FishbowlNY's foreign correspondent, SAC, reports on New York media (from Sacramento—per usual):

The media elite is on my back. I can't get away from them. They're there when I wake up in the morning, staring at me from the pages of this great nation's newspapers. And they're there at night, screaming at me from my television, waiting for me to break down and give them what they want. Fuck, this is hard. When Spiers first asked me to do this, I thought it was a sweet deal; I do one (1) post a week and in return, I get no pay. Perfect. Only one condition: I have to pay attention to NYC media figures. She didn't tell me how difficult that would be. Some mornings I can barely make it out of bed, heavy I am with the thought of spending another day with your Maureen Dowds and your Adam Mosses (does not exist). But Spiers won't let me look away. I'm not even sure how to classify Dowd, her phylum does not exist outside the invisible force field surrounding Manhattan island (you didn't know about that, did you?). I asked Spiers if she would remove Dowd's column from my required reading list. She went into a rage and threatened to force-feed me Page Six. Anyway, this one from Dowd had me weeping in confusion because I had never run across a piece of writing that contained the use of both "spiffy" and "loosey-goosey." At least, not since I dipped Eleanor's pigtails in the inkwell back in 3rd grade, right before my family of 12 had to flee the Dust Bowl. Those were hard times. She is not making a good case for women as opinion writers. Could you imagine David Brooks gushing about Bush giving him a "flirty wink?" Actually, I can. And have.

The silver lining in all of this is that, due to the NY Times' infallibility clause, the spelling of "loosey-goosey" has finally been confirmed. That's with an -ey, people, not just a -y. Remember that shit next time you use "loosey-goosey" in a sentence.

Bloggers I can handle, where after months of prolonged exposure, my body has become immune to the low-level radiation emitted from them. But their toxicity is nothing compared to the likes of Anderson Cooper, that sexually ambiguous scion of bad jeans. Sure, he's gorgeous, as a straight man I am confident enough to admit that. But have you seen his show!? I hadn't until after I had accepted this assignment. My God. The subdued color schemes, Cooper's somnambulistic tone of voice, the tasteful wardrobe, it's all too much to bear. And what up with the camera work? I didn't realize talk shows were adhering to Dogma 95 constraints. Natural lighting is fine. If you're Stanley Kubrick. I checked and Cooper is not. I've developed late-onset narcolepsy after just 3 episodes. I'm sending his mother my medical bills; she can afford it.