Happy 2008!

In the immortal words of Jim Osterberg:
"Last year I was 21,
Didn't have a lot of fun.
Now I'm going to be 22,
Oh my and a boo-hoo."

Kind of hard to believe Iggy was my age when he was attracting the revile of just about everyone except Lester Bangs, but it puts my life into perspective. I will be graduating this upcoming year, and with any luck, entering the journalism establishment. Hence, one of my New Years Resolutions is to be a more professional and responsible blogger (read: proofreid proofread more, and not make blog posts that could limit my potential jobs). Towards this goal, I have deleted some of my previous posts on this blog that, though often quite juicy, were the product of a college-age wannabe journalist with a bone to pick and less of a real journalist, blogger or otherwise. To those that say bloggers aren't real journalists, wait for a column I plan on writing for this winter's Maroon.

The one exception to this rule is my post on Marty Peretz at The New Republic, the reasons being a) the fact that I am the son of Michael Stanislawski problably precludes me from working at the New Republic so long as Peretz is the publisher (though maybe it's okay if I'm not the son of Michael Stanislavski), b) that post actually had an effect, as Peretz took down the TNR post in question, and c) The New Republic doesn't exactly sound like the best place to work. Witness this internship listing sent out to aspiring U of C journalists:

REPORTER-RESEARCHER

The New Republic is looking for reporter-researchers for the 2008-2009 internship program. Job duties include reporting, researching, and fact-checking for TNR and TNR Online stories; formatting articles and blog posts for the Web; and performing occasional clerical tasks. Reporter-researchers work closely with writers and editors, and they have an open invitation to pitch magazine or Web articles. Most reporter-researchers finish their program with a substantial portfolio of clips and have gone on to work almost everywhere in journalism--including TNR itself. Political journalism experience is preferred (but not imperative); fluency with LexisNexis and other search techniques, a willingness to put in long nights fact-checking, and a sense of humor are mandatory. The yearlong job will begin in late summer 2008 and will pay $280 per week (plus substantial overtime, adding up to $320-$350 per week on average) with health care. Please e-mail the following items to Britt Peterson at job [at] tnr [dot] com:

1. A cover letter.
2. A one-page résumé.
3. A 750-word critique of the politics section of a recent issue of the magazine.
4. Two clips (if possible, one opinion and one news).

No phone calls and no snail mail (undue phone calling is especially unwelcome). We don’t have time to let you all know we received your applications, so please don’t expect confirmation. The deadline is February 15, 2008, but do not submit applications before January 1.

But enough of this, I'm breaking my resolution already.

While were on the subject of Lester Bangs, here's my favorite quote by him, admittedly obtained from Wikipedia, which was once even was my "About Me" on Facebook:

"...I'll admit in front that I have a special affinity for things that don't quite fit into any given demarcated category, partly because I'm one of those perennial misfits myself by choice as well as fate or whatever. By profession, I am categorized as a rock critic. I'll accept that, especially since the whole notion that someone has a 'career' instead of just doing whatever you feel like doing at any given time has always amused me when it didn't make me wanna vomit. O.K., I'm a rock critic. I also write and record music. I write poetry, fiction, straight journalism, unstraight journalism, beatnik drivel, mortifying love letters, death threats to white jazz critics signed 'The Mau Maus of East Harlem,' and once a year my own obituary (latest entry: 'He was promising...'). The point is that I have no idea what kind of a writer I am, except that I do know that I'm good and lots of people read whatever it is I do, and I like it that way."

This being New Years Day seems like as good a time as ever to write my own obituary, but I don't think I could do it any better than "He was promising..." Though if I die in the next year, that is so gonna be my epitaph.