Emmy rocks a sweater, and that doesn't make me any less of a man.
The following exchange happened Saturday morning, while I was driving someone around on errands and enjoying a fruit juice from Orange:
Passenger: "I need to get a salt grinder for the birthday boy."
Me: "We're right by Target. You wanna drop in?"
Passenger: "No, Chuck. I need to get him a salt grinder."
Me: "Yeah. Let's go to Targ- ... ooooohhhhhhh."
I went to this Tech Cocktail last week at Amira, in NBC Tower, and it was E2 packed. Not exaggerating. Anyway, I managed to wind up next to Metromix editor Matt McGuire somehow; osmosis, probably. We were talking about, among other things, what I'd like to cover for Chicagoist in upcoming weeks, and he said, "Do you really think your readers would be interested in that?"
He had a point. It does seem that, for the most part, readers respond best to cheap eats, beer, or the pas de deux between retired Jewish lawyers and cheeky male models on "Check Please". And just when I thought that horse was beaten dead, supporters of said model are coming out of the woodwork, firing up the AOL accounts, and coming to the rescue. I can't wait for the lawyer's friends to figure out how to get their e-mail through the tubes to me.
I've largely given up trying to figure out the readers. Some days, it's enough to know that I wrote something, hopefully well, that readers responded to. We all have egos, and I'd rather see a flame war (no pun intended) break out over a tv show than wonder if anyone's reading it at all. That doesn't mean I can't slowly change the course and break some ideas in slowly.
So stay tuned.