Reblogging Julia

Fact checking after the fact.

NYT Reporter who shall remain nameless:  Really?  The MacAir emails were legitimate?  That seemed too over the top to be believable.
baugher:  Yes, and they were published despite the strong reluctance of one party to the conversation to have any ongoing association with the other party to that conversation.
NYT Reporter who shall remain nameless:  Would you have published it without consent?
baugher:  Absolutely not.  It took some convincing conversation to get permission, as one of the parties to that conversation is not as committed to garnering attention from that relationship as the other party, who mentions it at any and every opportunity to promote herself.
NYT Reporter who shall remain nameless:  But she got dumped by him, and on the internet!  Why would she keep bringing it up?
baugher:  But that wasn’t how it happened.  Julia got pissed off at Jakob’s aloofness and dickish behavior offline and called him out on it online on their very ill-advised blog.  He didn’t publicly respond to her, and thereafter, they broke up privately.  He went on to hook up with other women, including her best friend’s younger sister, Leven Rambin (an actress on All My Children, who was formerly a friend of Julia’s and who is now estranged from her much older sister, Mary Rambin, a Julia hanger-on who clearly resents Julia).  Scorned Julia guest-blogged on Gawker, whose commenters are notorious for being hostile towards her, and in trying to garner favor with them, she dished on her ex’s private business, including revelations about his departure from his job and innuendoes about his mental health. When that went over badly with the commenters, she decided to play the victim who was dumped and cheated upon.  When I published the please buy me the Mac Air emails, she announced that her blog was ruining her life and was on hiatus from the internet.  That didn’t stop her from twittering hourly and posting pictures and videos of a calculated, more wholesome self.  She didn’t stop blogging, she just stopped posting hourly on her blog.  Look, this girl gets paid to go on television and lie about celebrities on behalf of a supermarket tabloid.  She just brought her work home with her when it came to her own bad press and made up stories that the NYT apparently swallowed hook, line and sinker.
NYT Reporter who shall remain nameless: What?  Do you have sources for all of this?
baugher:  Seriously, did you folks do any type of research on her before you published your “Julia is the new Carrie” story?
NYT Reporter who shall remain nameless:  Well, everything she said checked out, and she invited the reporter into her home.
baugher:  How well did that strategy work out for you with Margaret Jones, aka Seltzer?
NYT Reporter who shall remain remain nameless: I wasn’t involved with that, but your point is well taken.
baugher:  Wasn’t anyone a little afraid of getting caught in her freakish hair extensions?  Those things have taken a life of their own.  Cousin It meets that freaky clown from Polergeist.
NYT Reporter who shall remain nameless:  She has hair extensions?
baugher:  Holy hell.  You have a great night.  Sleep well in the knowledge that you killed my faith in the NYT.

Scrunchy pulp fiction.

Christ, I so want to believe in the ongoing relevancy of the NYT, but they are making it so difficult.  If they aren’t reviewing a fake memoir, or publishing stories about call girls who aren’t, they are writing puff pieces on a rich girl with bad extensions who thinks she is living the life of a fictional character.  Thankfully, if the NYT is getting around to reporting on a ‘trend,’ it is long since over.  Since the reporter doesn’t appear to be in the business of fact checking, well, allow me to retort:

• “She frequents sleek and buzzworthy bars with her girlfriends. She has danced at Bungalow 8, the celebrity-rich club in West Chelsea. She has devoured cupcakes at Magnolia Bakery, and she can sprint in five-inch heels.”  All of which were relevant over a decade ago, like 4 Non Blondes.  And I don’t believe she can sprint period, let alone in heels.  The only thing she chases is attention and she clods after it like a horse.  That is about the only way she is Channelling Carrie Bradshaw.
• “If Carrie Bradshaw were coming to New York today,” Ms. Allison says with no hint of self-consciousness, “she would be me.”  Had the reporter done her research, she would have known that the Pink Lady has no self-consciousness or self-awareness.  And that Carrie didn’t come to New York, she was from New York*.  Our Lady of Introspection is a suburban Midwestern girl playing dress up in NYC to the SATC soundtrack.  She’s the girl who wears the scrunchy, in the form of bad Elvira extensions.  YOWZA!
• Asked how it feels to end a relationship in public like that, Ms. Allison nods her lovely head and gazes into the distance. “People were preying on my pain,” she says, her voice not quite cracking. “It was hell.”  Yes, Our Lady was a victim of people preying on her, and certainly not someone who announced on Gawker the private professional and health matters of her ex-boyfriend after blogging about their breakup around the clock.  You have no idea the hell she suffered.
• “Ms. Allison lives alone in a small studio in Hell’s Kitchen “the size of my toenail,” as she puts it.”   As opposed to the more spacious place she lived in, rent-free, on her ex-boyfriend’s dime, for nearly a year.   Carrie bought her apt from her ex when they broke up.  Scrunchy that.
• “I think you should be able to make a living doing something that really appeals to you without being judged.”  Being a professional gossip really appeals to the Pink Lady, except for, you know, the whole “people preying on her pain” part. 
• Most emailed?  Nope. Most blogged?  Nope.
• You would think the Pink Lady would know something about makeup for the camera, and that excessive blinking is indicative of lying.   You would be wrong. 
• Of course, you would also think the reporter would fact check the representation that the Pink Lady has surrendered her ‘pink encased loaded weapon’ for ‘Silent Reflection Time.’  You would be wrong about that, too.  Welcome to the new New York Times.  They report, you debunk.   Thereafter, they will publish an awkwardly worded correction that nobody will read, but the schwag bag from the SATC movie publicists will have been totes worth it.

