The New York Times is having fun with us again. This past weekend, Lola Ogunnaike, who is black (we stole that riff from the Times), delved into VH1’s “The Flavor Of Love.” She’s giving the show the standard Times on-the-fence treatment when suddenly the piece takes a wild turn. Ogunnaike writes, “Although not conventionally attractive ([rapper Flavor Flav] bears more than a passing resemblance to a California Raisin character) …” Oh snap! A California Raisin?! That’s harsh. We won’t get into Ogunnaike’s looks, but let’s just say that if the Times’ David Brooks had made the same comment about Flav, Al Sharpton would probably set up camp right outside Arthur Sulzberger’s office. Easy Ogunnaike, you’re banging it out for the Times, not auditioning to be Lisa Lampanelli’s new writing partner.
A note of kudos to the MediaBistro crew who got thrown out of former Viacom honcho Tom Freston’s house party after violating (i.e. taking photos of) his desk, his book shelf, his coffee table and his huge collection of Buddha statues and Mao Tse Tung trinkets. Alas, they eventually bowed to pressure from Arianna Huffington, who asked that the desk photo be removed from the site. So now we’re really tearing our eyelashes out wondering what the heck was on that desk. A Sumner Redstone F-You letter? An Executive Summary for that VC cash to start up MTV’s new competition? Pay stubs from that sweet multi-million dollar golden parachute? Empty Cheetos bags ... ?
Apparently, the path to mainstream glossy paychecks requires one to land a gig at a gossip blog, spend at least six to nine months calling all mainstream publications crap and then sell out to the very publications you’ve spent day and night trying to get everyone to hate. Such is the case with the recent moves by Gawker’s Jessica Coen who is leaving the gossip site to join Vanity Fair, Jossip’s Corynne Steindler who is moving to the New York Post’s Page Six, and former Page Sixer Chris Wilson who has already set up shop at Maxim magazine. That’s right kids, all the vitriol is really just a cry for help until they get the right offer, then it’s cubicles and cafeteria bliss.
What the hell is the New York Times’ fascination with Lee Seung-Hee aka Nikki S. Lee (“Now in Moving Pictures,” by Carol Kino)? Watching a girl play dress-up over the course of several years is neither art nor sociological investigation—it’s called play acting! Children do it all the time. Even when the writer asks Lee what she’s learned after all the dress-up hijinks, all Lee can muster is, “One thing I really learned is, ‘Yes, I’m right, I’m able to do that.’ So I have confidence in my confidence.” [Insert spit take!] So she’s supposedly reading Baudrillard and Barthes, and that’s all she can come up with? We counted nine Times stories on Lee since 2001. Nine! The Times needs to come clean and tell us who her father/cousin/boyfriend/rich uncle/Upper East Side sponsor is because the shine-on has become a little too obvious.
