Do You Hear the People Sing?

"I'ma do what I gotta do," Kevin Hoffman, the City Pages' apple-cheeked editrix and inveterate graf-buster, was saying on the phone the other day. He was talking to our source's voicemail, giving the words a little goombah top-spin that made the Hoff sound less like, say, Al Lettieri and more like, oh, Estelle Getty.

Over the past two weeks, the Hoff has rained both legal and vaguely physical threats on our source, who had provided this blog with small pieces of information about the Hoff's editing style and personal charm. In two phone calls and a voicemail, the Hoff said a great many things. He called this blog a "hate site" and demanded -- through our source -- that it be taken down. He raged about our use of "Pax." He generally proved himself to be every bit the foof we said he is. Our favorite moment, though, has to be the above quote, which we now have in .wav format on our desktop. From time to time, we set the mood with a little k.d. lang and give the clip a listen. It makes us laugh. And it makes us wonder how boring Minnesota must be. "Ahmuh dooh whuh ah gotta dooh." It's the New Times Village Voice Media ethic -- hollow and misdirected bluster, tinhorn machismo, the works -- busted in six words by the chain's doughty wonderboy. Quite frankly, he continues to make our point, in person and in print, better than we ever could.

It seems we've come to a pretty pass. Lately, our small satirical operation has occasioned some transcendent dumbfuckery on the part of journalists who should know better but would rather watch their dicks swing. There was, most recently, the string of comments to our previous post, which resulted in at least one writer being threatened with blacklisting. And there is the Hoff, who, you'll recall, buckled his swash so memorably around that comments section, going so far as to heckle his former writer about filing for bankruptcy. (Who wouldn't want to write for this guy?) There's more. In addition to haranguing another journalist's source (ours), even threatening to call our source's current, non-VVM boss, Hoffman says he is now weighing a lawsuit. Its purpose, it must be noted, would be to overturn a longstanding legal precedent regarding satire, buttressed recently by one waggish media company's hard-fought victory in Texas Supreme Court.

The case is called New Times v. Isaacks.

If our biggest problem were just one VVM editor who carries himself like some junior-varsity Ben Bradlee with a Clairol frosting set, we'd laugh, photoshop him into a flannel shirt, and go on our way. But when folks with no connection to this blog are named in a comments section that we have no yen to police, well, it makes us both sad and bemused. And it makes us ask: These are journalists?

We thought this over, debated, chewed our pens, and decided in the end that, rather than subject anyone to a misguided VVM-brand bloodwrath on our account, it might just be best to take down the shingle and close up shop, at least for the time being. (But look to the horizons for Alt-Weekly Death Watch balaclavas, coming soon to a second-tier American city near you!) To judge by your e-mails, there were times we served as a sort of bloggy id for the legions of disaffected in Mike Lacey's demesne. Apologies and many thanks then to those people, who, if they wish to contact us during our cicada-like repose, can still reach us at altweeklydeathwatch@gmail.com. It's been fun. We busted many grafs. And now we'll bust one more before shuffling off.

Pax.

--Your humble Death Watch

Alt-Country: Notes from the Modern American Weekly

Come Again?
In Minneapolis, much has been made of the several infelicities busted recently by apple-cheeked editrix Kevin Hoffman of the City Pages. To wit: Hoff, in a mere 291 words, managed to 1.) write that new Minneapolis Star Tribune owner publisher Par Ridder had been “smacked around like a two-bit ho in a lawsuit”; 2.) refer to the Strib’s plan to outsource 25 jobs to New Delhi as “Operation: Sanjaya,” evincing both a steely grip of pop culture and the kind of delicate touch not seen outside of Flaubert and freerepublic.com; and 3.) write that soon the paper’s ad designer “will be taking a rickshaw to work.” Oh, and the headline: “Local business, meet your new advertising partner: Habib.” (Habib, of course, is an Arabic name used by many Muslim Indians, but not exactly common to the subcontinent, and certainly not the predominantly Hindu New Delhi.) What’s more, the offending words – excepting the headline and the rickshaw crack -- were squeegeed from the City Pages’ web site, no explanation given. We really have nothing to add to the fine work done by Minnesota Monitor (not to mention the always-entertaining peanut gallery over at MNspeak), except to say that Hoffman continues to demonstrate why he’s the chain’s wonderboy.

The Hoff's Bust-A-Graf Counter (total grafs busted by Kevin Hoffman during his tenure at City Pages):



Ass. Editor Now On Top
We're pleased as spiked punch to relay news of a promotion at the Cleveland Scene, that seeming font of corporate teat suckers. "Associate Editor Erich Burnett [again with the names!] will assume a fulltime Corporate Editorial role and begin to work directly with all of the top editors at VVM," writes high-order brass polisher Christine Brennan (author, incidentally, of the most bloated and ridiculous New Times VVM feature not about whales). The email goes on to describe Mr. Burnett's new duties. We include them here, with additional explication.

