Showing posts with label New York City. Show all posts
Showing posts with label New York City. Show all posts

Online Shaming Keeps Celebrities From Behaving Too Badly

BY TEDDY WAYNE


Justin Bieber’s rap sheet over the past year would have been an afternoon’s work for Keith Richards.

Yet we excoriate Mr. Bieber for his misdeeds while glorifying Mr. Richards for his. And musicians are far from the only ones expected to be on their best behavior.

“If there was an arrest for drunk driving,” Robert J. Wagner writes of old Hollywood in his new memoir, “You Must Remember This,” “there would be a nod, a wink, perhaps some modest amount of money changing hands, and that would be the end of it.”

He added, “If an actor behaved the way that, say, Tiger Woods did – and believe me, it was not unusual – it was covered up.”

The days of our celebrating the rowdy, libidinous, self-destructive artist may be drawing to a close. What’s more, celebrities are no longer behaving all that badly.

Blame the Internet’s power to shame and memorialize. It certainly had an effect on Alec Baldwin, who quit Twitter multiple times and bade a recent long goodbye to public life in New York magazine.

Those chronicling the famous also have to mind their manners. A reporter who parties like Hunter S. Thompson did in the 1970s is unlikely to be published regularly by Rolling Stone in the 2010s.

Cat Marnell, 31, is the rare journalist who seems to be written about more than she writes. The news media in New York, where she lives, have broadly covered her exploits with drugs. Ms. Marnell has written for a number of publications but has not stayed too long at any of them: she told The New York Post, “I couldn’t spend another summer meeting deadlines behind a computer at night when I could be on the rooftop of Le Bain looking for shooting stars and smoking angel dust with my friends and writing a book.”

Ms. Marnell has sold a memoir for a reported $550,000. She is ambivalent about her subject matter. “As somebody who’s overdosed and nearly died in September, I struggle with what kind of tone I want,” she said of her writing. Yet she acknowledged that “people do like me because I’m bad,” adding: “I didn’t go out there showing off. When I relapsed, I started writing about it. And it got me super-popular. Drugs are bad, but they’re still fun.”

Our cultural image of the writer has historically been of a thrice-divorced, whiskey-swilling chain smoker who brawls with his rival in a dimly lit speakeasy. Now it’s a married yogi who tweets from the kale section. Smokers, who once had an aura of sophistication, now huddle outside bars, resembling addicts who need a fix.

Coming of age, the writer Jay McInerney idolized Ernest Hemingway, F. Scott Fitzgerald and William Faulkner, all with a noted fondness for alcohol – along with what he called “the silver generation” of hard drinkers like Norman Mailer, John Cheever and William Styron.

By the time Mr. McInerney published his debut novel, “Bright Lights, Big City,” in 1984, followed a year later by Bret Easton Ellis’s “Less Than Zero” – which depicted Reagan-era Manhattan and Los Angeles, respectively – “drugs were part of a rite of passage” for young writers, he said. Glamorizing hedonism, they failed to see the drawbacks, even of cocaine.

Mr. McInerney, at 59, now writes a column for The Wall Street Journal about a less lethal inebriant: wine. “I’m glad I survived my excesses,” he said. “I feel like an extinct species.”

Another species on the brink: the Casanova. With better education about sexually transmitted infections and apps like Lulu that crowd-source ratings of men (often flagging the cads), large numbers of people now deem sleeping around unhealthy.

Adelle Waldman, the author of the novel “The Love Affairs of Nathaniel P.,” has found it amusing how many readers dislike her character, a narcissistic young writer who is less than attentive to the women in his life.

Compared with the misogynistic protagonists in the works of the silver generation, his actions do seem tame. “They were able to prioritize their sexual experience and pleasure and find a way to dismiss any unhappiness that women might feel,” Ms. Waldman said. “They behaved in ways that Nate feels one can’t today – it violates our common beliefs of how civilized people behave.”

Ms. Waldman has felt “nostalgic for the more decadent past,” she said. “I sometimes crave a little more drunkenness and people saying the unwise thing, especially among creative types.”

Reached the morning after a night out, though, her views had changed – at least for the moment – as she was “a little hung over,” she confessed.

“Now I am anti-bad behavior,” she said, “and in favor of strict two drink limits.”


Taken from TODAY Saturday Edition, March 29, 2014


My Big Pay Cheque Made Me Miserable

An article lifted from my paper, 02-Jun-2008 edition

by the way…
My big pay cheque made me miserable
By Pamela Skillings

After 12 years climbing the corporate ladder to the upper reaches
of middle management, I found myself facing a surprising career
conundrum: My big pay cheque was making me miserable.

In short, I hated my job, but I was afraid to give up my hard-earned
six-figure salary for what I really wanted – a career as an
entrepreneur.

I enjoyed living in a nice apartment, taking nice vacations
and wearing nice shoes. At the same time, a big part of my identity
was tied up in my success. My sense of professional accomplishment
was determined by the size of my bonus cheques.

Like many of my co-workers, I thought I could eventually earn
enough money to make up for the fact that I dreaded going to work
every day. Then I would be happy, I told myself.

But in fact, my high-paying but soul-draining job was beginning
to take a roll on my personal life. Nobody enjoys hanging out with
a perpetually tired and cranky middle manager.

To be honest, I wasn’t even taking pleasure in my disposable income.
Most of my extra cash went towards medicating my work stress –
over-priced restaurants, tropical vacations and retail therapy.
I traded up to a bigger and nicer apartment, but I didn’t spend
much time in it because I was always at the office justifying my pay.

Eventually, I realised that my salary wasn’t worth the
emotional price I was paying for. I got out my calculator
and figured out the reality of what it would take to make
a change. Once I did the maths, I realised that the budget cuts
after quitting my job wouldn’t be nearly as painful as I’d feared.

I was more than willing to cut back on indulgences like
foamy lattes, shiny highlights and overpriced designer handbags
for a while if it meant that I could escape from corporate America
and strike out on my own. Suddenly, my impossible dream
seems within reach.

The last step in letting go of my financial fears was facing the fact
that my salary had never truly been a reliable safety net after all.
On the other hand, no one can ever take away your talents,
your experience and your skills – the assets that constitute
the only safety net you can even really depend upon.

This understanding finally gave me the courage to say goodbye
to my steady salary and embrace my thrilling – but still scary –
entrepreneur dream.

In the three years since, I’ve learned that I have the skills and drive
to build a successful business. More importantly, I’ve learned that
finding a career that you love is well worth enduring a few
sleepless nights and sacrificing a handbag or two.

The writer is the founder of New York consulting firm
Skillful communications.

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