Al Hirschfeld Goes Fishing
Every few months, I try my hand at writing an article for publication in the New York Times (to view my first rejected article, please click on the following: http://theflemishoracle.blogspot.com/2006/09/rejection-from-ny-times.html).
Oh, how I wish they'd print something of mine already!
The other day, I had a brilliant idea. I would report on something that was both timely, fascinating and had a touch of the commercial. To be more specific, my article would bring together an "only in New York" event--New Year's Eve at Times Square--a now dead but "only in New York" icon--Al Hirschfeld the caricaturist--and a legendary "only in New York" phenomenon--striptease with Jennifer. "Who is Jennifer?", you ask. Keep on reading.
Well, I submitted my article to the NY Times, and, once again, their arrogant Editor dismissed me as follows:
"To His Excellency, His Serene Highness, The Magnificent D (so far so good! - HSH, Mag D),
Will you please stop sending us crap? The question mark in the previous sentence notwithstanding, that was not a question.
Thank you,
The Editor"
I was raised on subtlety and innuendo, thank you very much. A simple "sorry, we can’t publish this" would have relayed the message loudly and clearly. Besides, is my article that awful?
Judge for yourself.
***
Last New Year's Eve, Al Hirschfeld, the legendary NY caricaturist, was caught standing outside the Virgin Mega Store near Times Square picking his nose. This is not the first time this has happened in NY. Nor is Mr. Hirschfeld the first person to test if the laws of gravity apply to nasal mucus. All over the place, one can spot people picking their nose. At the bank, in the cashier line at Duane Reade, in synagogues... - yes, even in synagogues, cantors have been seen exploring their olfactory canals.
Understandably, this has sent sociologists and behaviorologists scrambling back to their textbooks to try to explain this age old repulsive habit. "It's a reversion to Neanderthaloid practices," explains a beaming Professor Nicolette Snot-de-Nez, senior lecturer in Behaviorology at Lausanne's Eye, Nose and Other Sundry Facial Tics Institute in Switzerland. "Millions of years ago, being able to peel out and drop nasal droppings served an important evolutionary goal. Early humans who were unable to leave a trail of mucus when they went hunting, were then unable to retrace their steps back to their familial unit. They were ultimately left to die in the woods."
When a reporter asked Ms. Snot-de-Nez why people should be reverting to that practice today, and in New York of all places, which has plenty of signage to help the potential nose picker find his or her way home, she shrugged and said, "Well, my Neanderthaloid piece - it's just a theory."
Lucy Ortigez, owner of the popular hosiery shop on Broadway--"Super Stretch, Girl, Size Matters"--and amateur sociologist, suggests simply, "People are just disgusting, you know?" Concurs Marcia, a customer at SSGSM, who helpfully adds, "My boyfried drops his snot all over my apartment. No matter how many times I tell him to stop, he continues. Guys are pigs. And pigs pick their noses!"
A surprisingly logical response came from Jennifer Garfield, a one-time stripper and very close friend of Hirschfeld, who questioned how anyone could have seen Hirschfeld around Times Square last year. "He died three years ago!" she exclaimed.
Everyone interviewed for this article agreed that if Hirschfeld died in 2003 it would indeed be almost impossible for someone to have seen him in Times Square a year ago.
"Almost?," a reporter inquired of Ms. Ortigez who had used this word. "Yes," she said, "sometimes spirits visit the earth cloaked in their former bodies." "But this is very rare," she added in a conspiratorial hush.
Apparently, not a day goes by without someone asking Ms. Garfield to confirm that Hirschfeld is dead. "There are all these pretenders out there," she continued, "who will do anything to try to keep up the legend that Hirschfeld is alive. It helps them sell his illustrations."
Ms. Garfield then switched her radio on, and, hugging the strippers' pole in the center of her living room, started to seductively take her clothes off to the tune of Queen's The Great Pretender, which was just then playing:
Oh yes I’m the great pretender (ooh ooh)
Pretending I’m doing well (ooh ooh)
My need is such I pretend too much
I’m lonely but no one can tell
The timing couldn't have been more perfect!
***
If you enjoyed this article and would enjoy reading many more like these in 2007, please voice your opinion with the Times' Editor at theveryimportanteditor@nytimes.com.
