17 January, 2007

Tracy Moore

The Scene and I have a notoriously rocky relationship. That's obviously true. I've sent at least two of their writers into fits of tears, or so I've been told by a grapevine that includes one of the writers' mothers and Wayne Christenson. When I first moved to town at 21, I thought the Scene was the paper for those like me. People who bought their clothes at thrift stores, hung out in used bookshops and bummed around Mosko's until their 4:30 shift started. The Scene was boho goodness in a city that was either country music-mad or Old South Cheekwood Swan Ball Elitist. The Scene was supposed to be the niche for artsy will-think-for-food types.

I guess somewhere we parted ways. Maybe it was when I realised that no bisexual men, fortune tellers or washed up soap opera actors would pay me lots of money to advertise their services. The Scene got those gigs. I actually think it was right about the time I was looking through an issue in early May and saw an advertisement for the Mother's Day Brunch at F. Scott's. I don't know about you, but people in my social circle--the boho group--don't do a lot of meals at F.Scott's. That was when I cottoned on to the Scene's hipper/richer/better-than-you vibe. I don't really need that Cousin's Christmas Letter grief from a paper whose chief use to me is as a lister of movie showtimes.

By now, you've probably heard all about the too cool for school Scene contributer slagging off a McDonald's employee for offending her delicate sensibilities. This brings the creeping fog of Scene Elitism to a whole new level, and proves that it doesn't take a lot of cash to be cruelly elitist in your attitudes. I don't know how much she's pulling down as a Scene writer, but I don't think it's enough to buy her out of the miasma of grief occupied by most of the working poor. Unless you're King, Rowling or Joel Osteen neither writing nor self-righteousness pays a whole heck of a lot. [Especially when your writing is so inaccurate as to confuse "nearing" with "surpassing"]

In the comments over at Pith, Tracy talks about her various slag jobs slinging greasy food and porn for pervs. Her life has been no piece of cake, apparently. This would seem to not only give her license to be ticked off about a McDonald's employee's personal opinion that had nothing to do with the quality or edibility of the food Tracy bought without any gun to her head whatsoever, but to call the poor woman's boss, the woman's boss' boss and write about it on the Internet. There are two kinds of power in America. The power that comes with money and the power that comes with the ability to have your speech heard. Often the two go hand in hand. It's also one of the reasons the Scene has a grudge match with bloggers. We encroach ever so steadily on their power base. So no, Tracy doesn't have the power of great wealth, but she does have the power of the press. Today she used that power to beat a woman into submission. What fun!

Of course this whole problem could be solved if Tracy would get over her inner guilt about the dangers of her smoking habit.

7 Comments:

At 10:04 PM, January 17, 2007, Anonymous Ivy said...

The Scene was boho goodness in a city that was either country music-mad or Old South Cheekwood Swan Ball Elitist. The Scene was supposed to be the niche for artsy will-think-for-food types.

Too bad we don't have the cash to start up a paper like that. That'd be cool.

 
At 10:07 PM, January 17, 2007, Anonymous Sarcastro said...

Although, I agree in the main with what you got here, I have to say that if Tracey had merely written about her interaction on Pith it would have been all good.

She didn't use the power of the press. She used the power of the disgruntled, yet entitled customer to call not only the wage slave's boss, but the corporate headquarters.

That's what makes her so Seaward worthy, and at the same time emblematic of everything that's wrong with the Scene.

 
At 6:21 AM, January 18, 2007, Blogger Slartibartfast said...

I seriously have my own doubts that the episode actually happened, as is told. It just doesn't feel completely "true". I'd love to have been a fly on the wall, and know just how much embellishment has taken place on Tracey's part.

But then again, maybe that's just my own psychology, refusing to believe a person could be that petty. So, I tell myself, "certainly she made it up!"

If Tracey will own up to which McD's was involved, maybe one of us enterprising bloggers could take a visit over there, speak to the manager, even the employee (if she's still there), and get the other side. It might be an interesting post.

Strange, this dovetails nicely with the sermon I'm giving this weekend. It might be a good example of how we always need to remember that the other person in all of our interactions is indeed a person with thoughts, feelings, family, hurts. It's so easy to forget when it's all about 'ME'. Might just use it.

 
At 6:51 AM, January 18, 2007, Anonymous Sarcastro said...

8th Avenue in Melrose.

 
At 7:50 AM, January 18, 2007, Blogger Aunt B said...

I agree with Sarcastro (yep, I know, one of the signs of the apocalypse). It's not that she wrote about the encounter; that might have even been funny. It's that she went on some bizarre vindictive mission against this woman--calling her boss, calling corporate, and then getting on her company's website to let everyone know how she'd gone after her.

That moved from 'here's a screwed up, yet funny, thing that happened to me' to 'here's how I taught a peon never to mess with her betters. Let's all have a good laugh, now.'

 
At 10:14 AM, January 18, 2007, Blogger saraclark said...

Ohhh Mosko's. sigh.

 
At 10:52 AM, January 18, 2007, Blogger Malia said...

I agree with Sarcastro and Aunt B. A lot of us have blogged about scenarios we've found ourselves in that were very, "what the...?" in nature. But we realized the absurdity of the situation and left it at that instead of trying to right some perceived wrong.

I think of all the disturbing things in that post, it's the headline contest that has me the most disgusted. Not only has the writer committed all the errors that we have all pointed out, but now she's trying to get others in on it as well. Tackiness loves company?

 

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