In the meantime, here's a rejected piece from Gawktown, in draft form, didn't make it because it's not super relevant and the thesis about making things happen and calling them trends or going back in history for journalism pieces isn't really as groundbreaking as I thought (I thought it was as groundbreaking as a shovel). Anyway here it is, stripped of hyperlinks and most formatting because, hey, it was rejected:
Old is the New New: Big-Time Rags Go Back to the Future
The age-old problem of acting and thinking fast in journalism (known as timeliness) appears to have been resolved this week. Shrewd reporters at respected institutions can now fill column space on Saturdays - which are always razor-thin news-wise - with a new technique I like to call "Mining the Past." The lead spelunkers in the caverns of time are two NYT pieces - one on retrofitting the 21st century with the Summer of Love, the other on lo-fi toys for kids - and a WSJ article about the Beatles changing rock music, like, forever. Get your Deloreans, kids, because we are about to preview tomorrow's articles about things that happened decades ago.
In a newsflash (not breast-flash - regrettably, the article neglects to cover everyone's fave angle on hippies, aka promiscuous and gratuitous nudity/sex) John Leland riffs about how hippies are aging and the Summer of Love happened forty years ago this June.
The word-count function must've been broken, because the piece goes on at length, including some pomo theorizing about the Summer of Love as a brand, the lost idealism of the era, and of course the parallel between Vietnam and Iraq.
If only we had truly been granted the article's presupposed reprieve from wasteful suburban teeners playing acoustic guitar and skeezily trying to grope on girls passed out from too much grass. Tune in to the Times next week for a piece about how people are doing cocaine, listening to hard rock, and going out to dance clubs; the 70s are happening again. They could interview me about it, I'm an expert.
Meanwhile, over in the toy department, some kids are playing with balls again (no homo). Alex Williams talks time travel, and the picture is one of a grim struggle for vintage clean fun; kids have gotten so Nintendoed that they have to learn playground games by watching their immature parents indulge in some juvenile nostalgia:
"Larry Betz, of Benton, Ark., founder of the Little Rock Kickball Association, said that his adult league was an instant hit when it started in 2004. Meanwhile, most of their children found this old playground staple as foreign as a mortgage application. "The irony of adults playing a kids' game was lost on them," Mr. Betz said.
But after spending a few seasons on the sideline, watching their parents have fun, many children are suddenly showing interest in the game, Mr. Betz said. This year, he expects at least 150 children to turn out for a new youth division."
Dr. Geoffrey Godbey, a professor of recreation at Penn State University, said the idea that parents can revive old-fashioned play is contrary to the spirit of play. He blamed "boomers who want to do it themselves again because they never grew up."
The fogies aren't going to get unstuck in time that easily, though. Or at least Russ Smith at the WSJ won't help them by reviewing an album that was released before cassettes. Apparently, Sgt. Pepper was "a triumph of packaging."
Gotta run; cooking up some pitches for the bigwigs at the major papers. Thinking aloud here, but maybe a cultural piece on long hair and blue jeans, something about a new board game called "checkers," and a review of some hot wax by this hipshaking new hunkachunka named Presley. Should be working for the Times by next week (aka forty years ago).