*[Ed Update:  A JA loyalist schooled me that the Carrie Bradshaw character was not, in fact, from New York, as it was implied once (in 94 episodes) that Carrie moved to New York when she was 17, and therefore only lived in NYC for half (but not all) of her character’s life.  The tipster’s superior knowledge of Sex in the City** is duly noted (your Pink Lady jacket is in the mail), and the author’s egregious factual error is left intact for the reader to mock relentlessly.  My readers deserve fact-checking skills that are above the NYT variety and this is my awkwardly worded correction that nobody will read.]

[** Ed. Update, Part II:  Damn, the loyalists are uppity about SATC accuracy.  Got ANOTHER correction that it is Sex AND the City, not Sex IN the City.  Same standards apply regarding the author’s shameful and regrettable error.]

What's going on.

A couple of housekeeping items, and then we parse. 

• First, a word about hiatuses.  It implies a break. 
• Let’s survey the Pink Lady’s landscape since “le affair d’Air Mac and the resulting “the internet is ruining my life” post:  50 new photographs on Facebook; hourly twittering; posting hammy videos, (including two lipdubs, a hobby invented by her ex); and patrolling Gawker sites to comment on stories she planted about herself
• Yeah, not so much a hiatus.  More like so manic but can’t blog until people forget about that fucking MacAir thing.  It isn’t like there is anyone that is going to remind people of that.
• You clearly want people to think you are dating this guy.  You’ve made that as clear as you can, even though you SWORE AD NAUSEUM  that you would NEVER do it again.  So I’m calling bullshit.  I’m not feeling it, and, quite frankly, doesn’t look like he is, either.  He looks like he can use Google.

Onward to the parsing.

• Thiswas positively cringeworthy.  To borrow a description, painful. 
• The song was a shitty one hit wonder FIFTEEN years ago, which is itself a stand alone metaphor, but taken with those now stripper-esque/80’s hair band extensions, it is now pretty much a public service announcement of irrelevancy. 
• Your father, flanked by his MIT-doctoral candidate son, was surely proud of your cheesy internet self-promotion and the positive light it casts on the Baugher family.
• Sadly, you are still stealing other people’s shtick.  I realize you’re trying to get a reality gig, but Heidi Montag got there before you, but had the good sense to wear a bikini while she did it.
• This is an exercise in the worst of both worlds.
• Myself, I share the sentiments of those who parse these things better than me.  I got the runs from watching your mess.

Finally, I am not interested in your tips, Pink Lady, even when you try to dish on your Court of Handmaidens.  Who the fuck do you think I am?  Denton? Surely you have realized that I am better at spinning your shtick than you are.  I don’t need your insights.  I just parse them for reality. 

Marsha, Marsha, Marsha

• The Handmaiden of Passive Aggression is a failed reality television star.  Stunning, that.
• It appears Leven Rambin got all the acting talent in the family.  That has to sting a little, since she doesn’t know the rules about respecting her elders. 
• Next thing you know, Leven Rambin will be dating men her sister’s age, and getting more Gawker hits.  She probably doesn’t even need fillers.  Little shit.
• That must be why the Handmaiden would rather post pictures of her, uh, outfit? than make any mention of her much younger sister, Leven Rambin, who is more successful, gets more action in her sister’s pool, and won’t abide the taint of kryptonite brand association.
• It apparently goes both ways. Leven Rambin’s Wikipedia  entry mentions Dad, Mom and brother, but NO mention of her wildly successful, reality television star and style maven sister, Mary Rambin*  And sadly, Mary has no Wikipedia mention.  Nor any plug for her business on Leven’s official website.  Sad crumple face.
• WHEW.  I have used the name Leven Rambin in this post more than the Handmaiden ever has on her blog.  You hear me, Google?
• Sure, the Handmaiden’s reality show was cancelled after two episodes (out of only six filmed) and Julia bombed spectacularly as a contestant on a reality dating show, but the third time has to be the charm, right? Surely Leven isn’t moonlighting on primetime. 
• Well, I would tune in, if only to catch the Handmaiden’s sly little digs at JA.  Our Lady of Introspection does have questionable taste in many choices, including friends, hair extensions, and common sense generally.
• I am not hopeful, though.  Breakout reality television programs, and by extensions (or the transitive property, you decide), the participants, have become successful because they came out of nowhere and captured fresh attention.  Two of the three of them have been elbowing others for the spotlight for quite a while, with little success beyond their neighborhood, and their detractors are much more vocal than their fans.  Or so I have heard.  
• No worries, though.  Our Lady of Introspection missed the limelight and attention New York and is coming back.   Family is so overrated!

