June 9, 2008
For those of you mercifully unfamiliar with the business of journalism (those whose chosen career path is one in which the salary exceeds that of your average busboy and does not involve having to indulge in the odd repast usually enjoyed by the family cat), there are five ‘W’s related to the profession.
These are the infamous who, what, where, when and why questions they focus on (’who cares?’ being the equivalent to the ‘and sometimes Y’ for vowels. The ‘why even bother getting into the profession anyway?’ is something we’ll get into at another time). The concept of the five Ws, along with renting a film adaptation of a George Orwell novel, forms the fundamental basis of journalism.
Now that we’ve saved you thousands of dollars that might’ve been spent on journalism school tuition rather than say, a nice vacation to the Amalfi Coast, and possibly an orange visor and a comfortable pair of walking shoes, we can concentrate on the ‘who’, which is exactly the question we posed to one another when a certain Lily Allen crept into the news.
Lily Allen, despite sounding like a pharmaceutical subsidiary that spits out erectile dysfunction tablets, is apparently a pop-singer (who). Ms Allen got drunk recently at an awards show in England (what, when and where). With four of the five Ws covered, the ‘why’ that’s left is self-explanatory, as having to sit through anything dubbed ‘The Glamour Awards’ beyond catching the odd glimpse of a boob, seems to be a recipe for catching up on those summer novels and at the very least, sneaking a quart of rum into an oversized handbag.
Apparently, at said gala, a bouncer had to carry away the pop star whose ability to carry a tune didn’t translate into being able to hold her liquor.
Speaking of her songs, between the two of us, even after snapping our fingers and getting the hotel lobby pianist to tickle a jaunty ‘C’ on the ivories, we couldn’t come up with the names of any of them. We had an even vaguer notion of what she looked like—as it turns out, the girl at the mall who scoops your butter pecan.
So, in a nod to the business of ‘celebrity journalism’ (that subset of the profession that deals with ‘who cares?’ types of questions), we, um, salute the pop-star and turn to matters of greater import later this week–the business of Trappist Belgian beer—once the jet-lag subsides.
[Sleep-deprived Editor's note: Lily Allen, is apparently dating Dustin Hoffman's son and according to reports, they met at a VIP (actually, the source newspaper's description as both the 'V' and the 'I' seem to be lacking here) bash. "He thought she was a lovely, cute girl, but didn't have a clue who she was."]
June 9th, 2008 at 7:03 pm
amusing…although not a surprise there…just check out her songs :P
June 11th, 2008 at 7:29 pm
Lily Allen is, allegedly, the Peaches Geldof it’s OK to like.
For the benefit of North American readers, Peaches Geldof is the daughter of Bob Geldof.
For the benefit of anyone under 25, Bob Geldof is the man responsible for the fact that nobody in Africa is starving.
June 13th, 2008 at 1:03 pm
Geldof is also responsible for milking I Don’t Like Mondays for the better part of two decades, and also penning the incredibly patronizing, ‘Do They Know it’s Christmas?’