one scene play

the imagined genesis of an article

*ring*ring*ring*

“Hello, this is Troy Patterson.”

“TP! David Plotz here!”

“David! What’s up.”

“Ah, not much. Little down lately. I think I’ve finally wrung every last ounce I can get out of that whole “blogging the bible” business. I ran that shit so far into the ground I had to buy a miner’s helmet.”

“Hey, man, if you’ve got a good horse, you might as well ride.”

“Well said. So, listen, TP, I need a story from you, brah.”

“Fire away!”

“Well, as you know, the public looks to Slate for the cutting edge in contrarian media.”

“Of course, DP, of course.”

“We’re well known for our utter commitment to thumbing our nose at conventional wisdom and for our absolute dedication to pushing the opposite narrative from the one that the average reader is expecting.”

“Of course. Of course. Our bread and butter.”

“Right, only for us, it’s, like, our bread and barbecue sauce, because we’re so damn different.”

“Ooh, nice one.”

“Thanks, I thought it up at Cinnabon. So, anyway, I know we usually make our bones by picking the opposite of the liberal narrative while pretending to be liberals, or by looking desperately for some angle in a news story that sets the conventional media’s narrative straight on it’s head. Or by pretending that Christopher Hitchens hasn’t been copy and pasting the same column on Iraq since 2004. Or, if all else fails, just having headlines and links to stories straight lying about the content of the story.”

“Right, right. And you do God’s work, Dave.”

“Thanks, Troy. But here’s the thing. We need to go big. I mean, not just tweak-the-snotty-liberals big, or parrot-neocon-ideas-that-have-been-discredited-for-years big. We need something that’s just going to drive people wild. Pick something really beloved and cherished, something that nobody could argue about– unless, like you and I and the select few, you just work on a totally different level than most people.”

“Really, what we do is charity, David. I mean we’re letting people in on their conventionality and lack of vision.”

“I couldn’t agree more, TP. So anyway, we need some cherished symbol, something people really care about, to denigrate– all in the service of higher thinking, of course. And, you know, the Fourth is coming up….”

“Oh! I get it! Apple pie! Damn, you’re right. Apple pie– who really likes it? Only rubes, that’s who. Clearly inferior to straight rhubarb. Can anyone really prefer that flaky crust. Man, I should start writing this stuff down. Hang on, let me Google ‘Apple pie is bullshit’….”

“Oh, hey, hang on there, Troy. I played around with doing apple pie, and it just didn’t seem quite right. A little too obvious. Plus people might think we were some sort of America-hating leftists…. I couldn’t bear being thought of as an unironic liberal. Gives me the willies.”

“Ah, I see, I see.”

“Not that I don’t appreciate the sentiment. But I’ve got something just as good, just as beloved, just as inarguable. You ready?”

“Shoot.”

“Fireworks.”

“…. I’m speechless. That’s brilliant. Brilliant.”

“I know!”

“But, hey, DP… I was thinking. What if being contrarian isn’t really such a great thing, after all? What if we’re sacrificing little matters like accuracy, discretion, thoughtfulness and editorial responsibility in our mad quest to buck the status quo? What if the conventional wisdom is usually conventional because it’s the banal truth? What if being constantly contrarian isn’t the mark of a unique intelligence but instead the product of being utterly shallow and drawn to empty flash over anything resembling substance? What if we’re not being provocative, but merely provoking? What if our magazine has devolved into representing an editorial culture that is empty,  smug and utterly lacking in a self-critical process? And, Dave… I kind of like fireworks.”

silence

“… just kidding!”

“Ho! Haha! Oh, hahahaha! Wheew! You had me going for a minute there, buddy. Wow. Tears, man, real tears. Hohoho.”

“Haha, sorry man, just joshing ya!”

“Oh, a ha ha ha. I needed that. Good one brother.”

“I know.”

“Alright, I’m off to Cosi. Have it in my inbox when you can. Peace!”

“Laters!”