They say there are no jobs in journalism anymore. In fact, there’s at least one, and you can apply right here. The Buckley Fellowship is a pretty wonderful opportunity — almost a bit too good to be true. After seven months on it, I feel a little guilty that I’ve bamboozled the world into paying me to learn about politics and foreign affairs and big ideas and occasionally even to inflict my own thoughts on our readership. It’s a bit unfair that such jobs exist and are sometimes even given to recent graduates — but those who can take advantage of it should.Please stop it. You aren't good at it.
The fellowship is educational, lets you do meaningful and creative and satisfying work while serving a good cause, and all that jazz. But it’s also, more importantly, a lot of fun. We have a good time at the office. On Wednesday lunches you can enjoy battles of wits between NR’s hip young editors and writers, including but not limited to Kevin Williamson, Dan Foster, and Fred Schwarz. At after-work drinks, you can drop your card, and people marvel and ask, “You know Jooonah?” or “You know Derb?” And you can nod back, real cool-like, and say, (It’s true: when people ask if you know Jonah — and they always do — they pronounce all three o’s.)
Thursday, March 31, 2011
Someone to Blame
Matthew Shaffer at The Corner:
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11 comments:
I can only suspect that after he "drops his card" (Izzat what they call it these days?) & reveals himself, he has no problem w/ people occupying bar-stools anywhere near him.
Fuck it sounds awful. How much would one have to be paid to do that?
The Riddled scholarship gets you one jar of Rhubarb and Welk sauce a week and all the dishes you can wash at the Olde Entomologist.
The fellowship is educational, lets you do meaningful and creative and satisfying work while serving a good cause, and all that jazz.
No mention of salary there!
A battle of the wits with Kevin Williamson?
How can you tell?
....Does the Riddled gig allow for access to the brewery?
That use of the emdash is borderline criminal.
I am sure someone will come along to suggest we blame fish.
Droppin' the card.
~
There are no words to describe how squirmish this made me feel. I mean, I simply cannot describe how grossed out I am by the the visual of a bunch of khaki-pantsed, Brooks Brothers-shirted, country club, young(ish) conservatives doing their douchey thing out in the local douche hang-outs. "Derb?" "Jooohnah?" Really?
Do y'all know where NR is based? It's not in DC, is it? OK, Google tells me it's NYC. Well, this saves me the trouble of going to some of the local douchebars in, like...Old Town?...and finding and excuse to spill a drink on this guy.
All that Jazz? WTF?
On Wednesday lunches you can enjoy battles of wits between NR’s hip young editors and writers, including but not limited to Kevin Williamson, Dan Foster, and Fred Schwarz.
Nothing says hip like a bunch of WASPY fratboys.
At after-work drinks, you can drop your card, and people marvel and ask, “You know Jooonah?” or “You know Derb?”
Their fantasy lives are so quaint.
And you can nod back, real cool-like, and say, “Intimately
Their sexual fantasies... not so much.
"...squirmish..."
Ha. You are funny. Don't you really mean "skirmish"?
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