Happy New Year!
His Serene Highness,
The Magnificent D
Oh, how I wish they'd print something of mine already!
The other day, I had a brilliant idea. I would report on something that was both timely, fascinating and had a touch of the commercial. To be more specific, my article would bring together an "only in New York" event--New Year's Eve at Times Square--a now dead but "only in New York" icon--Al Hirschfeld the caricaturist--and a legendary "only in New York" phenomenon--striptease with Jennifer. "Who is Jennifer?", you ask. Keep on reading.
Well, I submitted my article to the NY Times, and, once again, their arrogant Editor dismissed me as follows:
"To His Excellency, His Serene Highness, The Magnificent D (so far so good! - HSH, Mag D),
Will you please stop sending us crap? The question mark in the previous sentence notwithstanding, that was not a question.
Thank you,
The Editor"
I was raised on subtlety and innuendo, thank you very much. A simple "sorry, we can’t publish this" would have relayed the message loudly and clearly. Besides, is my article that awful?
Judge for yourself.
***
Last New Year's Eve, Al Hirschfeld, the legendary NY caricaturist, was caught standing outside the Virgin Mega Store near Times Square picking his nose. This is not the first time this has happened in NY. Nor is Mr. Hirschfeld the first person to test if the laws of gravity apply to nasal mucus. All over the place, one can spot people picking their nose. At the bank, in the cashier line at Duane Reade, in synagogues... - yes, even in synagogues, cantors have been seen exploring their olfactory canals.
Understandably, this has sent sociologists and behaviorologists scrambling back to their textbooks to try to explain this age old repulsive habit. "It's a reversion to Neanderthaloid practices," explains a beaming Professor Nicolette Snot-de-Nez, senior lecturer in Behaviorology at Lausanne's Eye, Nose and Other Sundry Facial Tics Institute in Switzerland. "Millions of years ago, being able to peel out and drop nasal droppings served an important evolutionary goal. Early humans who were unable to leave a trail of mucus when they went hunting, were then unable to retrace their steps back to their familial unit. They were ultimately left to die in the woods."
When a reporter asked Ms. Snot-de-Nez why people should be reverting to that practice today, and in New York of all places, which has plenty of signage to help the potential nose picker find his or her way home, she shrugged and said, "Well, my Neanderthaloid piece - it's just a theory."
Lucy Ortigez, owner of the popular hosiery shop on Broadway--"Super Stretch, Girl, Size Matters"--and amateur sociologist, suggests simply, "People are just disgusting, you know?" Concurs Marcia, a customer at SSGSM, who helpfully adds, "My boyfried drops his snot all over my apartment. No matter how many times I tell him to stop, he continues. Guys are pigs. And pigs pick their noses!"
A surprisingly logical response came from Jennifer Garfield, a one-time stripper and very close friend of Hirschfeld, who questioned how anyone could have seen Hirschfeld around Times Square last year. "He died three years ago!" she exclaimed.
Everyone interviewed for this article agreed that if Hirschfeld died in 2003 it would indeed be almost impossible for someone to have seen him in Times Square a year ago.
"Almost?," a reporter inquired of Ms. Ortigez who had used this word. "Yes," she said, "sometimes spirits visit the earth cloaked in their former bodies." "But this is very rare," she added in a conspiratorial hush.
Apparently, not a day goes by without someone asking Ms. Garfield to confirm that Hirschfeld is dead. "There are all these pretenders out there," she continued, "who will do anything to try to keep up the legend that Hirschfeld is alive. It helps them sell his illustrations."
Ms. Garfield then switched her radio on, and, hugging the strippers' pole in the center of her living room, started to seductively take her clothes off to the tune of Queen's The Great Pretender, which was just then playing:
Oh yes I’m the great pretender (ooh ooh)
Pretending I’m doing well (ooh ooh)
My need is such I pretend too much
I’m lonely but no one can tell
The timing couldn't have been more perfect!
***
If you enjoyed this article and would enjoy reading many more like these in 2007, please voice your opinion with the Times' Editor at theveryimportanteditor@nytimes.com.
Happy New Year!
His Serene Highness,
The Magnificent D
posted by The Magnificent D at 1:01 PM
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