Stop the Presses

Thoughts on gossip, comedy and the demise of journalism

The death of print media is not a pretty one. It’s long, drawn out, and absolutely inevitable—but hey, 600 years is a good run for any medium. Did Johannes Gutenberg have any idea what his moveable type press would enable? He started out in 1455 with a few hundred copies of the Bible, which sold out before the ink was dry. Fifty years later, half a million books were in circulation, paving the way for the Renaissance, the Scientific and Industrial Revolutions, and the advent of mass media. Now, artificial intelligence writes and publishes our information in digital form. So long, Johannes. Thanks for all the words.

While publishing empires crumble for reasons ideological as well as technical, I was struck by the recent demise of several tabloid or gossip magazines. In Touch, Life & Style, Closer, and First for Women—all owned by the American-based McClatchy Media Company—are shuttering and laying off their entire staffs by the end of the month.

It’s not that there's less interest in celebrity hearsay and muckraking. Quite the opposite, in fact. But it can no longer be delivered quickly or efficiently enough in a weekly newspaper or magazine. Why carry a staff of journalists (so-called, and we’ll get back to that) and photographers, when regular people are doing it for themselves on social media accounts like DeuxMoi, JustJared, and the subversively intelligent LaineyGossip?

Yes, the old stalwarts are still around—People, Us Weekly, Hello, and OK!—catering to readers who care less about truth and more about the fantasy that rich people are cool. But the landscape is shifting. At least, I hope it is. We’ll never tire of gossip, but its sheer abundance and availability may now demand a greater focus on authenticity.

When Wendy Mesley and I started our podcast lo these many years ago (three, almost exactly), we positioned ourselves as a journalist and a comedian. Wendy (the journalist, in case that’s not obvious) had stellar credentials: 40 years at the CBC, including a stint hosting the national news, and enough awards to open her own hardware store.

I also had a 40-year career—but in private broadcasting, hosting comedy-based programs on radio and TV. I DID go to journalism school, but I transferred to media arts. People have tried to hang the "journalist" title on me, which I appreciate, but at the end of the day I’m more interested in getting a laugh than getting to the bottom of something. Not that the two are mutually exclusive.

Anyway. See how funny I am? The truth is Wendy is just as funny, although sometimes unintentionally, and I am equally invested in the facts. You can be both. While Wendy was busy interviewing heads of state, I developed a little gossip-based comedy bit I performed live every morning on a dozen radio stations across the country. It was originally called Other People’s Business, then The Last Word, then back again to Other People’s Business.

By gossip, I mean riffing on famous people doing largely stupid things—of which there was never any shortage. Remember Tom Cruise jumping on Oprah’s couch? Michael Jackson dangling his baby over a balcony? Alec Baldwin calling his daughter a “rude little pig”? The sex tapes? The nude bongo playing? The hookers and the hamsters? Unlike Lainey or DeuxMoi, I never had any fresh intel to pass on. No tea to spill. It was all just grist for the comedy mill.

I will admit that I picked a lot of low-hanging fruit. Homosexuality was a frequent target back when it was still widely considered shameful. I took more than my fair share of potshots, and I remain regretful. Same goes for divorce, mental illness, addiction, cosmetic surgery—all the messes that anyone might find themselves in, but when you’re rich and famous, it’s supposed to be funny. Or at least it used to be.

I remember taking particular delight in Heather Mills, Paul McCartney’s second wife, whom no one liked—and who was missing a leg (not the reason no one liked her, but it didn’t stop the jokes). When Paul proposed, I said he went down on one knee, although she preferred to be called Heather. When she got pregnant, I said they were looking forward to the pitter-patter of little feet—and the bonk of one big one.

Fuck it, I still think that’s funny. But I also know why it probably shouldn’t be.

What it isn’t is journalism. Or even gossip, really.

Which brings me back to my point—if I even have one. The line between news and entertainment, between reporting and storytelling, has always been blurry. It’s even more so now that everyone can contribute. The Gutenberg press has given way to the smartphone. Information is in everyone’s hands. And while that’s a huge leap forward in the democratization of knowledge, it comes with fewer and fewer guidelines.

Truth and accountability become optional. And that’s the death knell—not just for journalism, yellow or otherwise—but maybe for trust itself.

I preemptively apologize to the LGBTQ community, Heather Mills, disabled people in general, and anyone else who does not find me as amusing as I find myself. This post is free to everyone, and comments are open, so have at it, but do consider becoming a subscriber, especially a paid one! These things don’t write themselves … Actually, they can, and they do. But this one didn’t.