When I first started blogging, I never imagined it would become one of my favorite things to do.
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It's sad to think that journalistic standards, and reliability, is slipping away as magazines and newspapers shut down. But this is creating a great Hollywood close-up for the humble fact-checker.
As Denby says, snark is like a middle-school rumor: vicious, authorless, and anyone who objects gets slagged as having no sense of humor. It's good that he's publicly objecting.
The heart of Snark, the part that resonates, is David Denby's thesis, presented in fits and starts, that snark is "mean, it's personal, and it's ruining our conversation."
I am unadorned and unhidden here in cyberspace. I don't use a moniker or an avatar. I write my mind and, although I joke whenever I can, I listen to all comers and respond to them respectfully.
In his book, Snark David Denby describes Maureen Dowd as "essentially sour and without hope," but my evidence, I believe, proves him wrong.
The first useful trick I learned as an aspiring journalist was cynicism. No, that's not quite right. Off-handed, world-weary cynicism. That was the ticket.
Snark presupposes a secret society of shared disdain. It preens, reveling in its own cleverness.
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