People deserve to be paid for their work. And if you haven’t been paid, neither explanations nor justifications will really suffice. Let’s accept these points as read.
Wowee, the perils of being a freelance writer sure does make for some good-ass free reading material. Chris Mohney — definitely in the lineup for Team Good Guys — is here with a calm professional unpacking of how-your-invoice-sausage gets made. And the now well-trafficked “How To Make Vitamin Soup" piece by Richard Morgan at The Awl is surely being fast-tracked to the top of some "Best Blog-Posts That Are Like Magazine Articles Evar!" list somewhere.
Doree helped me get paid a couple years ago via Gawker’s Hall of Shame (amazing how fast i got the call after that). And it feels, to me, like the internet is paying off on its promise to help with the not-enough-checks and balances of the system Mohney details. The extra work still sucks, BIG TIME, but it’s an improvement on slavery. Or eating ‘vitamin soup’ in shame. And/or kicking your cat because it’s the only thing lower than you on the totem pole. (Maybe. Actually that was probably pre-internet, cats are now sovereign entities.)
Happy to sound off in this hipster death knell; humbled to keep company with smart do-gooders like feminist-activist extraordinaire Jennifer Baumgardner and Pulitzer winner Margo Jefferson.
I’ll post a snippet and offer more thoughts when the mixtape book officially drops (I brought the hip hop and gold-plated four-finger rings to the party), but click on that first link to pre-order and be cooler than your friends this weekend.
“Never dump a guy who makes you laugh AND cum. Get yourself a good job and support him. What are you gonna do? Dump him and marry someone who’s equally as boring and goal-oriented as you are? Please.”—Anonymous (commenter responding to advice column discussing whether a younger girl should leave her 33-year old brilliant pothead-creative boyfriend)
Rappers Who Are Emo Enough In Their Lyrics to Play the 'Michael Cera' Character In a Movie
biz markie: the original goofball. i talked to him about the friend thing once. drake: a little too confident, but he shows enough all around vulnerability to be directed. andre 3000: if michael cera was raised on the cosby show Akinyele Asher Roth: he’d have stud potential if he went more cera, less frat-boy. Slug: i don’t really know Atmosphere like that, but by reputation Q-Tip: Cera on grown up pills Wale: Cera with more effort Kanye: might be the Anti-Cera.
hmmm, this was tougher than expected. there’s not much of that self-doubt, emo-humility popping. WHY?
anyone else missing? i bet there’s no more than three…
Sharkey adds: Fat Lip? … I think he qualifies. world-weariness is part of the Cera charm, I think. I actually had Pharcyde on the list and thought, eh, it’s just a song or two. That also made me think of Butterfly/Digable Planets. Then I thought, oh, maybe this should be a playlist of songs that capture the Cera-brand of emo instead of emcees.
"street poetry is my everyday but yo, i gotta stop when you drop my way if i was working at the club you would not pay”
= The Tracy Morgan Guide to Chivalry
and really, TUMBLR, “if i was working at the club you would not pay” … is so butter. can we make that an acronymized day or something? how do i file an application for that? that’s that hood michael cera game right there. no negs, just butter
Gavin McInnes, co-founder of Vice Magazine and Street Carnage, offered some notes of warning upon turning 40 this weekend. Mazel.
In my internet reading experience I still haven’t quite seen anything reach the levels of literal balls-out writing/blogging like Gavin and Early Vice magazine. “Bohemian terrorism" as Chris Mohney once called it. That sensibility now almost seems pre-Obama (or maybe just a direct byproduct of the Bush-nihilism era); there’s less reward for having your cock out while you say something smart just cause you can (Vice, Jackass, and Sacha Baron Cohen killed the penis-as-radio star?). Vice as the new CNN is presumably better suited to help the world in its more conscientious Obama-on-meth form. But Gavin was the original meth injection in that formula. And it’s interesting to see meth turn 40.
This pull quote, for example, is sort of a feminist love note via 40-year-old meth. It’s very sweet. But still oddly inappropriate for most folks who are 40. (unless I’m wrong, and people who are 40 in 2010 care less about ‘mature’ language?)
one thing we know for sure is the assimilated [BLIPSTER:HUMAN] loved hip hop
coming up: you will AUDIO-EXPERIENCE how a typical assimilated [BLIPSTER:HUMAN] came to feel a strong kinship with the golden era hip hop of the mid 1990’s; artists like “Tribe Called Quest” and “De La Soul” highlight the more recognizable names.
the music had a creative edge, a self awareness and was fundamentally feel good: just fun stuff!
before each exhibit, we will lead with a soundbyte (PRESS PLAY ABOVE) from a real live assimilated [Blipster:Human] to provide some context for what you are about to hear.
Can you spot all 144 cues in the puzzle???
This is a TAN Audio-Literal Time Capsule Case Study for Investigation File: NYC/_Blipster//blipsteraudiohandbook: The Golden Era///\\C4AAA100012. All rights reserved.
There was once was a wonderful town named Uniqloville. It was an up-and-coming town, filled with vim, vigor and prosperity. The population was young, ethnoculturally diverse, and everybody loved one another and got along splendid. Well everybody except one individual: an older white man named Mr. Racist.
Now Mr. Racist was a foul-mouthed, contemptible human being. A mosquito-roach pest of a person who, most assuredly, neither You nor I would get along with. Whenever he spotted someone in town he would raise his crotchety voice, swearing and flinging the most despicable epithets in their direction. He was filled with hate, and over the years it became his only mode of communication. At a certain age he resigned to keep to himself on his farm, raising animals for food, and drawing water from his well. The townspeople of Uniqloville were a kind and tolerant group, but they learned to stay out of his way and ignore him.
And so things went for years and years.
Until one summer the kind and tolerant town of Uniqloville decided to adopt a young black orphan boy. Like the celebrities! And they would raise him with kindness and tolerance, mostly shielded from the prejudices of the world.
After a while it happened that one day the young black boy stopped at Mr. Racist’s farm. Upon his first encounter with the young black boy, of course Mr. Racist immediately showered him with a most withering storm of invective. But as a young orphan boy knowing nothing other than kindness and tolerance for others, the boy didn’t know how to be offended by these racist remarks. He found Mr. Racist and his scornful screeds to be a quirky amusement; almost refreshing in contrast to the humdrum routines of the rest of the town. And so he began to come by Mr. Racist’s farm regularly.
And every time the boy visited, Mr. Racist would denigrate him with hate-speech. Until one day Mr. Racist asked the boy,
“Hey, you lazy piece of dark dog doo-doo. Why do you come here so much?”
“I like you, Mr. Racist. You make me laugh.”
While Mr. Racist’s hate-addled brain could never express anything besides contempt, he was actually growing fond of the boy. After all, the boy was the only one who enjoyed his company. Everyone else in the town ignored or reviled him.