All posts filed under “media

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Norah Ephron’s not-so-new-anymore porn

An excerpt from Scribble Scribble, 1976:

The new porn has nothing to do with dirty pictures. It’s simply about money. The new porn is the editorial basis for the rash of city and local magazines that have popped up around the country in the past ten years. Some of these magazines are first-rate—I am particularly partial to Texas Monthly—but generally they are to the traditional shelter magazines what Playboy is to Hustler: they have taken food and home furnishings and plant care and surrounded them up with just enough political and sociological reporting to give their readers an excuse to buy them. People who would not be caught dead subscribing to House & Garden subscribe to New York magazine. But whatever the quality, the serious articles in New York have nothing to do with what that magazine is about. That magazine is about buying plants, and buying chairs, and buying pastrami sandwiches, and buying wine, and buying ice cream. It is, in short, about buying. And let’s give credit where credit is due: with the possible exception of the Neiman-Marcus catalog, which is probably the granddaddy of this entire trend, no one does buying better than New York magazine.

 

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#Tragedy in the Twitter era

There should be a word for the stomach-lurching sensation of opening Facebook or Twitter to discover—through oblique, foreboding references—that something awful has happened. You’ve missed the breaking story and, like the person in a coma during a zombie attack, emerged to a broken world.

My heart goes out to all the victims in #Aurora.

WTF is wrong with people? You can’t even go to a movie anymore.

Most days my Twitter feed is as varied and engorging as a Las Vegas buffet: Here a thoughtful op-ed, there a tasteless joke by Michael Ian Black, there a recipe from my vegan friend’s blog. Then a tragedy occurs and we all fold in around it,  grieving, scolding, sending up a collective death wail. Days after the Newtown shooting it felt wrong to tweet about anything else. Eventually Downton Abbey and the “fiscal cliff” edged into the conversation, but still there was Paul Simon singing at Victoria Soto’s funeral and little Noah Pozner’s open casket until, one by one, we blew out our candles and left.

In the aftermath of the Boston marathon bombings the cacophony was deafening. Journalists chided citizens and each other for interfering or misreporting or sensationalizing even as they tried to empathize. Pondering the public’s fascination with police scanners, Paige Williams might as well have described Twitter use in general, writing for the New Yorker: “What drives this behavior? . . . A desire to contribute? To feel needed? To bear witness? To be seen? To participate in an historic drama? Human impulses, all, if considered in the most generous terms.” (Williams is a former colleague of mine at Atlanta magazine.)

The irony, of course, is that people tend to skate around tragic events in daily conversation. If a common knock against Facebook and Twitter is that they have replaced human interaction, they offer in our darkest days a place to share feelings we’d never utter aloud—either because we don’t wish to appear morbid or because it’s hard to segue from the mundane to the barely imaginable. How are you? Well I’m really torn up about that mass shooting, thanks for asking. Said no one ever.

It’s strange, how we can bare our souls to everyone but not to each other. Ask your therapist about it if you have one. The rest of us have Twitter.

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The Opposite of Loneliness

In the days after her fatal car accident, the commencement essay of 22-year-old Yale grad Marina Keegan bloomed on a million Facebook pages like so many sunflowers. Her message to her peers, that it’s not too late to start something new, transcended the sad irony of her untimely death and resonated with older readers, me included, in a way she could never have imagined.

It’s one of the horrible-wonderful things about the internet, that you can learn so much about strangers who’ve made tragic headlines. A trip through the Yale Daily News archives revealed that Marina’s writing was positively effervescent, infused with such intelligence and passion and humanity. The New York Times, the New Yorker, and the Paris Review, among others, memorialized her.