[Ed. Note: The fine editors at Wikipedia have written in to acknowledge that the entry now includes a Mary mention.  Hooray, Leven, you have a new sibling and its a girl!]

No hiatus for old bloggers.

• This is what Our Lady of Introspection has learned in her hiatus.  “This is the devloution of celebrity.  It just is.”  Such as.  Her opinion of people who are famous for being famous is presented without irony or an ounce of self-awareness.  Recall that this person often opines on the mental health of others.
• Wait, hiatus?  What hiatus? No hiatus!
• Wait, honorary degree from MIT? In what?  Professional gossiping?  Best performance in a Midwestern version of Sex in the City?   Lipdubbing?
• Incidentally, glad you finally fulfilled that lipdub fantasy (check comments for “I want to do a lip dub of you and me singing “A Whole New World” - very over the top … it will be hysterical.”)
• I guess it is safe to say that you don’t discrimitate among lipdub partners.  Good for you.

  

Resurrection.

• Problem: I’m done.  I can’t do this anymore.  It’s ruining my life.  I thought that people could see through the bullshit, but they can’t.  And it’s not their fault.  It’s mine.  If all of this comes at the expense of love my personal life, I don’t want it.  So … thank you for reading.  I don’t know when or if I’ll be back, but at the very least I need a little break.
• Solution:  A reality television program!  I hear that reality television is an up and coming genre, with so many unexplored angles. What’s more, no more scrutiny or intrusion on your personal life with that move!    It is clear that Our Lady of Introspection has used this Silent Reflection Time [Ed. Note:  kind of loud and braying for my tastes] to reevaluate her need for attention, and the conclusion is MORE. 

Conspiracy theory.

The interns tipsters have spoken, and no one seems to believe that the Handmaiden of Passive Aggression authored her “Thank You” note to JL.  There is a strong suspicion that it was ghostwritten by a certain irrepressible Pink Lady who is currently on an Oprah Magazine-advised limited hiatus.  The evidence, in tidy bulleted form:

• Mary spells like a 5th grader and admittedly can’t work spellcheck.  Horrifically attrocious, actually.  A tradgedy even.  It is highly unlikely that she could write that many words, including a few of the ten-cent variety, and not commit a half dozen spelling errors.
• Mary cannot string together a sentence, let alone an argument.  Case in point:  “You knew that your perspective didnt cross my mind when you posted that. You knew it was a shallow comment that was actually funny, and in no way mean spirited. As a blogger, although I can’t say that I have read your blog before, you know that comments get taken out of contest.”  Hell, I have parsed JA for weeks and I can’t even begin to understand what the fuck Mary is trying to say.
• Emphasis on branding yourself?  Well, that sounds vaguely familiar.
• Final exhibit:  “As for the proofreading aspect, I was out with friends, but I’m guessing you weren’t.”  Yes, Mary.  You were ostensibly out with friends, yet still picking fights on the internet during bathroom breaks.  Glass houses, string bean.  Glass houses.

I tend to agree with the interns.  That post was at a high-school grade level, and Mary is still playing dodgeball in middle school.  Methinks Our Lady of Introspection is ghostwriting for her friend who was held back, but dumbing it down a little in the interest of appearing somewhat believable.   Fucker should have bought her the MacAir.

Two weeks notice.

• That was how long it took between the “I’m done” post and a fresh picture of Our Lady of Introspection.  If her lips aren’t pursed, her mouth is wide open.  I wonder what that means.
• She cautions that although she is not restarting the blogging yet, she will, on rare occasions, post random things, and won’t be back in full force until mid or late April.  I tend to believe that she doesn’t know what that word “rare” means.
• But she has a plan!  An online version of The View! 
• When you think about it, that kind of makes sense.  A dating columnist who fails spectacularly in relationships, a stylist who thinks these are stylish, and a former finance/hedge fund analyst who hangs out with the two of them.  The question isn’t “who among them is the clueless Sherri Shepherd,” but rather ”who isn’t?”
• But hey, private jet to Pittsburgh and beyond.  Pick up your boarding passes at the Mayflower Hotel, girls.
• Megs? May I call you Megs?  I kind of like you.  I don’t think you are quite of this ilk.  Did you happen to notice that, of your Christmas gift to your frenemy, she said that although she hadn’t put it on in nearly four months, the outfit is cute, but the shoes really pull it together? Ouch. 
• And this from a girl who reignited a now deleted shitstorm between her triangled frenemy and the object of her MacAir lust?  Praying mantis, indeed.  Let the baugher beware.

Obligatory shout out to my interns tipsters, who do my the Lord’s work on a daily basis.  Also, to my editor, who I ply with booze, empty promises and high quality take out.  It takes a village and I love my neighbors.