1. "Overseeing corporate copy editing." The AP has yet to put forth a ruling on whether it's My Space, MySpace, or myspace. Regardless, this is where most of the alt-weekly readership has wandered off to. "Tom" is their friend now.

2. "Film syndication; editing of DVD reviews, Game On." Translation: examining the packaging of New Times VVM's Big Macs, Whoppers, Chicken Nuggets – the prefab "content" it ships out to its ostensibly local-focused papers for reheating and publishing. That's right: Neither Jordan Harper nor Robert Wilonsky live in your town.

3. "Fellowship recruiting." Wherein New Times VVM shills show up at college j-school programs, threaten hopeful graduates with news of the dearth of journo jobs out there, then open their arms like a Fagan character, offering them $400 a week to report on orgasm clinics and fight clubs. If they do not like this, they can, in the kind words of the New Times VVM brass, go fuck themselves.

4. "Qualitative oversight of online listings." I.e. take up the never-ending fight that is New Times vs. the Internet. This is so sad it's almost charming. As page counts dwindle and ad dollars go online, New Times VVM rushes to the Web in a covered wagon, arriving with its pan and shovel and china doll. There's gold in them thar online spaces!

Needless to say, we wish Mr. Burnett all the luck in the world, for he will most certainly need it. Should things not work out, rest assured he can go fuck himself.

Jerking Hoff

An orgy of alpha male journalism battered Minneapolis on Wednesday as Kevin Hoffman, the new editor of the City Pages, unleashed extremely powerful feature writing in a cover story about a pro hockey goon. This was The Hoff's first cover since arriving in town and it was filled with all the big dick charisma we've come to expect from the rugby cut Cleveland tough. Battle-scarred knuckles. Broken jaws. English as a second language. This story had it all. But even The Hoff knows that one manly feature does not a lesbian marriage pioneer conceal, so he also sprayed his byline all over the paper's website. His name appears no fewer than four times on his new bitch, all in connection with the same story. This super-max "online package" includes transcripts from The Hoff's goon interviews and a photo homage to his totally platonic new man crush, Derek Boogaard. It's almost too icy to bear.

And now for some data....

Total grafs busted: 119
Number of times Boogaard is called "The Boogeyman": 84
Number of appearances of the word fight (or variation): 39
Awkward or cliched similes: 9*
References to gorillas: 2
References to Yetis: 1
Number of times Boogaard is compared to a GQ model: 1
References to Boogaards "extra girth": 1
Description of hands like concrete blocks always thrown with bad intentions: 1
Examples of measured writing: 0

The Hoff's Bust-A-Graf Counter (total grafs busted by Kevin Hoffman during his tenure at City Pages):



* "The Boogeyman is tenderizing King like a cheap piece of meat."
"The Boogeyman streaks at his target like a heat-seeking missile."
"he almost looks like a model out of GQ."
"He was tired of being treated like a circus sideshow,"
"The Boogeyman ... continues his trajectory like a passenger ejected through the windshield."
"he was embraced like a long-lost relative."
"After one fight, his opponent ripped the name off Boogaard's jersey and tossed it to the crowd, like a matador circling the ring with an ear at a bullfight."
"the Boogeyman's skates were chewed up like a dog's toy."
"Gillies collapses like a marionette with its strings cut."

Bury Those Leads

New Times Village Voice Media is known for its punchy lead writing. A VVM lead doesn't just set the scene -- it grabs your tits by their balls and hurls you into it. Here's a smattering of this week's best.

On the night of January 27, 2003, Danny Holmes and Shawn Hamre stood outside a prostitute's door at an apartment building at 16 West 37th Street. (*)

You have to be Michael to understand. (*)

The first time Alana McCoy was labeled a dyke, the sophomore was walking back to her car in a Regis University parking lot. (*)

"Why say no when it's so much easier to say yes?" (*)

A certified wingnut runs around screaming on the corner of Telegraph and Durant avenues in South Berkeley, his underwear outside his clothes, a toy medieval shield in one hand, a toy axe in the other. (*)

The VIP card is a delicate and dangerous thing. (*)

People in the Bay Area are so busy mapping a fungus genome or rolling out the next digital porn platform that they rarely notice they still live amid two of the Great Society's most notable accomplishments: concentrated urban poverty and bureaucratic ineptitude. (*)

Felix Ellis is alone now. His wife, Genevieve, isn't around to make his favorite bread pudding. (*)

Steve Bison of Alabama's Cherokee River Indian Community says the war over 4-year-old Raven Laws may be traced back to the legendary Battle of Horseshoe Bend. (*)

Nima Daivari looked very gay on the night of March 17. (*)

Of all Southern hip-hop's flavors, none captures the lazy pace of an oppressively hot and humid day in the big dirty as well as screw music. (*)

With a deafening drone the airboat sped north. (*)

On Tuesday, February 27, Constable Mike Dupree abruptly left for vacation just hours after Dallas County commissioners ordered an outside investigation of his office after three employees said that the openly gay elected official was a little too openly gay, claiming that he came on to the younger Hispanics on his staff and touched them inappropriately. (*)

