Ode to Alex Pareene

Who am I kidding? I'm neither sexy, disciplined, nor tragic enough to compose an ode. I saw "Bright Star," so I know that the really good ode-writing requires abstaining from sex in a paralytically sexy way, dirtying your hands from pretentious use of an old-school inkwell, and looming death from tuberculosis, none of which interest me, so I'll just say this: Alex Pareene is leaving Gawker for Salon. Gawker's put together a nice Definitive Guide to Alex Pareene to which I'd add one post, specifically New York City Just Gives Up On Subway Service, which, from my perspective as a daily subway-rider, captured the characteristic rage, cynicism, and incredulity of those of us who must rely on this increasingly decrepit, disintegrating, and dysfunctional transit system. Did I mention that I experienced hellish commutes both Monday night and Tuesday morning? That I had to go blocks and blocks out of my way to from/to work because my train was, for the six or seventh evening/morning in a row, incredibly and inexplicably just not there? Did I mention that The GC told me yesterday that he recently rode in a car with only 25% of its lights working, which caused him to have a '70s flashback and not in a good way? Did I mention that I rode home tonight with five middle-aged women dragging coffin-sized wheelie carts who refused not just to watch, but also to move the fuck out of the way of the closing doors? But I digress...

I love Alex Pareene and one thing I learned from today's Definitive Guide is that he's got a girlfriend. I'm kind of torn about this. I'm glad Alex Pareene has someone to love, but I'm sad that it's not me, because there's nothing I like more than a man with a rapier wit, the ability to wear a long-sleeved plaid shirt on a beach without a soupçon of self-consciousness, and a willingness to call bullshit when necessary. Today, anyway.

In conclusion, best of luck, Alex. See you at Salon. Please resist going into a Greenwald-esque tailspin of multiple Updates.