Kasey Coholan's blog

I'm only decidating two sentences to the fact that I haven't been on here in three weeks. That was the first, this is the second.

Forgive me, the National Magazine Awards were last Friday and I'm only now getting to write about them.  I never claimed I was time-sensitive.

For all the smack that I'd heard about these awards I wasn't expecting much. "They're self-fulfilling, they're too expensive (which they are), they're too long, too boring, drinks aren't free." Yakkity yak. I'll concede that the cash bar is lame but let's have a little real talk here--hundreds of writers, artists, editors, if the booze was free the bar would have been dry before you could say, 'What now? There's a chocolate fountain?'

Contrary to all of this I thought they, it, the night was quite something. The mingling before hand turned out to be an enjoyable balancing act of drinking martinis and eating lamb shanks out of a take-out box.  Nothing so humbling as trying to eat food while walking around trying to appear like you aren't in fact eating while everyone else does the same thing.  While you perform this little dance if you aren't laughing at yourself and everyone else you don't deserve to eat.

Lucky for me I'm not a popular girl so there was no one I had avoid for that awkward, drawn out small chat. Instead I was privvy to light-hearted but meaningful catching-up with some old but familiar faces. And I would go so far as to say this mood extended to whole room. Pre-awards there was a certain congenial air.  Dare I compare it to a high school reunion that you actually wanted to go to?

Are you one to pick up on signs, recoccuring images or words? Sometimes a word jumps out at you, you may not be familiar with it but it sticks in your brain.  A while later you see the word again, you furrow your eyebrows and think, that's weird here it is again. Maybe that happens a couple more times before you actually decide to find out what exactly it means.  This has recently happened to me.

SNAFU* - what the what? I didn't know the military had a an acronym for my life. This is amazing, this is a revelation - of sorts - how do they know me so well?

Like the time, three weeks ago when my bike got stolen from work. In broad daylight. Locked up. With literally 40 other bikes in the rack to choose from. Why mine?

Like the time, I lost my cell phone, twice, in one week.

Like the time, I was trying to earn a living by being a part-time associate editor. Oh wait, that's ongoing. Right.

OR like this time (scroll down and watch the 'Tighten Up' video), when Dan Auerbach's kid doesn't want to play with Patrick Carney's kid because, "he smells like ranch dressing." Guess what kid, 'situation normal - all effed up'.

It's messed up that your Dad's friend's son smells like ranch dressing. But props to four-eyes on kickin' your ass. Ranch dressing or no ranch dressing, not only did he get the girl but he also socked it to your shagtastic head (it's time for a hair cut).

Suck it up - SNAFU, my friend, SNAFU.

As evident from my previous entries, not the least my most recent, I do not feel the blogosphere is sacred or else I wouldn't have defiled it with my oh so colourful language. But on the other hand, I do relish comedically timed, perfectly inflected swearing so maybe I was simply adding to this reverent space. What?

That was supposed to be a segue into talking about the sacred nature of sleep. There. Done. We are now on topic.

Sleep is where it all happens. Where the body is at its most vulnerable but also its most useful.  Sorting through a day's worth of actions, observations, memories and neatly filing them for your use when you rise. Definitive of our private lives but partly shrouded in mystery, your sleep is entirely your own.  So why oh why, would anyone ever want this? The Sleeptracker.

What the what? I can take pedometers, heart rate monitors and even calorie counters but not this. And I quote, "By monitoring your sleep cycles for optimal waking moments..." Stop right there, does this smack of Big Brother to anyone else? I don't want my sleep to have data, I want it to be my sleep.

"NBC, blah blah blah, thank you."

Ahem, you must first read this, 5 Things You Should Know About Dating A Journalist.

And now for my thoughts.

Thought 1: This is going to be hilarious.

Thought 2: This douche bag is a total cocky-ass face.

Thought 3: What a condescending bastard.

Thought 4: I do know a lot of people that fit this profile, does that mean I hang out with douchey, cock-ass-face condescending bastards?

Thought 5: No, no I don't, well maybe one or two.

Thought 6: No wonder this slap chop is single.

What the what was this guy thinking when he wrote this?  The best part about this post is the comment left by Lunza, 'What do copy editors use for birth control? They're personalities.' Oh shiza! But for real, I actually love the meticulous nature of copy editors and I have yet to meet one that actually corrects people when they are speaking, they save it for the page, as they should.

I must now thank Tom Chambers for this invigorating mid-afternoon rile-up. Thank you, you ass-face.

Ack.  I have two things to impart and fortunately or unfortunately they have nothing to do with magazines. 

One: If you are into seduction, and let's be honest, who isn't?  And what about catchy environmentalism? And perhaps Isabella Rossellini? Do your yourself a favour and check out her online series Green Porno and Seduce Me.  Um, does it get better than Rossellini dressed as a scuttlefish mating? Nope, no definitely not.

