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A MESSAGE FROM THE PRESIDENT

January 13, 2009

Dear ASSME Membership,

What a month we’ve had! The Holiday Party was a fantastic success, collecting 77 coats for New York Cares and getting a lot of very troubled people nice and lit. I don’t think it’s overstating matters to say that in the process we saved Christmas itself. Meanwhile, we got tons of press, launched a website and now find ourselves fielding requests from various far-flung locales (Hello, Detroit!) about establishing local ASSME chapters. Finally, just this week, we introduced the original “Yes, We Canned” T-shirt, featuring a brilliant design by Michael Shea. Orders are pouring in, so if you’re considering it, move your ass.

    Indeed, everything has been going so well, it was inevitable that an obstacle would be placed in our path. And here it is:

    I have been secretly employed for more than a week.

    Yes, against the odds, the president of ASSME is now drawing a paycheck.

    Now, allow me to set your minds at ease. ASSME will live on. There’s simply too much work left to do to let a little thing like gainful employment stand in our way. A number of new schemes are currently being cooked up, including a killer app (code name: Arianna Wept) that will forever change… everything. And no, it’s not a blog. Okay, you got me. It’s a blog!

    But that’s just a start, Remember: ASSME is not one man. It’s a collaborative effort, a movement, a way of life. I’m not ASSME. You are. All of you, employed or sacked, in every bedeviled sector of content creation. If you’re still working but every Friday wonder if it’s your last, you’re ASSME. If you look at the ads on the Times’ front page and die a little inside (and then look at “Escapes,” and die a little more), you’re ASSME. If you can’t quite believe that the breathtaking pageant that is our crazy mixed-up world can really be illuminated 140 characters at a time, you’re ASSME. My message to you is simple: Get involved. And not just by buying a t-shirt and wearing it proudly and then buying them for all your friends. That’s merely the first step. Then drop us a line with your ideas for new initiatives. This organization needs to grow and adapt—to set an example for the institutions that fired us, if nothing else—and we can’t do it alone. Especially with a full-time job. Your suggestions are welcome (email info [at] assme.org).

    And about that job, rest assured that I still feel the pain of the shit-canned media elitist I once was, and may well be again someday. And it turns out nothing in the bylaws disqualifies me from serving out my two-year term as president—easily extended by a simple majority of the board of advisors, which I’m busily stacking with cronies as we speak. In short, I will continue to serve until such time as I can no longer discharge the duties of my office.

    Stay tuned for news of our next party. I’m thinking mid-Feb.

    Humbly,

    Aaron Gell

    ASSME President

HOLIDAY PA

RTY
Fueled by rivers of p.i.nk. vodka—the guarana- and caffeine-infused nectar of the former media gods, which also happens to be “the world’s perfect party spirit”—the newly formed American Society for Shitcanned Media Elites held its Holiday Bash on December 17 at the swanky Ella Lounge, on Avenue A. The event drew some 200 of New York’s top mediacrats, a good many of whom were somehow managing to hang on to their jobs. In some cases they were actually reporting on the event for the very news organs that fired the rest of us. Crazy!

DJ Josh Link worked the turntables to great effect. Shawna Seldon and colleagues from the Rosen Group helped collect 77 coats for New York Cares. And lensman-about-town Nicky Digital took everyone’s picture and made us feel, briefly, like we still mattered. A few days later, we all went home to the suburbs to collect Amazon gift cards and unwanted advice from our extended families.

Soon it will be spring. Stay tuned for details on the next ASSME event! 

FOUNDING

ASSME came to life during the waning days of 2008, when terror stalked the media landscape. Magazines folded, newspapers went bankrupt, publishers quit acquiring manuscripts altogether. Man, did it suck. Drinking was all we had left.

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