sopranos side, tack all that against ... what? Johnnycakes? Never did a plot about a closeted gay man feel so very ... well, straight.

5. The little people. Not so little at all, the supporting cast of The Wire is always on. Everyone gets time to say great lines, get their licks in, get knocked down, get back up, finesse a problem, get snowed, and get back. And not with the self-importance of The Sopranos, where a supporting character occasionally laps up a few minutes' of subplot not consumed with James Gandolfini lying in bed or eating a leg of lamb. I'll never forget The Wire's Delaney Williams (as Sgt. Jay Landsman, not to be confused with the actual Jay Landsman, who plays an officer on the show) catching one of his detectives trying to dodge work, looming over a cubicle partition while sucking up a giant soda with greedy avarice. Everybody on The Wire gets bits like that, all the time.

6. Dialogue. The Wire does simple lines, flashy lines, speeches, curses, screams, wails, and most of all, blisteringly authentic street language and shop talk. Even the Baltimore street kids recruited as actors have remarked on how the range of lingo encompasses everything they know how to say, and then some. And they presented an entire scene using nothing but permutations on the word "fuck," which nevertheless is absolutely comprehensible. If you haven't seen it:

Sure, they said "fuck" a lot on The Sopranos, too. Quick -- think of a great line from that show. Something really revealing and crafted and true. I'm waiting.

7. Action. There's remarkably little gunplay or violence on The Wire. Action often takes place after reams of discussion and hours and hours of complicated, overlapping agendas acting in concert or cross-purposes or both. And yet by the time action takes place, it's achieved the inevitability of an avalanche. On The Sopranos, action often seems impromptu or foolish or, at worst, kicked up to get things moving. Characters routinely do the nonsensical or stupid or self-destructive or outlandish thing, no matter how many better choices are offered. For a long time this frustrated expectations in a pleasurable way. Eventually it became the expected thing, and thus boring, and you only wanted such characters to finally pay the price.

8. Tension. Dramatic anxiety builds so, so slowly on The Wire, it can feel like torture. Like knowing how many corpses were waiting inside those Baltimore row houses, and knowing how close the police were to finding them, and yet everything seemed to move glacially and also somehow with painful fragility. But the tension in The Wire is built expertly, managed with aplomb, and the payoffs come at just the right places and in surprising ways. Even as I still rooted for The Sopranos, I regretfully felt the same as many viewers of the show -- our chief tension was only "when will this finally end?".

9. Consequences. For at least a couple of seasons now, the major dynamic on The Sopranos was how Tony and his cronies could avoid suffering for all their mistakes and bad decisions. But in The Wire, decisions and actions have consequences -- usually many consequences, for many people. Because the show takes place within the living ecosystem of Baltimore, ripple effects fan out and reflect off other decisions, creating new, unforeseen ramifications. Characters are always reacting to this world, but they're also always acting in new ways, wriggling on their hooks or jumping from one frying pan to another. In contrast, Tony Soprano's Jersey mob world is a dead space inhabited by a handful of mordant sociopaths just playing the game until they inevitably keel over.

10. Closure. David Chase, the head brain and creative talent behind The Sopranos, hates his audience. That's my theory and I'm stickin' to it. He couldn't stand it when people incessantly questioned him about the Russian hitman left for dead (or not?) in the Pine Barrens, and whether or not Tony dies at the end of the show, the indisputable point is that Chase refused to tell you. Chase wants to frustrate expectations so maniacally that he'll torch any dramatic arc that looks like it might evolve naturally into a conclusion. The other David -- David Simon, head brain/talent behind The Wire -- is quite adept and insistent about challenging his audience, and rightly so. But he does so with a dramatic vehicle that operates cleanly with aesthetic grandeur, and it doesn't pull over when the driver gets annoyed with his passengers. This is the good thing about art and artifice, not a limitation. Closure in a TV show isn't a tidy bow on a plotline that would never be resolved in real life -- it's the answer to the question raised. Blowing it off makes an artist look like they don't much care about their own questions, or their own art.

This list is hardly comprehensive of course, so once the new season of The Wire begins, maybe I'll add more. Or maybe I'll change my mind! Early buzz is mixed from parties with a certain interest in the story at hand. But what do journalists know.

Where I'm Bacalling From

2007-12-27T16:52:49-05:00

While home for the holidays and watching the required amount of holiday TV, I finally saw Dark Passage, the 1947 Humphrey Bogart-Lauren Bacall noir. It's pretty fine, but several close-ups convinced me that Bacall possessed supernatural good looks even among the noir siren pantheon. By the time of this movie, the 23-year-old Bacall was already married to the 48-year old Bogart, whom she met while filming her first movie, 1944's To Have and To Have Not. Bacall got that role because of the Harper's Bazaar cover above, which was spotted by director Howard Hawks' wife. Something kind of creepy about the blood-nurse tableau and Bacall's doll-like expression -- but still, what a honey.