Ever wonder what Kansas should smell like? (*)

Ward Regan lived in 61A. In 1999, Greg Abbey moved into 66A. Abbey was depressed. Regan didn't notice. Abbey wanted to be alone. Regan didn't care. Abbey tried to avoid Regan. Regan, a big fan of Seinfeld, adopted Kramer-esque tendencies and showed up uninvited to Abbey's apartment in boxer shorts to watch his cable TV. After getting over finding Regan in his bathtub—more spacious than his own—Abbey finally warmed up to his oddly instrusive neighbor and discovered they had a common interest: cartoons. (*)

The two private Learjets landed at Key West International Airport. (*)

You have to be Michael to understand. (*)

Oh, Baby!

We've Been Had!
We were astonished to read that the Phoenix New Times' story on Anna Nicole's Native love child -- you know, the one that everyone was talking about, teased oh-so delicately around the chain under the headline "One night, Anna Nicole Smith saw red" -- was a hoax. Can you believe it? Completely fabricated! Oh man, the razor sharp funnymen behind that ruse really had us with our pants 'round our ankles for a minute. Thank goodness for Inside Edition, who proved that the only thing more pathetic than the humorless story was the humorless reporting on the humorless story. But seriously folks...

Go Hoff! Bust that Graf!
We were kind of surprised that MNSpeak gave lesbian marriage pioneer Kevin Hoffman's first month on the job such tepid marks. C'mon guys, if you can't handle weed and massage parlors, get out of the alternative newsroom! Our sources at City Pages tell us that the graf buster's attempts to bro down with his staff have yet to lead to anything sweet, and that he swears like a sailor in staff meetings. Pax, dude. Pax.

Polish Up Those Resumes, Ladies!
Space enthusiast Tony Ortega, the new captain of the S.S. Village Voice, posted a call for the vacancy left by Joy Press and is probably typing up another one right now for departing sports writer Emma Span. We tired pretty quickly of Emma's locker-room naif shtick, but she was far from the Voice's worst offender. It really is amazing: New Times Village Voice Media has a singular talent for making us feel bad for writers we don't particularly like.

You, Too, Can Hasten Death's Slow March
We on the Watch have been thrilled to see our li'l hit counter spin, and want to thank you, our faithful readers. Please, join us on myspace, and keep those tips coming: altweeklydeathwatch@gmail.com.

Get to Know Your Brass Polishers: Kevin Hoffman

As the clock ticks onward, please enjoy this feature wherein we familiarize you with members of the charmingly zealous New Times Village Voice Media brood. First up, AWDW mascot and graf-buster Kevin Hoffman!



In the month since Kevin Hoffman was handed the keys to the Minneapolis City Pages, the 30-year-old lesbian marriage pioneer has twice graced the paper's news blog with his prose stylings. If you're unfamiliar with the vogue of the new editor-in-chief, imagine a doughy Sam Spade cracking retard and poop jokes. Hoffman favors bareknuckle phrases like "bust a graf" and "hit me back," often when giving instruction to writers.

Example: "Bust a graf about retards and poop and hit me back this afternoon. Pax, The Hoff."

You see, The Hoff -- as Hoffman's writerly persona is known -- fancies himself a hard-boiled crime reporter. In his debut post, an idea cadged from a story in the Minneapolis Star Tribune, Hoffman drills down on a local drug bust in which an auto mechanic tipped off police. Sure enough, The Hoff soon flashes his signature wit and deep knowledge of stoner culture: "Who knew 'the Midas touch' meant Acapulco gold?" he riffs. Kapow!

He also busts this graf: "After being hailed as a hero by the dailies—which are staffed by people who wear D.A.R.E. shirts unironically—the mechanic started receiving death threats."

Death threats, drugs, stupid daily reporters who lack a sense of irony? This is both the noir of Hoffman's imaginary cool and the idiom of the New Times Village Voice Media chain. No wonder this kid is its new golden boy.

Trust us, though, The Hoff's been smoking oregano for years. A quick tour of his previous work reveals Hoffman to be more tragic figure than tough guy, a naif obsessed with the netherworld. He's the dork who gets his milk money beat out of him and overcompensates forever. He's the rugby-cut (on the left) who goes to Frisco on his honeymoon and gets this sweet sweet comic book-inspired tattoo:

Title: Milk This, Bitch!
Artist: Andy Lee

Predictably, then, Hoffman's second blog post is about sex. Cadging from the AP, he tears into a state bill that targets masseuses who sexually penetrate unwilling clients. The measure is ripe for mockery and The Hoff obliges: "The new bill was proposed by Mary Olson (DFL-Bemidji), a freshman who apparently never got the memo that rape is already illegal."

Yowza!!

Minneapolis, did you get the memo? The Hoff has landed. And you better not fuck with him or he'll cut you up. Real bad.

Pax.