Ego-Terrorism: The Last Days of Blogging
Today is Lockhart Steele's last as a Gawker Media employee, though a "round of funding" for Curbed (it's even funnier when you type it) from Denton will keep them snugger than Steve Perry's balls in spandex. Sure, I could speak of his job performance, if I knew what he did (legally contracted to say that), but I think an image tells the story much better: Gawker, Defamer, Wonkette, well, you get the pictures.
But I will not trounce on the guy's legacy. How could I? His trust fund (scratch that one off the checklist) is bigger than mine and he got to bang a lot of chicks he had no business banging. Instead, I will remember the good time(s). Like this.
One moment I will share is an urban legend of professional blogging - the day I quit Gridskipper. Lock was doing a decent job of managing my touch-n-go nerves, which set in on day 3 after realizing I had no desire to be blogging about travel, but he could do nothing in the middle of week 2 when I calmly closed my laptop at 11am in a Tribeca loft and turned to him to say, "I'm done."
I then walked out and through a Chinese New Year parade on my way home, called my mom and cried. Or maybe she cried, hard to remember. There was one witness to my exit scene, Maxwell Gillingham-Ryan of Apartment Therapy and I hope he tells his grandkids about it one day.
And with that, even though he once accused me of "terrorism" and had the nerve to say my blogging pursuits were ego-driven (uh, what's the point of all this shit we do?), I wish Lock the same departing fanfare. It's OK to cry.
But I will not trounce on the guy's legacy. How could I? His trust fund (scratch that one off the checklist) is bigger than mine and he got to bang a lot of chicks he had no business banging. Instead, I will remember the good time(s). Like this.
One moment I will share is an urban legend of professional blogging - the day I quit Gridskipper. Lock was doing a decent job of managing my touch-n-go nerves, which set in on day 3 after realizing I had no desire to be blogging about travel, but he could do nothing in the middle of week 2 when I calmly closed my laptop at 11am in a Tribeca loft and turned to him to say, "I'm done."
I then walked out and through a Chinese New Year parade on my way home, called my mom and cried. Or maybe she cried, hard to remember. There was one witness to my exit scene, Maxwell Gillingham-Ryan of Apartment Therapy and I hope he tells his grandkids about it one day.
And with that, even though he once accused me of "terrorism" and had the nerve to say my blogging pursuits were ego-driven (uh, what's the point of all this shit we do?), I wish Lock the same departing fanfare. It's OK to cry.
