Maggie Shnayerson

Well yes, ninety9, but these are still terribly urgent matters, especially in light of the fact that the panel where you discuss nobler things (oh, this is sxsw? ha) absolutely just never ever gets live-Twittered. What more can one possibly say about the world and its handbasket home?

SO!

Not true:

“After one year, Gould resigned from her editor position at Gawker due to constant, overwhelmingly negative feedback on her Gawker blog posts.”

Very true, and smart!

“With respect to women,” says [Mediabistro editor Rebecca] Fox, “keeping your mouth shut has long been tantamount to being ‘good,’ and the virgin/whore complex is alive and well both online and off.”

Awkward on so many levels:

“‘Women are girlified way more than men, but to be fair, Emily was young when that article came out—25—and it openly portrayed her vulnerability as a neophyte in a new situation,’ Sklar writes via e-mail.”

Misinterpretation:

“‘When he was at Gawker, blogger Alex Balk wrote in the character of ‘My Cock’ for more than a year and still blogs about his affinity for blow jobs, yet he’s like the Teflon man when it comes to how the blogosphere collectively regards his writing,’ Fox says.”

The afore-chewed-over double-standard is less responsible for Teflon Cock’s esteem than the man’s acute dexterity when it comes to the art of satire, a form that—if you will—flummoxes folks on occasion. Like here!

[All via The Austin Chronicle, which is a real (alternative) live (weekly) newspaper owned by its own goddamn self! Amazing.]

“Choire Sicha Joins Radar: Last Media Job In New York City Gladly Taken”

…Very good indeed. I mean, thank God. About time, for chrissakes.

In other news, since Choire is otherwise occupied (presumably looking for a white suit and spats to go with his fancy new title), I’ll be guest-blogging at Radar this week. I can neither confirm nor deny that Doree Shafrir, Emily Gould and Joshua David Stein will also be joining me. Disgusting, it all is, isn’t it?

“A guy I am friendly with who used to work for Gawker, Jon, came up behind me, ‘Do you want to meet Emily Gould?’”   [NYMag]

Dear God.

Also? I will need a utility bill from Bumblefuck, NH, with Jessica Roy’s name and address on it to prove that the disillusioned-before-her-time writerish person has indeed left New York City. Like she’s going anywhere now. Pshht.

Maybe this is Pareene’s way of cyber-jostling me. “Hey! Maggie, would you sit up and for the love of Mike and your bank account compose something for chrissakes?” Probably not, but if it was, he’d be right. I had the urge the other day to write something about this ridiculous thing and this admirably well-executed damage control session, and then I realized that, you know what? Who the hell am I to judge, at $2 per word and the cover of a 1.6 million-circulation magazine? When The Guardian asked me to write a “first-person account” of being fired from Gawker, was I tempted? Um, yes. I admit it. And then all of a sudden they were discussing sending a photographer to my house to “capture me in all my defenestrated glory,” (I swear, this approximates the phrase used) and I thought to myself, “Wait just a goddamned minute here.“ So really? There but for the grace of God, a hard-up (but also ingenious!) New York Times Magazine editor, and my own bullshit meter go I. Now if I’d known that photog might be toting a check for fifteen grand, that might have been a whole something else. But those Brits are so irritatingly frugal.
Gawker Alum Report: Where Are They Now?