Ask Choire: Michael Eisner, Internships, and Canadian Hotties
Hello, it's Choire here, former Gawker editor and current chief whip-cracker on the Slave Ship Gawker. Yeah, that other former Gawker editor Elizabeth Spiers might get to be editor-in-chief of MediaBistro — but I get to write an advice column every Thursday! IN YOUR FACE, SPIERS.
Anyhoo. My mailbox is over-flowing with questions this week, so let's get ALL UP IN IT.
What are we going to do without Michael Eisner to kick around?
I asked our resident Eisner expert, Defamer, via IM: "We are going to have an editorial meeting where we select a new entertainment conglomerate CEO to relentlessly abuse, and eventually, drive to overdose on prescription drugs." Yay! I hope it's Viacom CEO Sumner Redstone! I so wanna see that old dude racked out on Vicodin. Please stay tuned!
I wonder if the inhabitants of Gotham would be horrified to know that people in the fly-over zones are now keeping close tabs on their comings, goings, and neurotic behavior courtesy of Gawker and the internet. Does this creep you out? Signed, Wishing I didn't know who Fabian Basabe is.
We would so totally be horrified if we ever thought about you. Sure, now, yes, I'm creeped out, but I'll forget all about you in twelve seconds. Oh look, former Yankees hottie Tino Martinez just went into Balthazar! Again!
I'm looking to do an internship for something journalism related this coming summer in NYC, preferrably about culture/music. Any suggestions for where I might apply? I don't want to get an internship with some Conde Nast book only to find that they eat interns alive.
The truth of the matter? It just doesn't matter where you intern. You're gonna get treated like crap, but if you're smart and not a jackass, you'll probably get a job. At Black Book they'll make you fetch drinks but they'll let you go to fun parties and screenings. At Conde Nast, they'll make you do filing. At Vice they'll make you give birth to a baby and inject it with heroin. It's really your call. But, since you have one of those inscrutable and uber-cool "blogs," I'm sure someone will hire you. Here, editors: molest this trendy youth.
So I m Canadian. No biggie. Whatever. Right? But here s the deal - that only applies when I am in Canada, eh? So now I m coming down to NYC for the weekend and I don t know if I can face the looks of sympathy and (lets face it) the way people talk louder and slower to you when they find out you re Canadian. You know what I m saying? Once I was at a party on the upper east side (I know, I know, but it was free booze) and the hosts child was Downs syndrome and I swear to god he was allowed to use the stemware and I had to use a plastic sippy cup. I mean, take off eh! I ve got feelings and shit. So should I lie about being Canadian? Or should I tell people I am Canadian but I have a big cock or something?
Speaking as a Pat-Kiernan-loving maple queen, I'm really thrilled that my first mailbag contains a letter from a well-hung Canadian. Why... hello there! Anyway, I think you'll find that yes, most Americans will treat you like a simpering 'tard. But scattered among the seething hockey-hating masses of New York, you'll find a growing number of my like-minded Canadian fetishists. We think you're hot. We wish you'd come down more often. It's true: Canadians are the new hotness, and every little girl and boy on the Lower East Side wants one.
Why don't you ask yourself why you and your editorial staff are such f'n homophobes!
God, why don't I! I guess I keep forgetting. So I will, if you promise to ask yourself why you're afraid to type the word "fuck." Are you writing this email from some on-air CBS chat show? Dude: this is the fucking internet!
