YOU HAVE NO IDEA HOW MUCH I'M NOT WRAPPING UP.

Every so often you come across the kind of article that makes you wonder just how painfully earnest journalists can be. So eager to find the best angle for a story that has been told a number of times already, they sit doubled over key boards as the minutes gather into hourly clumps. It's all about keeping it fresh, real and, most of all, objective. Right?

Somewhere across the pond, one writer in particular came across a video clip that sent him into a tailspin of emotion. He had it! The incident he later dubbed "global disaster" involved a Britt, a couple of glorified metal bookends and a lot of tears:



Apparently Winslet's acceptance speech (really, it was more like an inauguration to respect in the acting world after five nominations) made one journalist seethe 'How DARE she???' and write the hilariously convoluted piece housing such gems as:

" The problem, I think, is the primetime airing of awards shows on network TV... Because awards shows are broadcast on the same medium - and treated as news - an equivalence is created, no matter how unfair. Which means that in times such as these, actors and actresses risk appearing extraordinarily isolated from reality if they do a Winslet after winning a gong. "

Yes, because the fragility of the collective American psyche is hinged on the opinions of the Hollywood elite, who are so connected to their own personal reality. Escapism, anyone?

"Also, if Barack Obama can hold it together in Chicago on election night, then surely Winslet - a professional actress - can tone it down in LA on Golden Globes night."

Apparently, actors are now equivalent to politicians with a posse of advanced orators writing their speeches.

"Indeed, part of me wonders if Winslet was simply hamming it up for the Americans, as such public displays of emotion are hardly in the British DNA."

Did you know that emotions were inheritable? Like Down's and hemophilia. Figure it out in one of those Punett squares.

Maybe she shouldn't have spoken so "off the cuff", yelled at the teleprompter guy (is that a job?) and borderline proclaimed her heart would go on for Leo, but she won a damn Golden Globe- let the girl celebrate. I'm sure America can handle it.

zOMFG.

A week tomorrow marks the end of my internship and as per my MO I have nothing planned. I have had many a discussion about what I would like to vs. love to do next. While I’ve learned the type of ink I wouldn’t want to dip my fingers into (newspaper beat reporting par example), I still haven’t quite figured out my niche. And now that there’s that hovering, dirty “r-thing” things won’t be the slip n’ slide into the job o’ my dreams I once envisioned.

Stumbling upon this article(tte)the other day was no help either. If the daughter of a TIME-chronicled, movie-inspiring editor (also the daughter of an editor, natch) is worried about getting work as a writer, WTF are those of us with non-bedazzled family trees meant to do? Try?

Tell me what to do, before I edit myself out of the field altogether*.





* I’m being facetious here, as a change of route would likely mean a law degree and a lifetime supply of valium.

note: adorkable image was snagged from here, where you can find (and purchase) more of the same.

totes J.

Like most of you, I like stuff.

I especially like stuff that relates to stuff that I like. If there's humour stuff involved then that's just an added bonus.

While killing time between fact-checking bouts at le work today I stumbled upon (and by stumbled I mean, was directed to by a fellow wordmonger) a lovely blog about stuff a certain group of people like. No, not that one. Similar name, different (albeit overlapping) demographic. Also hosted (and subsequently absorbed) by Wordpress, is Stuff Journalists Like which follows the same format as it's quite hilarious predecessor, and lists exactly that- covering everything from caffiene fixes and shorthand (which I have yet to attempt to grasp) to interns and Barack Obama. My personal favourite so far is #356, mainly because of these 9 words: “Help me, Wolf Blitzer, you are my only hope.”

I'm also the kind of gal that enjoys lists (yes, that kind) in case you haven't noticed.