Okay, time to say goodbye. I'm moving eight blocks up the street. This has been absurd. I'm starting at the Village Voice tomorrow. This is embarassing. TLDR warning. Whatever. Here we go:
Big, big thank you for everyone who contributed today.
Maybe you noticed that I had some young writers write things! They probably got the shit beaten out of them in the comments. That's okay. There's been a lot of talk lately about Young Media People trying to break in to The Industry! Truth be told, I wanted this gig, I got it, I loved it. I'm not the first person to want a job like this, and I won't be the last. And as opposed to hearing about them, or hearing about them from them, or hearing older people talk about what they should do, or me telling them what they should do, I'd rather just hear from them. Even better, give them some space to talk and get them exposed. Also: they're gonna figure out how to do this on their own without any of us telling them how to do it. If they want to know, they'll probably ask. Hopefully it was better for them than not. I owe it. Tradition's nice. Etc. Certainly better than me just blogging about it.
Honestly, I just wanted to drink today. They did my work for me. Delegation. It happens. Also, Jamie Peck, Rohin Guha, and Annie Werner, I owe you a round.
Anyway. Want to make it in media? Be like Hamilton or John or Ryan and work your fucking ass off. Be good. I've said this over and over and can't say it enough, though: I got really lucky, and was tolerated far longer than I should have been. Nick, I'm sorry about the marbles, figuratively and literally. There's something to be said for Nick's management style! Besides the fact that inside this man's rotund cranium is something utterly amazing and definitely else, I will say this: every email I ever got from Nick was terrifying. It was also always true, and some of the best editorial guidance I've ever had. Let's not lose sight of the fact that said emails cost me more money than I've earned here in therapy bills and facial tics. Anyway. Nick could've canned me before today but he has a sense of mischief on many levels and so, you know, that's fun. Sometimes. Sometimes. Thanks for letting me run amok.
I'd give you my Joe Dolce moment here but instead, you can just email me at foster [at] gawker [dot] com and you can pay me for that kind of thing. See! I did learn something.
I got lucky and worked with a bunch of kickass people. Chris Mohney and Willa Paskin at BlackBook, whatever, you know, they're amazing. They tolerated me working seven days a week and being tired and useless far longer than they should have. They're both extraordinary to work with and also huge mensches. Mohney, your head is also impressive. Truly.
Anna Holmes and Hortense over at Jezebel were of invaluable inspiration and assistance regularly. The Cajun Boy was the first night editor I worked with, and that was a blast. The current night squad of Adrian, Maureen, and Ravi compliment each other awesomely. Ravi and Maureen are ninjas who dissemble everything for picking up the next morning, and the havoc is awesome to see. Adrian can alchemize Play-Doh out of dust, and shape that Play-Doh into an obscure 19th century castle.
Brian Moylan, I wish my mother were here to bring out her crystals from Sedona and tell you about the color of your aura. I'm sure it's something else. Prolly something wonderful. I pass down the Penis Investigation Badge down to you. The truth is out there, never stop searching. Ryan Tate and John Cook, everything I know about reporting right now, I basically learned from watching you guys do it, and do it so, so well. You both also have an insatiable thirst for the kind of said mischief, the important kind, that the world probably needs more of. And fuck Facebook. John, I'll fill out your FOIA any day. Lawson, welcome back. Bye. You have a gift. Like Bobby Fischer. But you're not totally insane from battling a computer your entire life. Yet. Appletini Partyboy, I hope you have some equity, some stock, a Swiss Bank Account, something. Christ. You've been at Gawker since you were nine! I know people from the Midwest have manners and shit but this has gone way, way too far. More impressive: you got me to change the way I think about politics and almost vote for Billy Talen. Hamilton, on the other hand, writes things that make me feel like a terrible person. That's something. Besides the great, hysterical voice he's developed, he's fast, efficient, hard-working, and gets better by the post. Media people are not built in this form. They should be.
Remy, have fun. What, you want me to give you advice? Ha. Enjoy tomorrow morning. Enjoy the ride. And drink with your writers, often. Morale is important.
FINALLY. Gabriel Snyder, I basically owe, um, my gig to you? Both of them? Gabriel met me at a bar in May, bought me a beer, and told me to "bring her back full." I hope, at the very least, I did that. He encouraged my mischief, made reporting exciting and a real thing for me, and, okay. Here's a story:
At the National Book Awards, Gabriel pulls me aside for a cornerman chat as I'm finishing getting the notes for the next day's Party Crash. First thought: Why's he telling me how to do my Job? And then: He's telling me how to do my job. Editors who do it are too rare. To do it to and have it have some kind of effect, and a profound one, is an exception to another rule altogether. That's something else.
Okay, bye. I'm at the Village Voice tomorrow. This has been fun and overwrought and embarrassing and hopefully we all learned something. Mom, Dad, Helen, Mike, Notos, etc, sorry for saying "cock" so much. Working on it. Honesty is the great equalizer, compassion is what makes you a tolerable person, a sense of humor is what makes you an enjoyable one. For fuck's sake, have one.
This was never not fun.