If you’ve not picked up the new issue of The New Yorker (December 22 & 29), get it while you can!
Y?
Because the lead story in “The Talk of the Town” presents an illustration of Illinois Governor Rod Blagojevich looking impish and cherubish and the story of his recent dust-up with the people of this fair state (with its own state fair, by the way). What makes this story particularly worthwhile is that for the first time since it hit the fan a few weeks ago, I was able to read the obscenities “bleeped” out of every news story reaching mine eyes and ears until today. BRAVO THE NEW YORKER!! Yassareee!. All concerns about reality shattering the fragile sensitivities of what opponents like to call partial birth shadow dodgers and intellectually short-shrifted nine-year-olds seem to have vanished like the last whale oil peddler. For the first time in my own rather A-retentive life, I celebrated as I read the REAL WORDS without bleeps and the silly _ _ _ _s that so primly “ignore” the BIG BLUE BABOON self-abusing himself in the corner of the ladies’ auxiliary meeting. The article hit me magnificently effectively. THAT is what kind of cherub our Evvis-fixated iconoclast is! Here in our own governor, we have a true piece of what the bull deposited in the pasture. The world was waiting for someone to show what a load Rod B is. And I am delighted editors at The New Yorker DID IT, DID IT, DID IT! BRAVO!
The story wasn’t particularly long, but it almost made me forget my soup! The rest of the day I’ve been writing Springfield Business Journal articles — three of them — and welcome assignments every one. In fact, two were suggested to esteemed editor and approved. There are a million stories in this nekkid city, and given the rope and fair professional compensation for my labors, I would LEAP to write every one.
All my notes transcribed Sunday were waiting for me this morning like a house-broken puppy at the front door. I like to see my notes in print, transcribed from taped face-to-face interviews, so I can read them easier and on a computer screen so I can edit them easier, shffling them along with added narrative text into an article. This is the most enjoyable part of writing feature news for me. I say the write shuffle because I’m writing for print and I don’t have to run as I did in days of yore; haven’t written a story for radio broadcast since graduate school in ‘77 — that’s 1977.
I also loved writing for radio back then for WMAY and Illinois News Network, going live from the General Assembly during the Dan Walker daze. The stories had to be as tight with a phrase as a good poem and none longer than 45 seconds including actualities — words spoken into the tape recorder’s microphone by the interviewee..
Print is my medium of choice — Yes Virginia, there are more than one news medium: broadcast news, broadcast feature, print new, print feature. . . .can you dig it; I mean them? — I dig print because I can tell more of the story I want to tell. That does not mean writing eloquently and verbosely; it means writing more news.
So I’ve had a decent day, getting two stories and two pictures to esteemed editress (actor/actress; host/hostess, jew/jewess (lost a potential sweetheart when I questioned that distinction). OKAY, I’m just jerking your chain. I know all those are permanent residents of Anachronism City and Lexicon Yesterday. Waiting for me is what esteemed you-know-whom and others call “chicken soup” news. What do I mean? I mean the kind of cotton candy (that’s what I call it) that may not nourish the intellect, but it tastes good just the same. Do I disdain chicken soup? Not NOW. Not in my present circumstance where I’ll do anything but wish our Illinois governor a HAPPY WINTEBLISS for an honest few hundred dollars. I’ll write chicken soup and cotton candy, and even Cotton Mather. American literary historians please note that some of us English majors never forget.
Bring it on, y’all — hey . . . good GOD!
Live long . . . . . and eloquently.
