Tuesday, April 19, 2011

Communism, Fascism, Journalism

Ladies and Gentlemen, I wrote this fictional article to celebrate that HIGHEST of art forms, that FLAWLESS and IMPECCABLE HOLY GRAIL of the English language, that SPARKLING MULTIFACETED DIAMOND of literacy and proofreading: JOURNALISM.

This Title is a Pun

As I wait in the lobby for my famed celebrity interview subject, I mention a needlessly personal anecdote in the opening line of my article to create a false sense of camaraderie with my readers, while accidentally revealing what a soulless and creatively vapid individual I really am. Ooh, there she is! Looking effortlessly beautiful in a black Calvin Klein turtleneck, Balenciaga leather jacket, vintage Levis and towering patent leather Louboutins that belie her slim frame, with just the barest hint of makeup smeared across her Girl Next Door good looks and her hair tossed into a blonde topknot that's so perfectly messy it's almost like she doesn't have a stylist, she slides into the booth across from me and orders a salad—WITH CHICKEN!—as though she’s just a regular girl next door. The theme of this interview will be that she is merely a GIRL NEXT DOOR although she is also a TALENTED CELEBRITY. I will include several examples of her “throwing back her head and laughing with abandon” or “tapping a manicured finger against her glass of Evian” to show that I have an eye for detail. I took a class on that! It was called Good Descriptions I think.

Wait, let me set the scene! The paparazzi are lurking behind that tree. I am sympathetic to the deeply conflicted phenomenon of fame and so I notice that my celebrity subject's smile has acquired a strained quality, though I have to say it’s kind of flattering to have all those lenses pointed at me. Ooh, this is so exciting! Teehee, oh really, this old thing? I only wear this when I simply don’t care what I look like—where was I? The sky is blue, the grass is green, we’re having an al fresco lunch and she’s eating her salad with a fork just like a GIRL NEXT DOOR WOULD. Her hair is still blonde as she uses one FINGER (yes a real finger) to push it out of her EYES (yes she has EYES TOO). She seems just like a Real Person but also she is Pretty. I ask her a semi-personal question. I’m not prying, I’m INVESTIGATING! REE-REE-REE (that's my theme song).

Here it comes: THE SCOOP. Let me tell you about her body language: she’s raising her eyebrows, biting her lower lip, and—ouch! Flinging her dirty martini in my face! Wait—wait—come back!

Sigh. It’s hard being a hard-hitting investigative journalist like me. But you know what? I’m not afraid to show the world the dark side of life. I’m not afraid to stand in front of the masses with my moleskin and my shorthand and shout, HELLO WORLD, I AM THE MIRROR IN WHICH YOU SEE THE STRETCHED, CLOGGED PORES ON THE TIP OF YOUR NOSE. This sentence right here is a bit awkward because my training was sub par but BOY CAN I CRAFT AN OPENING LINE. Whats reading? I am Muse, I am Trumpet, I am Using a Little Poetic Language Here to Impress You.

“This is a quote from the celebrity,” she said. “My professors taught me that this is the most effective way to end an article.”

And here’s a final thought from me.




  2. be careful what you call journalism, tor! my journalism education is going to be nothing but sub-par. that magazine profile shit isn't journalism, but i promise you, the real thing still exists.

  3. HAHA Anna Wintour should clearly hire you immediately. SHE never went to journalism school yet still manages to provide non-self important and well-read perspectives on the world at large! Right? Clearly orphans in Gol Gumbaz need to know about the latest Prada heel and the trials of being a professional and stylish woman. If only Medill could learn...


You are truly great.