No words, just pure bile and vomit

Okay, okay. Okay! Alright, wait a minute. Just let me figure out how to say this. I’ve been trying to introduce some professionalism into this blog lately and starting to moving away from the cynical, wtf? posts I usually leave here.

But really, I have no choice right now. I want to back up a minute before I really get into this. I have to use amibiguous pronouns because there are just no words. None. So I’m going to use quite a few.

I hate ex-journalist, female memoir/fiction writers that aren’t Laurie Notaro (though, I won’t get into her first novel). She’s the only funny one.

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And she’s funny because she hates everyone.  But mostly, I hate book covers of little models in weird clothing  or of twinkle toes at the end of a messy bed, leftover from a one night stand.

I hate novels and memoirs about overcoming the obstacles of being a female in the male-driven world of professional careers, or the vapid next door neighbor-jock who won’t admit to his friends that he loves you.

Fluff. I hate fluff.

Jennifer Weiner is a fluff writer (you can read her adorable pink blog, A Moment of Jen. Yes, you are invited to tea time. Feel girly and great!), a cheerleader of bad journalism and a poster gal-pal of bad, very bad novels. But setting that aside, nothing could prepare me for the absolute and total stupidity (and I very rarely use this word in publication) of her letter to none other than media giant, Brian Tierney.

(Intro Journalism 1001, Temple University: 1. Journalism is a business 2. The internet is changing everything.)

The Inky has been laying off dozens of its staff so it’s really not much of a surprise that its in dire need of a bailout. But that is not how Weiner sees ethical  journalism! Tierney’s bailout is a breech in the code of journalistic ethics. She begins her letter to Tierney,  

… I was shocked to learn that, under your leadership, the region’s two newspapers, the Inquirer and the Daily News, are seeking a $10 million bailout from the state government.

As anyone who’s ever worked for, subscribed to, or glanced at a newspaper can affirm, this is not how journalism is supposed to work.

Newspapers are not publicly-funded institutions, nor are they charities. They are watchdogs, not lapdogs; afflicting the comfortable and comforting the afflicted. They should not take money from the people and institutions they are supposed to be reporting on, lest those people and institutions expect favorable coverage in return for their cash.

This is not really anything new in the media world. As if the media needed a bailout to highlight the fact that it’s a puppet to the government. I hate to burst your bubble curly-Q, but the magical Fourth Estate has long forgotten its textbook roles.

Of course a woman of her publishing knowledge would know a better way to handle this situation!

What if a consortium of Philadelphia writers and ex-Philadelphia Inquirer staffers turned novelists and non-fiction writers banded together to sponsor the paper’s book coverage?

I can’t speak for John Grogan, Steve Lopez, Buzz Bissinger et al. But personally, I’m always looking for a pretty quote to decorate my paperbacks. Maybe they, are, too! (“GROGAN’S DEAD DAD: JUST AS MOVING AS GROGAN’S DEAD DOG.” Or “FRIDAY NIGHT LIGHTS: THE BEST TV SHOW YOU AREN’T WATCHING IS BASED ON THE BEST BOOK YOU MAY NOT HAVE READ.” Or “CERTAIN GIRLS: PINKEST BOOK IMAGINABLE – AND WE MEAN THAT IN A GOOD WAY!”)

Authors need coverage.

The Inquirer needs money.

 

Give authors “pretty [quotes]” and save your newspaper? It’s like High School Musical for million dollar corporations. It’s kind of like kissing. You come closer, and I give you a kiss!

DUH! WHY DIDN’T HE THINK OF THAT?
Oh wait. He did. He just reached into a bigger pocket.

She then moves on to explain to Tierney how his Lifestyle section should

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read–what books to review, who to review, what kind of literature is acceptable (“No more considerations of gross-out memoirs by middle-aged male journalists detailing their debauchery, drug buys, masturbatory predilections or intestinal outrages.”), etc.

Instead, this should be replaced with contemporary women’s fiction! Frankly, I would not enter Weiner into this category. I would really like Bitch Magazineto interfere here and tell this woman she’s not smart enough to speak on the behaf of the rest of female writers.

I’m not sure if the tone of the letter is supposed to sound like she’s poking fun at herself or if she really is, so, maybe, I misunderstood. Maybe this is just a Jessica Simpson thing where she pretends to be stupid to make money.

If so, kudos, sisterfriend. Fooled a couple book deals and whoever reads them (oh, and Princeton?).

And just like Weiner thought she’d never reach out to Brian Tierney, I didn’t I would either. Hopefully someone has already warned him of the pedicure-bribe headed his way. So until I decide to start writing personal letters to Brian Tierney instructing him on how to run a newspaper, don’t speak for me.