The New York Times steps into the blogging fray with dispatches from Cannes. Happy as we are to find the folks at 43rd Street entering this brave new world, we're upset to see that they're not exactly getting down with the whole spirit of the medium:
Lest you think the few remaining staffers on the Circuits desk are listless and lethargic after their recent reduction surgery, the front page of today's short section (it's buried in the back of Business; look closely, it's there) alerts you to a new trend sweeping the nation: Podcasting! Color us unimpressed: This story is so February 2005. AB
In their constant quest to make sure the Thursday Styles section keeps its emasculated edge, today's Times slaps us across the collective face with the one thing more gay than your habit of reading Details in leather chaps. Ladies and ladies, meet the $4,000 illegal housecat:
· Frank Bruni, skewered by his own quotes, then deconstructed and served on a bed of mockery.
· The effects of exhaustion take their toll on Lindsay Lohan and Nicole Richie. We can't even think of a good joke for this picture, as we're too busy developing a case of body dysmorphic disorder. [Defamer]
· When Babs Walters and Tom Brokaw air their upcoming stories on the New Life church, do remember that all churchgoers have been instructed to behave normally for the cameras. [Non-Prophet]
· We hear Kelly Ripa's publicist has been instructing photographers not to send any pics of Ripa to In Touch. What gives? Discuss.
The New York Times editorial page never shirks the Big Questions, and today it pronounces on a Long Island City reality-art thingamee at the Flux Factory called Novel: A Living Installation. The deal is a trio of aspiring fiction hands gget locked into isolated cells for 25 days until they emerge with completed novel manuscripts. And the Times being the Times, no artsy publicity stunt is too trivial to pontificate upon: part of the meaning of making a novel is commanding the time to do so and owning the workings of imagination, however they pace themselves.
And it definitely is not now, nor has it ever been, Drakkar Noir. JO
"An obituary on Friday about Col. David H. Hackworth, a war hero and later a critic of the Vietnam War, misidentified two units he commanded and the helicopters used by American forces in Vietnam. The Wolfhound Raiders were a platoon he led in Korea, not a regiment. In Vietnam, he commanded a battalion of the 101st Airborne Division, not an air cavalry brigade; that battalion flew Huey helicopters, not Black Hawks.
Safe in the knowledge that few people would see it, buried as it was behind the annual "Summer Movies" section (a.k.a., "Jack Up the Ad Rates, Pinch Needs More Moose Money"), this Sunday's Arts & Leisure treated readers to a 3,750-word expose by Jesse Green on the shocking state of American theater; more specifically, the way high school plays have gotten bigger and more expensive. You read that right: 3,750 words on how the kids too geeky to make the yearbook staff are now doing Sondheim in better-fitting costumes. Mel Gussow must be rolling over in his grave. Next week in The Times, expect a 5,000-worder from Jennifer Dunning on how little Emily's dance recital now includes real-live swans. AB
The Supersizing of the School Play [NYTimes]
If you're reading Gawker from the futureand why wouldn't you be?we'd like to direct your attention to today's Times. Apparently, reports the paper of record, some kids at MIT are organizing the first-ever time traveler's convention for tomorrow. Indeed, it may well be not just the first such confab but in fact the only one, because, as they point out, time travelers from the future can easily stop by this shindig whenever they want. But we suspect they won't be staying long, as the party is non-alcoholic. Even worse: Is the organizer dude planning to wear that shirt? All the cool future kids will be laughing at us 2005ers, and being ridiculed till we cry is something we're trying to leave in the past. JO
Today's Times reports on the fascinating assertion that parents are better to their pretty children, while the less attractive spawns are cast aside. Although this study came from Canada, there might be some value in this information. Writes one:
What the fushizuck is going on at the Times, y'all? We thought it couldn't get better than yesterday's article that managed to pack cornrows, weaves, and Steel Magnolias into the same lede. We were wrong. Today, another Timesian gives us an article about binge-drinking and Westchester teens who, we believe, may have actually written the opener:
In today's Style Section, The New York Times ' Alex Kuczynski does some reverse advertising for the clothing chain Forever 21:
The new Thursday Styles section flexes its macho muscles and takes a swim on the wild side, sending scribe Dana Vachon into the temples of the plutocrats, private clubs like the University and the Racquet, where grown men still engage in "one of the city's most curious, enduring rituals," swimming in the nude.
Don't really know how we missed this (yes we do — see "incompetent" below), but in yesterday's column Maureen Dowd gets a little promiscuous with semantics, indulging in two back-to-back metaphors in the same paragraph. This sort of two-timing just isn't fair — is John Bolton "Naomi Campbell" or is he "Old Yeller"? You can only pick one, MoDo, so which one do you like best? You should choose as soon as possible, before they both show up on your doorstep with flowers, find out about each other, and get their feelings hurt. —NH
"Where have all the copy editors gone?" a Gawker reader asked after perusing this morning's Frank Bruni review of Florent. "The following sentence would make even Henry James weep."
How many NYT reporters does it take to come up with the worst lede of all time? Three, apparently. In a truly fantastic account of a beautyshop owner that throws scalding water on a robber and hits him over the head with a stool, Jennifer 8. Lee & Co. give us this opener:
