Monday, January 29, 2007
Et Tu, GAWKER?
Dude. First PEOPLE.COM fucking hoses me, and now this?! GAWKER is supposed to make me feel bad for even being born because I fail so heinously at suaveness I am DOOMED, each and every time I read it. For example, witness my pathetic glee (at the bottom of this post, scroll for it) when I was inadvertently GAWKER stalked while I tried to have a conversation with an old UCB aquaintance named Brian Huskey (very funny comedian who you should know and if you don't, get fucked). Truly lame, no? And yet, I felt as if I'd arrived in a way that no fucktard that wore the right dress to the Oscars, thereby justifying a career for some reason could even hope to fathom. I felt...NEW YORK-ESQUE.
Cut to today when I saw on my GAWKER RSS feed a headline about MUSE. I thought there must be a joke- you know, that the article would report that some generic anorexic ingenue of the week was spotted fucking some old movie mogul goat's eyebrow in the bathroom stall while they snorted coke that was cut with Strawberry quick or some shit (of course they'd say "gak", but work with me here, people, I am clearly in no way cool).
Yet, no. No. This was serious. It was an almost...ickily earnest post about a karaoke place that Sara and I have been championing for a couple of years now. In fact, some of our formative comedy duo meetings took place there. It is also the place where we host SUNDAY DRUNK DAY (TM) and generally raise hell. So you know that shit is old news.
I read this little snippet and felt...hollow. As if GAWKER let me down. I mean, really- GAWKER Is supposed to be like a menacing, almost-sexually-harassing stepbrother meant to make me feel ashamed of my need for a training bra, not make me annoyed for stealing my signature moves like a pesky younger neighbor. What next? An entry about the recent slew of bar-b-que joints in NYC? Ths felt almost, dare I say, Jackie Harvey to me. Yikes.