Two: A needless game of degrees of separation. One, you either have or are a brother and therefore you need to own the new Black Keys album, Brothers. Two, you know someone that has a brother, therefore buy Brothers.  Somehow you are the black hole of the universe and none of this applies to you but in the end all you've ever wanted was a big brother, so buy Brothers.  More convincing? We are all brothers, brotha! Get Brothers.

Howlin' for you,

Angel Foxface (this may or may not be the green porno name generated for me à la Rossellini)

Making the concerted effort to blog again I have come to two roads that make the shape of a 'x'.  As I stand in the marked spot I have yet to determine whether or not I will ever get back to finishing the run down of all the Taddle Creek sessions Jen and I completed. I think I left it somewhere after distribution but before circ. Suffice to say the sessions themselves finished a long-ass time ago and they were top shelf, no doubt.

An existential crisis, really. I started this blog because I was asked to and I was comforted by the fact that it was, in fact, about something and not just another spewing of personal jibs, jabs and musings.  This blog had purpose!  It was about magazines! It was about being a protégé! But now that my little soapbox is being taking away from me I oddly enough only want to write about why I can't disassociate Jason Alexander from George Costanza (or Philip Stuckey at that) and seeing him in a Jenny Craig commercial makes choke on my big salad.

'How about a big salad?'

'A big salad?'

'It's a salad, only bigger, with lots of stuff in it.'

'I can bring you two small salads.'

'Could ya put it in a big bowl?'

'We don't have big bowls.'

And the question remains, to blog with purpose or for my own hilarity?

What the what?

So my comeback didn't last long eh? Well don't call it a comeback. (Ohhhh, check that allusion. What up.)  But I'm here, again, and here's why.

1) What the what? My time with Taddle Creek is ending and as much as I hate blogging I wanna go out in style...kickin' and screamin'. So this blog is dedicated to both Conan and Potter, your trash talk has left me inspired. 

2) What the what? I've got comments.  For real, check out the blog posts regarding Machinations of Magazines parts one and two. Holla! Evidently, I've "got a nice mix going actually." Oh shit. I'm pumped.  Here's a thing about blogs that I have learned. I hate them until someone reads mine and likes it. What? That's not cool? Contradictory? Well what do you know anyway.

3) What the what? The Library of Congress has an amazing new logo AND they will be archiving all of everyone's tweets, tats, and tweedles from Twitter? I am undecided about what I think about this. But it is interesting very interesting.

So long suckas!

Dear Sneaky Dee's,

We went to Nirvana instead and it was better, way better. Your loss. Peace.

Sincerely,

the triumvirate that is Taddle Creek

In the not so distant past Jen and I spent an afternoon with Gavin Babstock at Magazines Canada.  We learned about distribution. Exciting? Perhaps not but relevant to our task of completing the best, most creative and informative protege program ever! (With the sun shining a little less, it being a little damper and more chilly than temperant I figured Conan could use the pick me up.)

Ahem.  But it was on this unassuming Friday afternoon that I discovered one of the craziest things I had ever seen.

As I sat listening to Jen and Gavin discuss magazine sell through rates I noticed something on the top shelf of a white bookcase behind Gavin.  I mean I was paying attention, sort of, but I was thoroughly engaged with all that was around me.  I tilted my head the right, squinted, raised an eyebrow and slowly let my head pass through centre and ended with it tilted to the left.  What the hell is that?  It couldn't be.   I loved Pee-wee Herman.

"Excuse me, umm, is that a elastic ball?" I interrupted all intrigue and reverance.

"What?" Gavin responded, I suppose I caught him off guard.

I pointed again, "That, is that an elastic ball, can I touch it?"

It was indeed an elastic ball.  I held it and turned it over in my hand, it was majestic in a cheap coloured plastic kind of way.  It was beautiful. It felt like the world, it felt like a brain, I couldn't help but ponder its existence, its tiny origin, as I continued to paw it.  I thought if I tried to bounce it might shatter as if it were liquid nitrogen.  It was heavy and I loved it.  

"Heck, the magazine about magazines isn't even in print anymore."

                                                                                               - Doug Bennet

Magazines cost money to make. The majority of it wrapped up by the three P's: paper, print, and postage.  With ad revenue way down for most mags they are reaching a divisive fork in the road--go online or die. But are there any that are going to make it? Which ones would you put your money on to still be in print five years from now?  What magazine, despite today's epochal environment, will you still carry around with you, folded, crinkled and dog-earred?  What will be the last magazine(s) standing?

The list according to Doug Bennet, publisher of North Island Publishing.

1) Fashion mags and high-quality glossies.  In short, things that are pretty (Vogue, sweet Vogue).

2) Lit mags (what up TC!). 

3) Mags centred on long-form journalism (holla for the Walrus).

What (or who) are you betting on?