Last night, ASSME (the American Society of Shitcanned Media Elites), held its first meeting, featuring plenty of free vodka and cute mediaand ex-mediatypes for a good old-fashioned Christmas bacchanal. The question on the partygoers lips as they stepped over an interviewer for WNYC and several photogs was, are there more journalists covering this event here or shitcanned editors here? I thinks its about 50-50, young Hunter Walkera blogger for MediaBistroguesstimated.
David Goldman, a middle-aged freelancer in a rumpled jacket, was hunkered down in a corner watching some girls dancing as the DJ scratched up some electronica. I dont see anyone that looks like people I know in media, the nebbish said. I go to MediaBistro [events] all the time and its nothing like this. Shaking his head sadly he said, theres no structure or even business cards. I searched for any sign of irony but saw nothing.
At the bar, Greg Garry, the Eric Stoltz-esque former photo editor of Radar, was laying out his game plan for life after his celeb-skewering rag. I might deal drugs, he said. His friend, also Grega freelance writerpiped in that reality TV might be where its at. Garrys eyes lit up excitedly at the idea and he added, Oh yeah, of New York crumbling.
I found the dapper former managing editor of Radar, Aaron Gellan ASSME founderoutside having a smoke. An attendee who was leaving slapped him on the back and said, If youre still free in January, lets have lunch. Gell looked at him impassively and deadpanned, Oh, Ill still be free in January. Ad Ages preppy Nat Ives holstered his notebook for a moment and upped the optimism. Its scary, if I get laid off Ill never work in journalism again, he said.
Nick McGlynn, a recent Gawker casualty, walked past with a backpack strapped to his back. Im going to that Jewcy party in Brooklyn, he said. Are you mad at Nick Denton for giving you the axe? It seems like hes just getting rid of the good people. Either hes got a master plan or hes gone crazy.
A cigarette or two later, a ski cap wearing bum that looked like a down-at-the-heels KRS-One hit up four of us for some coin. Gell let out a sigh, dropped some change into his cup and said, Youve got us. The rest of us followed with donations. Walked explained the irony to the beggar: This is a party for journalists who have been laid off. The bum looked puzzled but Hunter rephrased himself. None of us have jobs. The bum nodded his head, but didnt look too impressed. Um, yeah, well, he said, and started to beat a hasty retreat. Good look with that guys.