Raw, but c*nsored blabbing and blogging of a young journalista
and local news producer in Southern New England.
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Saturday, December 24, 2005

Only a blog

Justin Henderson sounds, from his writing, like he is eight feet tall, bony, breathes fire, has a shock of hair down to his butt, red eyes with no whites, and chain smokes at breakneck speed.

Through the usual random surfing (Wired 14.01 >> Pink Martini >> Margie Boulé / Thomas Lauderdale / Kim Singer / Paige Powell >> stolen dogs) I ran across The Tibbetts Report, where Justin breathes fire like there's no tomorrow. Jeesh. This guy is worse than Patrick. And can probably drink him under the table too.

While Justin wasn't the guy who complained somewhere that Margie Boule should never have sung with Thomas Lauderdale and Lauderdale needed to get more original, Justin was the guy who entertained me for minutes on end with his take on The Nanny Diaries:

Some novels simply aren't to be read by heterosexual men. You know which ones they are--if you've ever lived with a woman, her bookshelf was filled with them: books by, for, and about women.
...
It wouldn't be right to say that The Nanny Diaries was a bad book, although that's certainly true. Instead, The Nanny Diaries is enraging because it's so very nearly quite good--a book that could be read by both women and men. McLaughlin and Kraus are keen observers, are for the most part unpretentious writers, and have a mild, unabrasive sense of humor. They merely suffer from the same ailments almost every woman I know suffers from: an over-reliance on brain-numbing slang, and chronic, constitutional dishonesty.

He uses the word "shan't" expertly, he posits he might be gay because of his curiosity with chick lit covers (where I beg to differ)... I could have kept reading this article for days on end because of its entertainment value.

You know, this guy is like JIM CRAMER! An explosive frothing-at-the-mouth showboater with great content! And EXCLAMATION POINTS!!!!

I liked The Nanny Diaries, I think for the same reason people like to read things like Danielle Steel: we want to empathize with and cheer on the hero(ine), picture ourselves with the love interest, hiss at the villain and wait to see what the jester will do next. I mean, it's melodrama for God's sake.

But Justin takes it seriously all the same:

But as bad as Mrs. X is, Nanny's (read: the authors') responses to her are just as grotesque. Why does Nanny go nuts when she gets a pair of Prada shoes from Mrs. X (PRADA! P-R-A-D-A. As in Madonna. As in Vogue.)? Why does Nanny meticulously note the brand, color-scheme, style, hue, texture, and vintage of every last consumer good in the Xes' apartment? Why does Nanny obsess over the soap opera of Mrs. X's marriage? McLaughlin and Kraus never admit it, but we know why: Nanny (like the authors) desperately wants to be Mrs. X. She desperately yearns to have Mrs. X's clothes, apartment, furniture... life. She's the same consumerist bimbo as the villain. It would be refreshing if the authors could have just admitted that, yeah, 21-year-old NYU co-eds really do cravenly pattern themselves after 41-year-old Upper-East-Side housewives.

But doesn't Nan wonder if she's going to turn into Mrs. X when Harvard Hottie grows up in three years and becomes Mr. X? So she's aware of the remote similarity. She's just unaware of how true it is.

To summarize the rest of the many, many lies: Nan's blissfully supportive, uncritical parents; Nan's happenin', salsa-dancin' grandma; Nan's prolonged rants at the end of the book; Nan's boyfriend's unconditional love even--especially!--when Nan is crying over trivialities.

Well, are these lies or fantasies? Women in their twenties want their grandparents to be vivacious -- that means they'll be alive and kicking when they're that age, instead of decrepit. Women rant and rant and rant -- that's how they deal with anger, not beating each other up like men do want to do ... er, wish they could do. Women want their parents to give them help, and the best of love from their boyfriends.

This type of book -- including The Devil Wears Prada and so on -- is, in a few words: "I WISH I COULD DO THAT BIT, BUT I'M SO GLAD MY LIFE ISN'T LIKE THAT OTHER BIT." I wish I could live on the Upper West Side, says the reader, and spend exhorbitant amounts of my inattentive husband's money on costumes replicated from the Lion King and shunt my inane, annoying offspring off on someone... but I'm so glad I don't have to take orders by memo from a bitch like Mrs. X, or find a nanny-cam hidden in the house. I'm so glad I don't have to cater to every ridiculous whim of a top fashion editor harpie, says the reader, but I wish to GOD I could try on all of those outfits and have couturiers or their ilk dote on me.

I want the trip to the ball like Cinderella, says the reader, but I don't want the ugly stepsisters and evil stepmother.

However, the ugly and evil creates conflict, and it's necessary to the story's linear narrative. ... I can feel myself getting off track.

I guess Justin seems to think that Chick Lit is worthless and a waste of time. He first cracked open The Nanny Diaries out of curiosity and lack of reading matter. Justin Henderson does not seem to be much interested in fantasy or drama of this sort; he seems to be more interested in the business type of drama, whatever that is.

But, he's willing to devote perhaps a score of links and dozens and dozens of paragraphs to say "THE NANNY DIARIES AND CHICK LIT ARE ALL WORTHLESS! AUGHHH*&#^@*$^!!!!!!!!"
• • •
I guess it makes me wonder if this isn't getting to the center of blogging. JUSTIN seems to care very much that trees, newsprint, electricity, ink, brainpower, and every other resource going into the publishing of a book are being used on this tripe, but has anybody ever commented about it?

Justin also puts his efforts into blasting droves of bad journalistic enterprises from PDX to SLC. I started wondering who the hell is this kid? At one point he was 29 and living in Portland. But I can't find hide nor hair of anything about his real life. Okay, I guess he's in law, or is a lawyer, but does that really tell me anything? (I suppose some people would say that explains a lot.) He's a voracious writer of letters to the editor, apparently, as told to me by a Google search.

He's also a contributor to at least one other blog and collections of online writings with similar angry young white (that is, I presume he's white) men. Now, that sort of thing makes me wonder if he is completely on the up-and-up or if he's completely serious about his vitriol.

It has occured to me that not every blog out there is completely truthful; all the reader knows is what the blogger tells him. So, I could really be a 68-year-old grandmother in Sweden for all you know rather than a 27-year-old redheaded overgrown boy in Rhode Island working in local news who's fed up with everything in sight.

In the long run, like television, it's only a blog.
• • •
Anyway, this guy seems very interesting. At least for a few minutes. Now that I've bashed him in public I wonder if I'll ever get to know anything real about him or meet him.

Labels: Originally published

... Scribbled by Bill T ... 12/24/2005 02:05:00 AM ... Email this entry ...
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